Growing Through It - Reflections on Healing, Motherhood, and Becoming

Oct 1

Written by: Eileen Shemanchuk, M. Ed., Registered Provisional Psychologist

For a long time, I thought healing was a destination. Maybe you’ve felt this too—the belief that if we work hard enough, someday we’ll arrive at a place where nothing shakes us, the storms have passed, the clouds part, angelic music plays, and painful feelings no longer surface.

But that was not my experience. And for years, I thought that meant I was doing something wrong, or I was just defective.

The truth? Healing isn’t about reaching an end point. It’s not about getting rid of pain. Healing is about learning to meet it differently.

What I Used to Believe: Healing as a Destination

When emotions felt too big, and for a period of my life this felt 24/7, I would harshly judge myself. When I couldn’t make sense of what I was feeling, I numbed it out. When the pressure grew too much, it spilled over as anger or reactivity. I didn’t know how to hold what was happening inside me.

Looking back, I thought that once I was “healed,” those moments would disappear. No more reactivity. No more overwhelm. But from the life I’ve lived, and what I have had the honour of witnessing, that isn’t what healing is.

Right now, pause for a moment. Notice your body. Do your shoulders want to soften? Is your jaw clenched? Just noticing is already part of healing.

What I’ve Learned: Healing as a Process

Healing isn’t a finish line. It’s an ongoing process that unfolds in the small, ordinary ways we show up for ourselves.

For me, it looks like the pause before reacting, shifting into response, noticing the tightness in my chest and choosing to ground this energy, the courage to return to a hard conversation with openness instead of self-judgment.

Healing is not the absence of struggle. As trauma therapist Janina Fisher reminds us:

“The goal of therapy is not to eliminate symptoms, but to transform our relationship to them.”

That truth has changed everything for me. I still stumble. But now, when I do, I know it doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It means I’m human. So the next time you notice rupture—losing patience, saying something you regret—I invite you to pause and tell yourself: “It’s human to stumble.”

How It Shows Up: Motherhood, Rupture, and Body Awareness

Motherhood has been one of the biggest mirrors in my healing. My kids reflect back on who I am in the moment and ask me, without words, to show up differently. They reflect who I was, who I’m becoming, and the parts of me still longing to be seen. Motherhood has especially shown me how much I’ve grown into the woman and parent I once needed. I see myself offering my child the tenderness I’ve finally learned to give myself.

I used to think emotions and physical overwhelm were flaws, evidence of my brokenness, and a direct reflection of my worth. Now I see them as signals. A knot in my stomach. Heat in my chest. A lump in my throat. My body isn’t betraying me; it’s asking for my care.

And rupture? It happens all the time! I lose patience, and I can be loud. Old patterns creep back in. For a long time, I saw these moments as proof that I wasn’t healing. Now I understand: rupture is part of being human. The healing comes in the repair.

Every repair, such as apologizing to my child, offering myself grace instead of judgment, builds capacity. It teaches me, and my kids, that we can stumble and still return to connection.

So I offer a practice that can help with this connection: When a big feeling rises, or you notice distressing sensations in your body, ask yourself: “What is this part asking of me?” Does it want attention? Rest? Boundaries? Gentleness?

An Invitation to You

If you’re on your own healing path, please know this: you’re not behind, and you’re not doing it wrong if it still feels messy, or old wounds resurface.

Healing doesn't move in straight lines. It happens in spirals. We revisit familiar places, anger, grief, and fear, but each time we come back, we bring new awareness and more capacity. That's not failure. That's deepening.

A few gentle steps you can try:

Pause before reacting. Even one breath can shift everything.
Name what’s happening in your body—tightness, heat, holding.
Remind yourself rupture is human, not proof you’re broken.
Return with repair—whether that’s offering yourself compassion, apologizing, or trying again.

Healing isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about meeting what arises with curiosity instead of judgment, and learning to trust that even in the hard moments, you can come back to yourself.

You don’t have to do it all at once. Healing grows in the pauses, the returns, the softening.

And if you feel called, I’d love to connect. You’re welcome to reach out for support in your own journey, or to join me this October 2025 at one of Risewell Psychology’s free Community Giving Workshops, where we’ll explore ways we can create awareness, connect with parts of ourselves, and ways we can integrate our experiences in a space of care and curiosity.

You don’t have to do this alone.

You are not broken.

You are becoming.

Learn more about Eileen