Illness as a Process, Not an Enemy: What the Body is Trying to Say When It's Tired of Whispering

Author's framework: Dmytro Telushko, MriyaRun

This text does not replace medical diagnosis, treatment, or a doctor's consultation. If you have symptoms, pain, suspicion of a serious condition, or an already established diagnosis, medicine is not canceled. We do not replace a doctor with internal work. We add a broader perspective on life, stress, the body, and context to the treatment.

An interesting fact is that our brain processes physical pain and severe emotional pain (for example, rejection or loss) in the exact same areas—specifically, in the anterior cingulate cortex. Therefore, ignoring an emotional state is quite literally forcing the body to experience real pain. If an illness could talk, it might say: "Look where you haven't been listening to yourself for a long time. Where you endure more than you can handle. Where the body is already speaking instead of words. Where you are used to calling tension your character, exhaustion your productivity, and anxiety your responsibility." Because the body rarely arrives first. First comes fatigue—and this is a physiological state of depletion, not an emotion. Then comes tension. Then irritability, which often conceals underlying, basic anger. Then comes "I just didn't get enough sleep." Then "it's seasonal." Then "it's all nerves, but I'm fine." And then the body kicks the door open and says: "Good afternoon, I am your manager of reality. We have a backlog here, please sign the certificate of completion."

When a traffic jam forms in a city, we don't take a bulldozer to clear the road, nor do we expect that traffic jams will never appear again after that. Although, honestly, sometimes we really want to. Especially when you are stuck in traffic, you've already finished your coffee, your podcast has ended, and ahead of you are three more traffic lights and a driver who decided that a turn signal is an option for the weak, and traffic rules are just someone's subjective opinion.

But if we think systemically, we understand that a traffic jam is not a "bad car." It is the interaction of many factors. The roads, traffic lights, traffic flow, time of day, roadworks, weather conditions, driver behavior, urban planning, and the overall load on the system. It is exactly the same with the body. A symptom does not always mean: "This one part broke right here." It often means: "The system is overloaded, and it has become visible in this one place." The body does not exist separately from the environment, emotions, relationships, work, losses, fears, changes, sleep, food, movement, childhood experiences, habits, social pressure, and how a person has learned to survive. It does not live in a sterile vacuum. It does not sit separately on a shelf with a label "service every six months." The body is not a machine that can simply be "poorly maintained"; it is a living, incredibly complex ecosystem that is constantly adapting to external conditions. Sometimes it adapts brilliantly, pulling us out of crazy crises. And sometimes it adapts in a way that makes you want to say: "Thank you for the initiative, of course, but could we have somehow managed without this performance featuring panic attacks?".

In this article, Dmytro Telushko's thought is crucial: an illness is not always an enemy that must be immediately "defeated." Sometimes it is more like a traffic jam in a big city. A traffic jam does not occur because one car is bad, lazy, or hasn't spiritually processed turning left enough. It occurs when the entire traffic system is critically overloaded. It is exactly the same with the body. If a symptom has appeared somewhere, it does not always mean: "the part is to blame here." Perhaps this is the place where the overall tension of the system has become visible. Where there has been a lack of rest for a long time. Where precious energy was spent not on the joy of living, but on banal survival and adaptation to constant stress. Where a person kept up an "I'm fine" face for years, while inside, the dispatch service was already running at full capacity with a red alarm light flashing.

The MriyaRun insight here is simple, but not very convenient for our inner controller: sometimes the question is not how to quickly disperse all the cars with a bulldozer, but how to rebuild the traffic itself. We need to investigate where a completely different rhythm is required, where a pause is vitally necessary, where excess load should be immediately removed, and where we should stop wasting energy on things that have long ceased to lead to life. An illness does not become "good" in this view, because we do not romanticize pain or decorate serious diagnoses with a pink bow. But we finally stop looking at the body as an undisciplined subordinate who needs to be punished for a bad report or have their KPIs lowered. The body becomes a full participant in the conversation. Sometimes this conversation sounds very loud, sometimes it is inconvenient and ruins plans, but it almost always remains absolutely honest.

