Is There Such Thing as Doing Too Much Work on Yourself?
What happens when healing becomes a full-time job… and you forget to just live.
Lately, I’ve been asking myself this question.
Because this past year… It sucked me into a never-ending loop of healing.
Now, don’t get me wrong… I believe in healing wholeheartedly.
I believe it’s a Lifelong journey. In fact, I’m building a whole lifestyle brand around that belief: Lifelong Healing. A space where words, emotions, energy work, and self-awareness all come together to help us survive the highs and lows of love, loss, and everything in between.
But even with all that belief… I found myself spiralling.
Over the past year, any time something triggered me… whether it was about my ex, a new romantic connection, a friend who came or left, a family dynamic, a bad interaction, or even just a moment of vulnerability… I told myself:
I need to heal this.
Not just feel it. Fix it. Understand it. Reprogram it.
I’ve been in therapy for years, and I’m a big believer in it. But after the breakup that broke me into pieces, healing became… obsessive.
One wrong turn, one drunken night, one wrong interaction and I’d isolate. I’d go back into books, different therapies, journaling, more workouts, self-development, and anything else you can think of…
Like I had to work twice as hard every time I slipped just to make up for it.
I’ve tried it all… therapy, somatic work, breath-work, subconscious reprogramming, EFT, sound healing, and my forever favourite: Reiki (which I’m now certified in).
I’ve ordered a new psychology book almost every week. Whatever triggered me, I read about it. If something reminded me of my past… my ex, my childhood, a friend… I had to understand it. Not just myself but them too.
And don’t get me wrong… these are beautiful tools.
Some I’ll continue doing… Most have helped me deeply after cracking me open first… And several I’m now getting professionally certified in.
Reading, learning, healing… they’re incredible things.
But I realized something recently:
I was losing myself in them.
Not in a dangerous way. But in a way, that felt… exhausting.
Healing had become my full-time job.
My mornings, afternoons, and nights revolved around it.
When I wasn’t working on myself, I was helping others. Listening, supporting, analysing, advising… based on everything I was exposing myself to.
And any time something didn’t go ‘to plan’, I’d spiral. Cry. Shut down.
Then I return to my “toolkit” like I had to earn my way back to okay.
I treated any misstep like a sign that I wasn’t healed enough.
That I went backwards.
That I needed to do more.
Heal more.
And I forgot something really important:
Everyone makes ‘mistakes’.
We all have off days/nights. Weak moments. Repeating patterns.
Most people brush it off. But me?
I unraveled.
Then, I punished myself with more work.
My best friend reminded me of something I had completely lost:
Balance.
I used to be the queen of balance.
But after the emotional storm of the past year, I forgot how to let go.
I pushed so hard to be “better” that I tried to control everything… even the healing itself.
Because deep down, I was scared.
Scared that if I let go, I’d fall back into the wrong situation again.
That I’d be hurt the same way again.
That I’d return to that dark time, the one I barely survived just a year ago.
That one I’m still terrified of every time I think about.
And the truth is, I’ve been carrying that fear quietly… until someone finally said the words I needed.
My therapist recently said something simple that hit deep:
“You’re ready.”
Ready to live. To explore. To connect.
To walk through life as the version of myself that already exists.
Not perfectly. Not pain-free. But without making healing my whole identity.
Just being a person.
Just being me.
Unapologetically.
It doesn’t mean I won’t grow anymore.
Healing is still my passion… and now my profession too.
But it does mean…
I don’t have to earn my peace anymore.
I don’t have to prove anything… to myself, to others or to the universe.
I don’t have to perform in hopes that being good enough will finally lead me to everything I desire.
I can be best friends with myself and the universe, without control, without perfection.
I don’t have to be completely healed to be myself.
I just have to let go of control.
Let go of the need to heal everything before… the next chapter.
This is surrender… not giving up, but finally trusting who I’ve become.
I’ve learned I can still integrate the healing practices I love…
One by one.
When my body, mind and soul ask for them.
Not all at once. Not out of panic. But out of care.
I can still read psychology books. (I do love them!)
But I can also read for fun. (Which I am doing now!)
My therapist recently asked me:
“When was the last time you read a book just for fun?”
I couldn’t remember.
I guess I did read Cher’s biography. But even that turned out to be a psychology book in disguise.
I forgot how to just go out for fun.
To make a mistake and laugh about it.
To tell a funny night-out story without collapsing in guilt afterward.
To let a person pass through my life without dissecting what they meant or why they left.
But I’m remembering now.
I’ve worked hard this past year. Harder than I needed to.
And I love myself for it. I’m proud of it.
But I also deserve to live.
Not in fear of a setback.
Not in constant self-analysis.
Not in the shadows of self-improvement.
Not in worry of someone else’s opinion… even if I love them.
I deserve joy. Lightness. Mistakes I can laugh about.
Stories I don’t have to cry over.
Because I have my own back now.
I know how to regulate myself.
I know when to pause and when to keep going.
I don’t need to read, heal or prove something every time I feel something.
I can just live.
And I can trust that the work I’ve done lives in me.
Even when I’m not doing the work.
Last night, before meeting a friend for drinks, I went to one of my favourite bookshops in London… Hatchards.
Even though I have about twenty psychology books waiting at home, I bought three new ones.
Just for fun.
One fiction. One non-fiction. One book of essays.
None of them have anything to do with trauma or growth or healing. (not that I am aware of at least…)
They’re just stories… books I can lose myself in instead of using them to find myself.
I earned the right to live without turning every moment into a ‘lesson’.
Every night out, every book, every person, every conversation… it’s not a test to see if I’ve healed.
It can be fun.
It can be light.
It can just be life.
Of course, I’ll still reflect. I’ll still grow.
That’s just who I am.
But now, I’ll let the ‘just because’ take up space too…
So if you’re like me… doing the work, reading the books, collecting all the healing tools you can find… here’s a friendly reminder:
You’re allowed to take a break from it all.
You’re allowed to just live.
You’re allowed to mess up, laugh at mistakes, try again… without punishing yourself for it.
Because sometimes real life is in those messy, unexpected parts… and we can’t get there unless we let go and allow it.
The work you’ve done lives in you, either way.
Even when you’re not doing the work.
