“But I Healed That Already”: When Old Wounds Reopen and You’re Tired of Healing

When the Past Crashes Your Present

Something big happens.
You’re holding it together… until you’re not. Maybe it’s a breakup, a health scare, a fight, a job loss, or a tone in someone’s voice that cuts deeper than it should. Suddenly, your chest tightens, tears come faster than you can blink, or your thoughts race so hard you can’t even catch one.

And underneath all of it comes that familiar, tired thought: “Wait… why am I feeling this again? I healed this already.”

That’s the part that stings most. The disbelief. The exhaustion that comes with realizing you’re not just dealing with the new thing, but the old thing too. Like the universe dropped a sequel you didn’t ask for - same cast, new plot twist.

When clients tell me this, there’s often a mix of frustration and shame hiding behind the words. That quiet voice that says, “I thought I was past this. I thought I was stronger.” I know that voice well. I’ve had those moments too, sitting in my car, hands on the steering wheel, thinking, Are we seriously still doing this?

But here’s what I’ve learned: You didn’t go backwards. You didn’t fail. You just got safer.

The Myth of Being “Done”

Healing is often sold like a finish line. Something you work for, graduate from, and never revisit. But the body doesn’t work that way. Neither does the brain.

Healing isn’t an endpoint, it’s a relationship — with your nervous system, your story, your capacity to be alive. And relationships evolve. They deepen, soften, and sometimes they reopen old conversations when the conditions are right.

When an old wound resurfaces, it isn’t proof you’ve fallen apart. It’s proof that your system finally feels safe enough to remember something it couldn’t before.

That’s what safety does. It unlocks.

It’s not regression, it’s readiness.

Why Old Pain Reappears When Life Feels Hard

When we experience trauma or deep emotional pain, our brain stores not just what happened, but how it felt in the body. The tension, the racing heartbeat, the urge to freeze or run. This is called state-dependent memory. When something in the present mirrors that old state - a smell, a tone, a season, a familiar kind of stress - your body can light up like an alarm, long before your mind catches on.

That’s why sometimes your reactions don’t match the situation in front of you. You might think, “I’m reacting like I’m twenty again,” while your nervous system thinks, “We’re back in danger.” Except this time, you have more awareness, tools, and power to respond differently.

So instead of seeing it as a setback, you can recognize it for what it is: a sign that your system trusts you enough to bring something forward that used to be too heavy to hold.

The Double Load of Healing

There’s a special kind of exhaustion that happens when old pain resurfaces while new pain is still unfolding. You end up carrying two weights at once - the pain of what’s happening now and the echoes of what happened then.

It can feel like you’re healing in two timelines at once: The person you are today, and the version of you who first got hurt. That’s why it’s heavy. Because it is.

You’re trying to show up for your adult life while your younger self is quietly asking, “Are we safe this time?” And sometimes, you can’t separate the two. You cry for the thing in front of you, and somehow the tears carry pieces of everything you never got to grieve before.

That isn’t regression. That’s release.

The Science of “Why Now?”

When your body senses danger, survival comes first and processing comes later. Parts of your brain that handle logic and memory go quiet while your survival instincts take over. That’s not dysfunction; it’s protection. But here’s the interesting part. When your system starts to feel safe again, it naturally tries to complete unfinished stories. That’s why old pain often comes back just when things are finally going better. You’ve created enough safety for deeper work. (insert congratulatory selfie high-five here)

Neuroscientists call this memory reconsolidation - the brain’s ability to reopen an old memory and update it with new emotional information. Each time you revisit a wound in safety, your brain has a chance to rewrite how it’s stored. You can’t change what happened, but you can change what it means now.

So when you think you’re “back where you started,” you’re actually walking through familiar territory with a stronger map. I like to think of it like this: instead of believing the old adage that we move three steps forward, two steps back (which is defeating), what about updating your belief of this stage, where you move three steps forward, two steps of integration?

Much more empowering.

A Moment from My Own Life

There was a time I was sure I’d healed a particular pattern - actually, more than one time. I still catch myself doing this (it’s annoying). But true to form, I had done the therapy, the somatic work, the insight. I understood it inside out. Then a new situation hit that carried the same undertone of fear - being unseen, unheard, and ultimately dismissed. (textbook, no?)

My body went into full alert before my mind even understood why and for a minute, it felt humiliating. I remember thinking, “You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re still doing this?” The shame reared it’s head loud and proud! But when I paused and listened, I realized something had changed. The panic didn’t take over the way it used to. My recovery was faster. I could name what was happening and offer myself what I needed.

It wasn’t that I was back at the beginning. I was meeting the same wound with more safety and skill. That’s what healing looks like. Not the absence of pain, but the presence of awareness.

When Healing Feels Like Homework You’ll Never Finish

Sometimes healing fatigue sets in. You get tired of the introspection, the emotional work, and the endless uncovering. You want to just be okay, but you are exhausted A.F. That’s not weakness … it’s human.

Healing uses energy. Every layer of your body that is processed requires effort - emotional, physical, and neurological. If you’re tired, that’s not a problem to fix; it’s a message to rest. Integration takes space.