Here it is important to immediately remove a very common and dangerous psychological trap. When we say that an illness is closely connected to our life, stress level, basic emotions, environment, and internal cognitive processes, this in no way means: "The person is to blame for getting sick." No. Once again, louder for the inner critic who has settled in the back row of your consciousness with a notepad for recording flaws: absolutely not. An illness is not a moral assessment of your personality. A symptom is not a karmic sentence. A diagnosis does not mean that a person "somehow thought incorrectly," "poorly worked through a life lesson," "was not spiritual enough at a retreat," or "purposefully brought themselves to a hospital bed."

Such formulations, inherent in toxic positivity, do not heal; they only finish off the psyche, adding toxic shame to the physical pain. A person can get sick for dozens of different reasons: genetic, infectious, immune, hormonal, traumatic, environmental, social, or psychological. A huge part of these factors does not depend on them at all, another part depends only partially, some things can be gradually changed, and some things simply have to be accepted as a given and taken into account in the future. A systemic view of psychosomatics is needed not at all to find a culprit and publicly condemn them in front of a mirror. It is needed solely to see more available points of influence. We shift from the destructive "I am to blame" to the constructive "what in my system needs the most attention right now?". We shift the focus from "I am hopelessly broken" to "where has my nervous system been working too long without proper recovery?". And instead of "my body treacherously betrayed me," we say "my body, perhaps, held me afloat with all its might for as long as it possibly could."

In this place, it is very good to keep another important thought close by: a delicate, careful look at psychosomatics is especially critical in cases of complex medical diagnoses. That is exactly why, in the special MriyaRun material “Psychosomatics of oncology and stress: MriyaRun support”, we dissect very thoroughly and separately how to correctly talk about the body, stress, and psychological support without imposing feelings of guilt, without dangerous magical thinking, and without terrible phrases in the style of "you invented this illness yourself."

We are used to thinking about an illness as some concrete thing. As if it lies somewhere in the body as a separate object: here is a wonderful person, here is their beautiful life, and here is an illness that came from somewhere outside, like an uninvited neighbor with a drill at seven in the morning on a Saturday. Of course, it is much more convenient to think this way, because if there is a concrete enemy, it means it simply needs to be defeated. If there is an obvious breakdown, it needs to be fixed quickly. If there is an annoying symptom, it needs to be immediately removed with any pill.

And it is worth admitting that in modern evidence-based medicine, such an approach is often absolutely necessary. If a person has an acute emergency, a serious infection, a physical injury, or a life-threatening symptom, the question is not at all to sit cozily next to them with a notepad and gently ask: "What are you feeling right now, my dear appendix?". The question is solely to act quickly and professionally. But when it comes to long-term, chronic, recurrent, or specific bodily-stress processes, the mere desire to "remove the symptom" often turns out to be catastrophically insufficient. Because in such cases, the symptom might not be the beginning of the story, but its already very visible, culminating chapter.

Illness as a process is a much broader perspective where we carefully analyze a whole series of factors. We consider what exactly was happening in life before the symptom appeared, and how long the overall system was in a state of hidden or explicit tension. We study which specific events, losses, internal conflicts, or abrupt life changes preceded the deterioration. We also take into account how a person has historically learned to react to stressful factors, whether there is reliable support in their environment, and whether they generally have a legitimate place to manifest basic emotions according to Robert Plutchik—whether they allow themselves to feel anger, sadness, fear, and whether they can allow themselves complete rest and the recognition of their own weakness. This approach helps to see how the body tries to complete or, conversely, blocks the completion of a stress response, and what exactly in life has long become objectively unbearable but stubbornly continued to be called the word "normal." Sometimes it becomes obvious that an illness is not an isolated "thing" at all, but a continuous flow, a deep process, and a desperate movement of a living system trying to somehow cope with total overload. This movement is not always successful, but it is always strikingly honest.

