Taking Care of the Whole Me
Taking Care of the Whole Me
Mental health care isn’t a luxury. It’s oxygen. Self care isn’t selfish. It’s survival. And taking care of your physical needs isn’t vanity — it’s the foundation everything else stands on. I learned that the hard way.
What broke me
For me, it started with trauma. Losing my mother ripped the floor out from under me. Grief has no manual. One day you’re functioning, the next day you can’t remember if you ate. That loss enabled me to lose control. I spiraled. And eventually I was diagnosed with a mental health condition.
Church played a huge factor in my illness. Religion played a huge factor in my diagnosis. I’m not saying faith is bad — I still believe God stepped in when I ran out of steps. But the version of church I knew said “pray it away.” It said depression was a demon. It said anxiety meant my faith was weak. So I hid. I performed. I pushed everything down until it pushed back. Trauma plus religious shame is a heavy weight. It keeps you stuck in the cocoon, convinced the darkness is holy.
What keeps us stuck
Social media doesn’t help. Life doesn’t pause. You’re expected to post “blessed” while you’re breaking. People give advice from pulpits and comment sections who aren’t educated about mental illness at all. “Just think positive.” “Have more faith.” “You’re too strong to be sad.”
That’s how a lot of people stay stuck. Their mental health situation stays the same or gets worse because the world tells them help is weakness. So they don’t go to therapy. They don’t take the meds. They don’t rest. They try to pray away a chemical imbalance the same way you’d pray away a broken leg. Then they blame themselves when it doesn’t work.
What saved me: Small things, not overwhelming things
I had to learn that self care isn’t bubble baths and $200 spa days. Sometimes self care is washing your face. Sometimes it’s saying no to church on Sunday because the sermon triggers your trauma. Sometimes it’s unfollowing people on social media who make you feel like you’re failing at healing.
Taking care of my physical needs meant eating even when I wasn’t hungry. Walking when my body said no. Making the doctor appointment I kept avoiding. Going to bed before midnight even when my brain wanted to spiral. Your body carries your trauma. If you don’t care for it, your mind doesn’t stand a chance.
Mental health care meant therapy. Real therapy, with someone licensed who didn’t quote scripture at me when I needed science. It meant accepting the diagnosis instead of fighting it. A diagnosis is just a part of you — not the whole book. You can overcome it. But you can’t overcome what you refuse to name.
Breaking out of the cocoon
The cocoon stage is ugly. It’s quiet. It’s paperwork and psychiatrists and crying in your car after group. It’s people telling you “you’ve changed” because you stopped letting them dump on you. It’s realizing some relationships have to die for you to live.
Breaking away from people who aren’t educated about mental illness was necessary. I had to choose peace over people who called my boundaries “rebellion.”
That’s how you reach the butterfly stage. Not all at once. In steps. Small, un-overwhelming steps.
Why this matters
2023 was my ashes year. Trauma, eviction, bankruptcy, diagnosis. Everything went bad. But 2026 is my doors-opening year. Because I did the work. I took care of the mental. The physical. The spiritual — but on my terms, not from fear.
Finding myself meant firing the people who profited from my brokenness. It meant learning that God didn’t break me to use me. Church hurt contributed to my illness, but God didn’t. Religion told me to hide my pills. God told me to take them so I could live long enough to help other women.
If you’re stuck in the cocoon: your mental health is worth protecting. Your body is worth feeding. Your peace is worth fighting for. You don’t have to attend every service. You don’t have to explain your meds. You don’t have to heal on anyone’s timeline but your own.
Do things that don’t overwhelm you. Say no. Rest. Go to therapy. Take the walk. Drink the water. Leave the church that’s hurting you and find the God who’s healing you.
A lot of people stay stuck. Don’t be one of them.
Your butterfly stage is real. But first, you have to give yourself permission to leave the cocoon.