Think of your nervous system like your digestive system. You can’t keep piling on experiences without giving yourself time to digest them. Eventually, you just get emotionally bloated - too full to take in anything else. Your system needs quiet time to break things down, absorb what’s useful, and release what’s not. If you don’t, all that unprocessed stuff just sits there. And let’s be honest - emotional constipation feels about as good as the real thing.

Rest, stillness, and laughter are your fiber. They keep everything moving.

Meeting What Resurfaces Without Losing Yourself

When an old wound reopens, the instinct is to analyze it or push it down. (I see you, avoidants.) We reach for the story, the label, the “figure it out” because thinking feels safer than feeling. But what your system actually needs in that moment isn’t analysis - it’s presence.

Instead of asking “Why is this happening again?” try “What’s this showing me now?”

That single shift changes everything. It turns a trigger into a teacher. It invites you out of your head and back into your body, which is where the healing actually happens.

Presence is noticing the trembling in your hands without judging it. It’s letting your breath be shallow for a moment while you remember you’re still safe. It’s sitting with the ache instead of rushing to make sense of it.

Analysis wants control while presence offers compassion. And the more you practice that, the more you realize that every resurfacing pain is less about the past repeating and more about your capacity expanding. When pain shows up again, it’s not proof that you’re broken. It’s evidence that your system now trusts you enough to hold what it once had to hide.

You’re not failing. You’re integrating and you’re growing steadier hands for your own humanity.

How to Work With It

1. Pause Before You Interpret

Before you jump to meaning, let your body catch up. Feel your feet. Look around. Breathe slower until you feel yourself arrive. When the body calms, the thinking brain reactivates. This is how regulation works. You can’t talk your way out of a survival response, but you can soothe your way through it.

2. Let It Be Smaller This Time

Notice what’s different now. Maybe the same feeling doesn’t last as long? Maybe you can name it instead of numbing it? That’s healing. Every revisit lowers intensity and rewires your sense of safety. The nervous system learns through repetition, not force.

3. Don’t Rush the Reframe

You don’t need to find meaning right away. Sometimes “this hurts” is enough. When you allow your feelings instead of forcing perspective, you teach your body that it’s safe to feel again. And once the emotion moves, understanding follows naturally.

4. Reach for Support Before You Spiral

When you’re overwhelmed, your system is asking for connection, not isolation. Call a friend. Text your therapist (Oh, hi! I love hearing from you). Sit near someone who feels grounded. Safety is relational, and healing accelerates in co-regulation. If you can’t access that, anchor into something steady - the feeling of your chair, your breath, the sound of the world outside your head.

Healing as Integration, Not Achievement

When you stop trying to be “done,” you open the door to integration - the ability to hold both your strength and your softness at the same time.

Healing doesn’t mean erasing your history. it means carrying it differently. Progress isn’t measured by how little you feel, but by how quickly you come back to yourself when you do. You might not notice it day to day, but the moments add up: faster recovery, gentler self-talk, clearer boundaries. That’s growth in real time. (this is also a selfie high-fiver moment)

The Exhaustion of Doing It “Right”

You don’t need to perform your healing perfectly. You can take a week off from analyzing yourself and still be on the path to healing. You can cry, nap, laugh, and binge-watch something mindless and still be healing. Sometimes the most trauma-informed thing you can do is give your body permission to be ordinary again.

Healing doesn’t need to be your full-time identity. You get to live too.

The Invitation

The next time an old wound knocks on your door, meet it like an old friend who stayed away too long. “Oh, hi! It’s you again.”

• Notice what’s different now.

• Notice how your system responds.

• Notice that you’re meeting it with more steadiness than before.

That’s what healing really looks like. Not erasing the past, but expanding your capacity to face it. You can trust the parts of you that still ache. They’re not proof you’re broken - they’re evidence that you’re still alive and growing.

When they rise, meet them the way you wish someone had met you back then. With steadiness, with patience, and most importantly, with love. Because this isn’t regression. It’s mastery.

And if you’re exhausted by the work of healing, maybe that’s just the sign that you’re doing it honestly.
Something to think about.

About the Author

Lea Morrison is a Registered Therapeutic Counsellor (RTC) based in Kelowna, BC, and works with clients across Canada. She’s the founder of Mind Your Heart Academy, co-founder of The Informed Practitioner, and author of trauma-informed resources on healing and post-traumatic growth. Lea blends counselling, somatic and energetic healing, and nervous system education to support recovery and connection - both in-person and online.

References

McGaugh, J. L. (2000). Memory—a century of consolidation. Science, 287(5451), 248–251. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.287.5451.248
Porges, S. W. (2011). The polyvagal theory: Neurophysiological foundations of emotions, attachment, communication, and self-regulation. W. W. Norton & Company.
Siegel, D. J. (2010). The mindful therapist: A clinician’s guide to mindsight and neural integration. W. W. Norton & Company.
van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The body keeps the score: Brain, mind, and body in the healing of trauma. Penguin Books.
Schore, A. N. (2012). The science of the art of psychotherapy. W. W. Norton & Company.