In our society, we very often use aggressive vocabulary regarding health: we call to "fight the illness," strive to "defeat the diagnosis," declare a "war on cancer," and promise to "overcome the symptom." These militaristic metaphors are absolutely understandable, as they quickly provide an illusion of control and a feeling of strength. When a person is truly scared, they naturally want to mobilize all their resources. They want to have a clearly defined enemy, a clear plan of attack, a bright flag of victory, and some epic soundtrack to which everyone confidently marches forward in stylish slow motion.

But there is one huge problem with this beautiful picture. If an illness is designated as an enemy, then one's own body automatically turns into a battlefield. And if your body is a battlefield, then a person, without even noticing it, often begins to brutally wage war not only with the established diagnosis, but also with themselves. They begin a struggle with their physical pain, with their natural weakness, with their fully justified fear, with their accumulated fatigue, and even with their basic need for human help. And then, instead of warm support, a harsh inner commander steps onto the stage, barking orders: "Pull yourself together!", "Don't fall apart!", "Look, others are managing somehow!", "You must be strong at any cost!", "Come on, body, don't disgrace our productive family!".

From the perspective of modern psychotherapy and neurobiology, this sounds simply terrible, because such internal pressure only increases the level of cortisol in a system that is already suffocating from stress. It works about as successfully as motivating an indoor violet with an aggressive phrase: "If you don't bloom right this second, I will be completely disappointed in you and send you to be recycled." Sometimes, in order to recover, we need not a war, but the establishment of deep cooperation with our own organism. This by no means implies surrendering to the illness; it is not passively folding your hands, and it is not a "well, now I'll just watch everything fall apart" stance. This is a radically different, mature position: I consciously do not fight with my own body; I begin to work together with it. I responsibly treat what really requires medical intervention. I curiously explore what requires psychological understanding. I actively change what I can realistically influence. I gratefully accept help where I objectively cannot cope alone. And most importantly, I no longer turn myself into an enemy just because I suddenly feel physically or morally unwell.

All the above does not mean that your body suddenly "broke down," or that you are personally to blame for this because you somehow exploited it incorrectly or forgot to undergo spiritual maintenance. Perhaps it means something much deeper: right now, a natural process is happening to you, in which the body has become a loud megaphone and part of a grand, important conversation about how you are living in general. And instead of immediately panicking and fighting this voice, shaming yourself for symptoms, or looking for a single mechanical "breakdown" in the organism, you can start with simple but healing mindfulness.

It is worth asking yourself: what exactly has changed in my space right now? What burden have I been carrying inside for so long and habitually that I stopped noticing it? In what areas of life am I heroically enduring much more than I can actually digest? Where do I critically need support, full rest, total honesty, or even a completely new way to build my life? In what situations do I mechanically continue to say "I'm fine, I can handle it," even though my body is already standing nearby, desperately holding a neon sign that says "I beg you, don't believe them, we are at our limit"? Where have I been a good, convenient, strong, and hyper-responsible employee, friend, or partner so long and diligently that I completely lost contact with that living, true part of myself? The body does not always speak in pleasant words; its metaphors can be painful. But it almost always speaks ruthlessly honestly. And if a person finally learns to listen to it not as an enemy saboteur, but as an integral part of themselves, they will have not only a diagnosis or a symptom, but a very real path: to genuine self-care, to building healthy boundaries, to deep recovery, and to a much more alive, authentic contact with their own identity.

Stress in itself is by no means an absolute evil or a demon to be exorcised. From an evolutionary standpoint, it is a completely normal, vital response of our autonomic nervous system to an external threat, a new challenge, or sudden changes in the environment. The problem begins not at the moment of stress, but when this powerful reaction simply cannot end.

