Naming Harm. Reclaiming Truth.

For the first time in a long time, I started seeing real healing—week by week.

At first, I questioned if it was a “maybe” healing, but no, it wasn't a "I hope this counts”. It was tangible shifts.

I could sit up longer in a vertical position without overheating (dysautonomia), into a crash that felt beyond repair.

I could walk longer. I mean, even one morning recently I went out for a walk and didn’t realize how time flew by until I looked down and saw I had walked  one hour and 45 minutes. Which ironically an intuitive had told me I was going to be able to walk 2 hours by the end of the 2025-- I struggled with believing them, but here I am.

And for me, 1 hour and 45 minutes wasn't just some number. That’s a fucking miracle.

Because there was a time when I couldn’t walk at all.
There was a time when I was transported from room to room on a dolly like my body was cargo—because my legs didn’t work and my nervous system didn’t know how to hold me upright. I went from being transported on a dolly, to a walker, to a cane, to now walking 1 hour and 45 minutes.

Now I can move. I can dance. Is it perfect or normal? no, but its healing.

I notice less dizziness. It’s still there—always somewhat there—and it flares when there’s a trigger. But it’s not as relentless. It’s not as loud.

I notice my anhedonia easing. Like the world is letting color back in.

I notice my akathisia lowering too—less of that hunted, chemical terror. Less of that “get out of your skin” insanity.

I’m still not fully “former Malissa.” I still experience symptoms 24/7.
My consciousness is still altered.
I still don’t see the world the way I used to.

But I can say this with my whole chest:

I’m living a very different life than I was eight months ago.

And I’ve come far.

But… I want more.

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The Temptation to Push

Here’s the tricky part...

When you finally start improving, the old version of discipline tries to sneak back in.

The part of me that used to live on grind culture.
The part of me that thinks healing is earned by pushing.
The part of me that believes “more effort” equals “more progress.”

But nervous system safety isn’t about pushing myself to my cap.

It’s about honoring the body and essence. It’s about grace, and loving it back to healing.

Because I’ve learned the hard way: if I walk too far, even if it feels OK in the moment, I can crash later in the day. And the crash isn’t just fatigue—it’s my nervous system screaming, “That wasn’t safe for me yet.”

So I’m learning a different rhythm:

Not maxing out.
Not chasing milestones.
Not forcing progress.

Just staying in the zone where my system whispers, yes… this is okay.

That’s the new discipline.

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And Then… It Slowed Down

For a while, the improvements were coming in so clearly that I thought:

Oh… this is it. I’m finally on the upward trend.

And then it slowed.

A few weeks ago, I stopped noticing obvious changes.

Even subtle ones.

And I won’t lie—something in me started losing hope.

That voice showed up again:

What if this is as good as it gets?
What if I imagined the progress?
What if I’m stuck?

But another part of me—older, wiser, more seasoned in this war—knew:

This is part of the process.

And I want to talk about the thing nobody explains well enough:

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Plateauing in Protracted Withdrawal

There are stretches where healing shows up.

Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s a big shift.

And then suddenly… everything settles.

The improvements slow down. Or stop.

And it feels like we hit a wall.

And that’s when the frustration kicks in.

Especially if a wave of symptoms shows up on top of it.

That’s when we start questioning everything:

• Is healing even real?
• Did I make it up?
• Did I do something wrong?
• Am I going to be like this forever?

But I actually think the belief about what a plateau means is the problem.

Because a plateau isn’t some type of moral failure...

A plateau is the nervous system doing something incredibly intelligent.

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A plateau is integration.

After a period of improvement, the nervous system often needs to stabilize what it’s just learned.

It’s not idle.
It’s not stalled.
It’s not “nothing.”

There’s a lot happening under the hood that we can’t see:

Receptor recalibration.
Sensory processing shifts.
Autonomic regulation.
Neural pathways re-patterning.
The whole system quietly reorganizing itself like a construction crew working overnight.

Healing isn’t linear.

The nervous system doesn’t move in straight lines.

It moves in cycles.

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Plateaus Are How Healing Sticks

Right now, I’ve been in a plateau for a couple of weeks.

And then I hit a wave—because I went into the city, dealt with stress, pushed my system, made big decisions.

And I can feel it:

This wave isn’t random.

It’s not proof I’m broken.

It’s a response because there’s movement.

Me and my ex partner had decided to sell our apartment that I nearly killed myself trying to pay for in benzo injury.

That apartment was more then 4 walls, it was a symbol of my life trying to hold up something that was never meant to be held up.

And making that decision to sell, was my way of releasing what no longer served me.

Sometimes symptoms flare not because we’re going backwards—
but because the body is finally strong enough to process what it couldn’t process before.

That’s the mind-body connection in real time.

The body responds when something shifts internally.

And the body is fucking brilliant.

We tend to look at healing from the surface level—symptoms up, symptoms down—

But it’s way more complex than that.

The nervous system heals by alternating between:

Activation and rest.
Change and consolidation.
Release and repair.

Plateaus are part of the process.

They’re not a pause in healing.

They’re how healing integrates.

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A Reminder for the Warriors

Think about it like this:

We don’t expect a car to drive endlessly without stopping.

It needs gas.
It needs oil changes.
It needs maintenance.

But for some reason we expect the human nervous system—after being chemically injured—to keep improving at the same pace forever.

That’s not how bodies work.

That’s not how healing works.

So in this plateau, I’m learning to give myself more grace.

And it’s not easy.

There are days I’m annoyed.

Days I cry because I want to keep moving.

Days I want to scream because I can taste freedom and I want it now.

And then I remember:

Plateaus and waves are not setbacks.
They are how the nervous system heals.

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One Love,
Malissa

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