Unraveling the Layers: Who Am I Without the Over-Functioning Self?

For 55 years, I have been the one who does. The one who over-functions, takes responsibility, carries the weight of everything and everyone around me. It’s what I’ve known, and it’s who I’ve been, constantly doing, striving, and pushing myself to the limit. But as I step into this healing journey, a daunting question has arisen: If I’m not the person who’s always ‘doing,’ then who have I really been?

It’s terrifying, this unraveling. I’ve built my identity around being capable, being the one who holds it all together. But as I begin to slow down, I’m confronted with the uncomfortable reality that I’ve spent so long suppressing parts of myself. The fear creeps in, whispering: If I’m not the person who is always functioning at 110%, then who am I underneath it all?

It feels like a kind of death, the death of the over-functioning self, the part of me that believed my worth came from what I could do rather than who I am. Slowing down has never felt natural; it feels like stepping into the unknown. Yet, as much as it feels like something is dying, I realize that running endlessly, without pause, has kept me from truly living. I’ve been so busy surviving that I’ve forgotten how to be present, how to simply exist in my own skin without needing to prove my worth through action.

This journey isn’t just about healing the physical; it’s about reclaiming the soul that I’ve buried beneath layers of responsibility and self-sacrifice. And it’s not easy. Healing rarely is.

The Universe’s Symbol: A Tangible Reminder of the Mother Wound

During today’s IV therapy sessions, something I’ve embraced to help replenish my body for the past several weeks after years of exhaustion, I noticed a strange and deeply symbolic detail. The IV bag, filled with the fluids to nourish my body, was labeled with my mother’s name (it is my first name too, but I always go by my middle name), accompanied by a heart.

The irony hit me like a wave. Here I was, receiving treatment for the toll over-functioning had taken on my body, over-functioning, a behavior shaped by the mother wound I’ve carried for so long, and this bag, marked with my mother’s first name, was offering me nourishment. It felt like a message from the universe, as though I was being asked to confront the very thing that had brought me here, the root of the exhaustion, the wound itself.

How do I feel about this, I asked myself as this nourishing liquid dripped slowly inside of me? Confused. A little conflicted. The wound between my mother and me has shaped so much of who I’ve become, for better or worse. To heal from it feels like I’m standing at a threshold, one foot in the past and one in the unknown future. The IV bag is more than a physical symbol; it’s a reminder that healing the wound is intricately tied to healing myself, that my pain and my journey toward wholeness are deeply connected to the relationships that shaped me.

Finding Meaning in the Unraveling

As unsettling as this process is, I realize that healing is messy, and while it doesn’t feel like it right now, I want to believe that that’s okay. Healing isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral, a journey that circles back to old wounds so that we can finally face them and transform. I am learning that the parts of me I’ve suppressed for so long, the parts that were too tender, too vulnerable to expose, deserve space to breathe and to be finally seen.

It’s difficult, unearthing these suppressed parts of myself, but it’s also freeing. Each step I take, no matter how slow, is a step toward reclaiming the pieces of me that were lost in the chaos of over-functioning. It’s a delicate balance between fear and hope, between loss and growth.

I’m learning that slowing down isn’t death; it’s life. It’s the life I’ve never allowed myself to fully experience because I was too busy doing to be being. This process is teaching me to trust that I am enough, just as I am, without the need to prove my worth through endless action.

Healing as a Catalyst

In this introspection, I’ve come to realize that the pain I’ve carried, the over-functioning, the feeling of unworthiness, has also shaped me into the healer I am today. For years, I poured myself into others, not only because it felt like my responsibility, but because I needed to prove, to myself and others, that I was worthy. But now, as I work on healing myself, I can see that the true gift of this journey is not in the over-functioning, but in the vulnerability I’m learning to embrace.

Through this process, I hope to become a catalyst for others. Not just in my profession as a healer, but through my own example. I want to help others find the courage to sit with their pain, to confront the internal mess that has been passed down through generations. I want them to know that it’s okay to stop running, to stop striving, and to begin the messy, beautiful work of healing.

It’s my hope that by sharing this journey, through this blog and in my treatment room and in my daily life, I can inspire others to do the same. To trust that healing, though painful, is possible. And that in healing ourselves, we are breaking cycles, rewriting the stories we were given, and creating space for future generations to live with more light, more truth, and more love.

Healing is not a destination; it’s a lifelong journey of unraveling, of discovery, and of courage.

And in that journey, I hope to be a guide, not because I have all the answers, but because I, too, am walking this path, step by step, breath by breath.

So here I am, one IV drip at a time for the next six weeks, nourishing not just my body but the deepest parts of my soul. This journey of unearthing my true self, of letting go of the need to over-function, is far from easy. But as I unravel these layers, I’m learning that beneath it all, I am enough.

And so are you.