When the organism mobilizes through the sympathetic division of the nervous system, real survival magic happens: the heart starts beating much faster, the breathing rhythm changes to capture more oxygen, muscles swell with tension, adrenal glands release a cocktail of hormones, and our entire being prepares for immediate action—to fight, flee, or freeze. This is just wonderful and very effective if you really need to run away from a real physical danger, defend yourself from an attack, or react instantly to a threat. But what if a modern danger has no clear physical form at all? What if it is not a saber-toothed tiger in a field that you can escape from by climbing a tree, but an unpaid loan, a burning deadline, toxic relationships, global uncertainty, war, an endless stream of alarming news, hyper-responsibility for everyone around, a strict internal ban on showing weakness, and seven additional open browser tabs named "I will definitely deal with this later"?

In such conditions, the body continues to live as if a deadly threat is standing right behind its back, but it is absolutely impossible to logically complete the biological rescue response. There is nowhere to physically run from a deadline. There is no one to literally have a fistfight with over a toxic comment. Social norms say you cannot just stand up and scream in the middle of an office. You cannot fall to the floor and cry bitterly to release the tension. You cannot just stand up and say: "Stop, this is too much for me." And so a person continues to function mechanically, pushing the tension deeper. The body, at this dramatic moment, does not possess analytical thinking and does not say: "Oh, I see we have modern social existential stress here, let's process this in an elegant psychological format over a cup of matcha." The body works via very old, straightforward biological mechanisms. It does not really distinguish between the situations "a predator is running at me at breakneck speed" and "I just received a work message from a person, after communicating with whom I just want to lie face down on a cold floor." To our nervous system, this can be the exact same big red panic button. And if this button is pressed constantly, without breaks for parasympathetic recovery, the entire system inevitably and deeply depletes.

It is scientifically proven that chronic stress affects far more than just our emotional mood or ability to enjoy life (allostatic load wears us down physically). It is directly and very powerfully connected to the functioning of the endocrine, immune, nervous, and digestive systems. Consistently high levels of cortisol and other stress hormones can actively maintain hidden inflammatory processes in the body, destructively affect sleep quality, alter appetite, block the natural recovery of tissues, intensify chronic pain, cause constant muscle tension, blood pressure fluctuations, rapid heartbeat, decreased libido, a drop in concentration, and a general exhaustion of life endurance.

Of course, this absolutely does not mean that "stress directly causes all diseases in the world." Such loud phrases are often used in pop psychology because they sound very impressive, but in reality, they are medically inaccurate and even dangerous, because they again lead to feelings of guilt. It is much better and more honest to say this: prolonged, uncompensated stress can be one of the key factors that critically affects the overall vulnerability of your system, reduces the body's ability to recover on its own, disrupts adequate immune function, throws off hormonal regulation, and creates fertile ground for inflammatory processes. That is, stress is not always a direct "cause" from a medical point of view. But it is very often the ideal environment for the development of problems. It works like a constantly damp wall in a room: moisture itself is not a fungus, but it provides the ideal conditions for it to appear there. Stress is not the only factor, but it is an extremely convincing and influential participant in this party, after whose visit everyone urgently needs to ventilate the room well.

When a person lives too long in a sense of background threat, in conditions of chronic uncertainty, or is torn apart in a deep internal conflict, their body can be in a state of constant heightened adaptation for years. And this adaptation, which in the early stages truly saves us from collapse, over time begins to cost the system far too much. This happens in exactly the same way a modern smartphone can operate in extreme power-saving mode: for a day, two, maybe even a week, by turning off background apps. But if it is never plugged into a normal charger, you shouldn't be sincerely surprised that it starts turning off suddenly at the most inopportune, most crucial moment of your life. And no, yelling words at this phone like "be productive, pull yourself together, wimp" absolutely does not help. This has already been repeatedly verified by all of humanity.

You can read in much greater detail about the complex physiological connection between stress, immunity, the autonomic nervous system, and specific bodily reactions further in the specialized MriyaRun article “Stress, immunity and psychosomatics: how emotions affect the body”. And if you want to dive even deeper into the broader topic of emotions (especially relying on Plutchik's wheel of emotions), stress mechanisms, and skills of gentle self-exploration, an excellent addition for you will be our material “Stress, emotions and psychosomatics: how not to burn out”.

