Welcome back to The Happya Life Podcast. I’m Clare Deacon, trauma-informed positive psychology coach, therapist, and fellow human navigating the not-so-balanced tightrope of healing and handling all the things.
This episode is for anyone who’s ever thought, "How am I supposed to heal and keep going with life?" You’re working. Parenting. Supporting everyone else. And still trying to make time for your own healing. It’s a lot. And if you’ve ever felt like you’re falling behind on all fronts, you’re not alone.
Today, we’re diving into the very real challenge of managing trauma recovery while holding everything else together. We’ll explore how to cope, what healing looks like in the messy middle, and why you don’t need to "get it all right" to move forward.
So grab a cuppa, find a moment of stillness, yes, even if it's with a pile of laundry nearby and let’s do this together. You don’t need perfect conditions to be here. You just need a heart open to hope, even if it’s flickering like a candle in the wind.
Let’s bust a myth right out of the gate: healing does not require you to step away from your life.
We often see this fantasy version of healing, sabbaticals, retreats, endless time to meditate and journal. Don’t get me wrong, those things are lovely if they’re accessible, but for most of us? Healing happens between school runs and Zoom calls. It happens in the quiet after bedtime, in the car, or even in the chaos of a toddler tantrum.
Sometimes healing looks like crying in the shower and still managing to pack the lunchboxes. Sometimes it’s holding your breath through a triggering conversation and choosing not to self-abandon afterward. That counts. You count.
You don’t need perfect circumstances to heal. You need real support, small pockets of space, and permission to not have it all figured out.
Let’s stop measuring our healing by how calm or tidy life looks. Healing is messy. It’s nonlinear. And sometimes, it looks like showing up even when you’re still shaking inside. Because showing up for yourself, even imperfectly, is still progress.
Here’s what I know: you are likely carrying a lot. Maybe you’re the glue in your family. The one who holds it all together. And yet inside, there’s a storm.
When my husband passed away, I was that person. I had to keep life moving, kids to care for, a house to run, clients to support. And underneath it all, I was unraveling. At night when the world finally quieted down, I’d collapse but my brain wouldn’t. That restlessness? That’s hypervigilance. It’s a nervous system stuck on high alert. And it’s exhausting.
If you recognise that tension of showing up every day while crumbling inside, I want you to know it doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re fighting. It means you’re still here.
I often have clients who’ve put their healing on hold, prioritising the needs of others “I’m okay, get them sorted first.” Or they tell themselves, “It was a while ago, I’m okay now.” And I get it. Because that was me.
It’s so clear to me now how many years I wasted stuck, confused, challenged because I wouldn’t allow myself the time to prioritise me and heal.
And here’s the thing: you don’t need a tragedy to validate your healing journey. You just need permission. From yourself.
Sometimes, we’re not choosing between good and bad, we’re choosing between necessary and necessary. You may need to go to work and make time for therapy. You may need to support your kids and create space for your own grief.
Balancing this isn’t about perfect time management. It’s about intentional energy management. Think of yourself as a phone battery. Where are the energy-draining apps running in the background? What are you spending emotional currency on that isn’t essential right now? Where can you delegate, delay, or drop?
Think of your healing as a garden. Some days you’re planting seeds. Other days you’re watering. And sometimes? You're just keeping it from drying out completely and that is enough.
Even the best gardens have weeds. That doesn’t mean the garden is failing. It means it's alive.
Here are some ways to stay afloat while still tending to your healing:
- Micro-moments matter. Healing doesn’t only happen in hour-long sessions. It’s in 30 seconds of deep breathing in the bathroom. A five-minute stretch. Putting your hand on your heart and saying, "I’m safe." These small acts compound.
- Know your cues. Learn what overwhelm looks like for you. Do you get snappy? Zoned out? Physically tense? These are signs your system is overloaded. Tune in with kindness, not judgment. Think of these cues as your nervous system waving a white flag.
- Anchor your day. Create a daily rhythm with grounding anchors: morning stillness, mid-day reset, evening reflection. Even five minutes can shift your state. Anchors are about coming home to yourself.
- Ask for help, before breaking point. Whether it’s a friend, a coach, or a therapist, ask. It’s brave. And it matters.
- Drop the guilt. This is big. Guilt is often louder than grief. Give yourself permission to not do it all. Let the washing pile. Let the to-do list wait. Let yourself be a human, not a machine.
Let’s get real. There will be days when healing feels impossible. When you snap at your kids, cancel plans, or cry in the car.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re in it. And being in it means you’re healing.
Let me say that again: Being in it means you’re healing.
If you’ve made it through the day, fed the kids, showed up at work, took a breath, you’ve done enough. Healing isn’t about perfection. It’s about persistence. It’s about the next small step. And then the next.
You are not behind. You are rebuilding. And brick by brick, you’re creating a new foundation. One rooted in compassion, not criticism.
You don’t need to hold it all together perfectly to heal. You just need to keep showing up, messy, brave, and real.
And if you want support with that, I’m here. The Happya Survival Kit is a powerful place to start. It’s built for women like you who are healing while holding it all together. The link is in the show notes, or come find me at happyacoach.com/chat.
You’ve got this. You’re already doing more than enough.
Until next time, keep breathing, keep believing, and take gentle care of you.
