Healing in the Middle of a Busy Life

I don’t have time to fall apart.

That’s something I’ve told myself more times than I can count, especially over the past six months. Between nursing school, clinicals, work, and trying to keep up with life, there never seems to be a “right” time to grieve, to feel, to slow down.

But here’s what I’ve learned (and am still learning): Healing doesn’t wait for your schedule to clear.

It doesn’t show up when life gets easier. It shows up right in the middle of the mess—between care plans and 12-hour shifts, in the car rides home from clinical, and in the quiet moments after everyone thinks you’re okay.

A few months ago, I lost my grandpa. If you know me, you know how big of a role he played in my life. He was my safe space, my biggest supporter, and someone who knew my soul in a way that most people don’t. Watching him decline from Lewy Body Dementia was slow, brutal, and traumatizing. He wasn’t just gone all at once—it happened piece by piece. And each piece that disappeared took something from me, too.

I thought I’d have more time. More conversations. More closure. But grief doesn’t always give you that. Sometimes it just leaves questions, regrets, and a hollow ache that follows you everywhere.

And then, just weeks later, a childhood friend passed away. Another loss. Another crack in the foundation, I was already trying to rebuild. And through it all, life didn’t pause.

There were still exams to pass. Patients to care for. Shifts to work. Smiles to fake.

I didn’t stop. But I also didn’t heal, at least not all at once.

Healing while busy doesn’t look like what people think it does. It’s not some peaceful reset. It’s crying in the bathroom between clinical rotations. It’s zoning out during lectures because your brain is replaying memories you can’t let go of. It’s rescheduling therapy appointments because your shift got moved.

And yes, sometimes, you need to schedule a 15-minute breakdown session on your Google Calendar between “clinical paperwork” and “pretending to have it all together.” It should be color-coded, obviously. You have to stay organized.

It’s messy. It’s unglamorous. It’s slow. And it’s still valid.

Healing doesn’t require perfection. It doesn’t ask you to be consistent or graceful. It just asks that you try.

So now, I’m learning to make space for healing—even if it’s not on my calendar (okay, maybe just the occasional cry block).

Sometimes healing looks like:

• Letting yourself cry without explaining why

• Saying “no” to something without guilt

• Taking your meds even when it feels pointless

• Getting through a single day and calling that a win

And honestly? That’s enough.

You can be healing and high-functioning. You can be grieving and still laughing. You can feel joy and sadness in the same breath. You don’t have to pick one.

I’ve realized that part of healing is permitting yourself to just be, without pressure to be strong, productive, or “over it.”

To anyone else trying to heal while life keeps moving at full speed: You’re not behind. You’re not weak. You’re just human.

And being human means carrying heartache and hope in the same hands.

So no, I don’t have time to fall apart. But I am learning to let myself feel. I’m finding small moments to breathe. To process. To rest. To remember that healing doesn’t require dramatic change—it just requires consistency, grace, and showing up for yourself, even when you don’t feel like it.

Even in the middle of a busy life, healing is possible. And that’s enough.