A separate, very painful and deep psychological topic is the years-long habit of being "good" for everyone around you (what in psychology is sometimes called the "fawn" response or people-pleasing). This means living in a way to always remain a flawlessly good son or an ideal daughter, to be a maximally supportive and all-understanding partner, an ideal mother who never gets tired, or an indispensable, agreeable specialist at work. This means being that exact convenient person who always understands everyone, puts themselves in someone else's shoes, never burdens anyone with their problems, refuses to show anger, never asks for anything openly, does not say a categorical "no," does not create any conflict situations, and generally exists in space as if their own basic needs are some extremely unpleasant advertising spam that is better never opened and immediately deleted.

From the outside, to society and those around, such behavior can look like incredible inner strength, sacrifice, and nobility. But from the inside, it almost always feels like a slow, chronic self-erasure and a loss of one's own "I." When a person lives for years or even decades in the strict regime of "I am objectively allowed less than others," their own body over time may become the only safe place where internal truth still has at least some legal right to its voice. And it is worth admitting that this voice is usually not very diplomatic or polite at all. It can manifest itself in the form of a sharp sudden pain, muscle spasm, an incomprehensible skin rash, total chronic fatigue (which signals resource depletion), exhausting insomnia, background anxiety, serious digestive problems, constant tension in the chest, the feeling of a suffocating lump in the throat, blood pressure spikes, periodic exacerbations of chronic diseases, or very strange, blurred symptoms that wander from one medical office to another for years, like confused tourists without a city map.

And here the main question is not at all to devalue the condition and lightly say: "Aha, this is all just because of your psychology, drink some mint tea and relax." No, it doesn't work that way. The question is not to discard the huge psychological, emotional, and overall life context solely because a specific symptom manifested strictly on a physical level. Because our physical and our mental selves do not exist in different dimensions or isolated countries. There is no closed border with strict passport control or customs between them. They are continuously corresponding with each other all the time via neurotransmitters, hormones, and nerve impulses. And sometimes this correspondence becomes extremely active and dramatic.

Let's imagine for a minute a girl named Maryna. She constantly and intensively works, regularly helps her parents, completely manages the entire household, emotionally supports her partner through his crises, instantly responds in all work and friend chats, perfectly remembers the birthdays of all relatives and colleagues, and despite all this, somehow miraculously manages to harshly berate herself every evening with questions about why she is so lazy and insufficiently productive. Outwardly, to everyone around, Maryna looks maximally put-together, successful, and strong. But if you look inside, she has been living for a very long time like that same smartphone on a critical 7% battery charge, which with its last bit of strength continues to keep open a heavy navigator, streaming music, mobile banking, and three active work chats with notifications turned on.

At first, her body tries to speak to her very quietly: background fatigue appears as a persistent physiological state, a light aching tension in the shoulders and neck, shallow, interrupted sleep. Maryna, as usual, brushes it off and answers herself: "It's okay, I'll somehow rest later on the weekend." Then the body realizes it is not being heard and begins to speak much louder: regular tension headaches arrive, frank digestive problems begin, a sense of incomprehensible anxiety grows, and a persistent sensation of a lump in her throat appears, making it hard to breathe. Maryna again finds a rational explanation and replies: "Well, these are the times right now, absolutely everyone has it like this right now, I just need to pull myself together." And only when these symptoms become so aggressive that they begin to physically prevent her from getting out of bed and working normally, does she finally, forcibly stop. In this typical story, the key question does not sound at all like "what did Maryna do wrong and what is her fault?". The question must sound completely different: where exactly has her complex psychophysiological system been operating at maximum RPM for years without the slightest right to basic maintenance, proper rest, and an honest, open admission of "all this is simply too much for me"? Because very often a serious illness begins not with a single sudden and massive catastrophe, but with a very long, quiet, and unnoticed life in the toxic mode of "I will endure just a little bit more, just a tiny drop more."

