I’m in Repair
I’m in repair.
Three simple words, that only after this long healing journey, would I be able to comfortably say. It’s a phrase that carries both compassion and strength, reminding me that rest and repair are part of being human.
I first heard this idea a few weeks ago in a clip from Jay Shetty’s podcast with author Nicole Avant. She spoke about how our souls cannot exist on this earth without going into repair. While still showing up and being present, she allows herself to say, “I’m in repair,” which creates space for life to heal her. You can listen to the episode below.
Hearing those words felt like an epiphany. For someone who has spent the better part of the last two years in what I’ve called a cocoon phase, it might seem surprising that this idea struck me so deeply. But the truth is, allowing the world to know I needed time and space to heal was not something I would have previously done.
Saying, “I’m in repair,” whether to someone else or just to yourself, is an act of self-compassion. It’s a declaration that you’re listening to your body and honoring your mind’s need for rest.
I’ve realized that I’ve rarely given myself this kind of grace in the past. Instead, I’ve operated from a place of survival and perfectionism, pushing through instead of pausing. Reflecting on the last few years, I can’t help but wonder how much could have been different if I’d simply allowed myself to be in repair.
The Lifequake
We all experience moments that shake us to our core—what I call “lifequakes.” These are the before-and-after events that forever alter us; shaped by hurt, grief, heartbreak, sadness, or pain.
My lifequake came shortly after my 30th birthday when a long-term relationship ended in an unconventional way. I had cared for this person for years, and while the relationship wasn’t the most stable, the ending left me reeling.
There was no defining moment of closure for my mind to process. I was consumed with worry for the other person and my own unraveling was pushed aside. Mix in some embarrassment for putting myself in this position again and the shame for feeling like I was being erased; it was a perfect storm to cause my nervous system to begin to malfunction.
Survival Mode
Without the concept of repair in my vocabulary, I defaulted to survival mode. Your body is this dynamic system that always wants to get back to homeostasis, so to counteract the tremendous stress I was feeling, my body sent systems into overdrive to adapt. My cortisol levels had to be sky high as I lived with the mindset of “keep it together, push forward, and rebuild bigger and better.”
My body’s resilience was being tested daily. I put on a good face to the world, but my racing mind constantly reminded me I was not okay. While it wasn’t easy, I was able to keep going the best I could.
Holding it Together
Life didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. That following year, I was surrounded by celebrations—engagements, weddings, and milestones for the people I loved most. While I felt genuine happiness for them, I was also carrying an unbearable weight of sadness and exhaustion.
I didn’t want anyone to worry about me, so I kept the depths of this to myself. My body, however, wouldn’t let me ignore it. Every night, I woke up at 3 a.m., unable to fall back asleep. My heightened state of stress consumed every ounce of energy I had. I exercised obsessively in an attempt to help my mental health but it wasn’t even close to getting to the root of my issue.
In real life, when an earthquake happens, you can’t just build a new house on rubble. Your own life is no different. Living in a chronic stress response, ignoring your emotions, and not tending to your hurts are all cracks in your personal foundation. No matter what you try to build on that, those cracks are still there, compromising the entire foundation of who you are.
A Slow Awakening
When I left my job a year and a half ago, it wasn’t because I recognized the need for rest—it was because I needed to escape. I remember getting off the call for giving in my two weeks and my body quickly let me know that this was not a chill summer break. I felt a tightness in my hip and low back that over the next few weeks became unbearable. I was lucky enough to have recommendations from one practitioner who led me to another to figure out why this was happening. When I had my first physical therapy appointment, she told me in the first few minutes of evaluating me that the muscles in my back had started to work out of sequence.
I was dumbfounded. All I remember thinking was “what did you do to yourself?” Years of pushing through, living in tension, and being disconnected with my body was showing itself in a way that I could not ignore it. This was the first of many moments over my self-care sabbatical that showed me this was not about getting a new job, moving to a new house, or getting into a new relationship; this time was meant to be spent repairing.
Power in Permission
Despite having the courage to leave and take this leap of faith, I felt uncomfortable admitting that I wasn’t working. My whole identity was wrapped up in my career, who was I without my job? My repair didn’t come from a place of permission or ease; it came reluctantly, in small steps. Now, I can see how much I resisted going into the depths of healing because I was trying to hurry up and get back to real life.
Being in repair requires honesty, patience, and a willingness to let go of the need to push through. It’s a surrender. It’s not easy in a world that celebrates productivity over rest. Policies give us just three days to grieve. When someone breaks our heart, we’re told to “move on” because time is wasting and we aren’t getting any younger.
I have learned that I was in so much more control of my life than I realized. Much of that control comes from how you view yourself in different life stages. My younger self felt she had no time to stop and rest so she fought an uphill battle that ended her in a place she would have never imagined. Even when I was a bit wiser, I retreated rather than owning my vulnerability. I felt shame instead of acceptance and embarrassment instead of self-compassion.
Being able to say “I’m in repair” was one of the greatest lessons I learned on this journey. While it came at the end, it will transform how I treat myself into the future.
A New Year, A New Perspective
For someone who lived in a constant state of burnout for years, I know how challenging it can be to navigate this time of year. We start with such high expectations for what the year could bring, only to end up weighed down by unhealed wounds or unmet goals.
This is the first year in many where I’ve ended it in peace and gratitude instead of trying to disassociate my way through. Something I’ve only achieved through rest, deep work in my mind, body, and soul, and rediscovering who I am outside of the limitations I let the world put on me. It’s freeing and something I do not take for granted.
As we approach the last day of the year, my wish for anyone reading this would be:
Give yourself permission to be in repair. To stop, to rest, and to feel whatever you need to feel. Let life heal you—through nature, through connection, in pauses, and moments of joy.
Wishing you a calm end to 2024 and the strength to honor your repair in 2025,