It is important to understand that very many people in the modern world live not just with a high level of daily stress, but with deep, old traumatic experiences that stretch back to the early stages of their lives. From the perspective of psychology, particularly in the context of script processes or ego-state analysis, trauma is far from just the terrible event itself that once occurred. It is also everything that was not properly supported by adults afterward, was not ecologically lived through, was not clearly called by its true name, and was never emotionally completed.

Often a small child in a threatening situation objectively did not have the physical or psychological strength to run away, could not defend themselves against aggression, did not have the right to say a firm "no," or simply had no one to call for help. And then their little body did the only thing it could possibly do to survive in those conditions: it instinctively shrank, froze in a stupor, endured the violation of boundaries, shut off access to unbearable feelings, artificially separated consciousness and bodily sensations (dissociation), and hid this burning pain so deeply in the subconscious so that the person could somehow continue to function and survive. And this is important to hear: this was not a weakness of character at all. This was a brilliant biological adaptation of the child's psyche to abnormal conditions. But the tragedy lies in the fact that the very same adaptation that once truly saved a life can, in older, safer years, imperceptibly turn into a tight internal prison.

Due to such unfinished processes, an adult can constantly live with destructive beliefs in the background, feeling that there is something fundamentally "wrong" with them, that they are chronically "not good enough" for this world, and that they must constantly earn the love of others through hard work and concessions. It seems to them that their own boundaries are absolutely unimportant, that if they relax for even a second, something terrible will inevitably happen, so they must maniacally control everything around them and under no circumstances can they allow anyone to see them as real and vulnerable. And the saddest thing is that the body literally lives inside this learned dramatic story. Our body does not know how to read positive motivational quotes on Instagram and does not respond to affirmations in the style of: "Oh, wonderful, today we consciously choose lightness and flow." It remembers the lived experience completely differently—through chronic muscle clamps, through shallow or frozen breathing, through hormone spikes, through the reactions of the autonomic nervous system, through disrupted immune responses, through habitual tension in the shoulders, a stooped posture, a quiet voice, an averted gaze, a spasmed stomach, a tight pelvis, or a tightly clenched jaw during sleep. Trauma does not always peacefully remain in the past; very often it becomes the very distorted lens through which the body anxiously anticipates its future.

There is a whole category of people who over the course of their lives have become so strongly accustomed to being emotionally impenetrable and strong that they are capable of describing even their own deep psychological trauma or loss in an absolutely even, detached tone of a tired accountant: "Well yes, of course, it was difficult in childhood, my parents divorced, there was no money, but everyone manages somehow, nothing terrible happened." However, their own body at this exact moment metaphorically sits next to them, quietly raises a trembling hand, and timidly says: "Excuse me for interrupting, but I was directly at the scene of these events back then, I felt everything, and I have a radically different version of what occurred."

For example, a person might have learned for years, under the threat of rejection, to never get angry, to ask for nothing for themselves, to never show their weakness, and to never, ever say the word "no" to authority figures. In early childhood, such behavior might have been the only available way to maintain at least some emotional connection with parents, to receive crumbs of love, or to at least ensure minimal physical safety in an unpredictable environment. But in adult, independent life, this once-saving strategy can easily turn into a rigid, chronic muscular armor that fetters movements, into a habit of shallow breathing, into persistent sleep problems, generalized anxiety, a neurotic fixation on total control, or into an exhausting feeling that the body generally never fully relaxes in its entire life. And then the main goal of internal work is not at all to say to oneself in despair: "Everything is clear, my psyche is hopelessly broken." No, it is not broken; it was simply very inventive for a very long time in its attempts to protect you. The real question is whether you really need this old, energy-consuming defense strategy right now, in your current life, in absolutely every situation, next to every new person, every single day, without any weekends and without the right to a vacation. Here, the topics of forming life scripts and old internal childhood roles, with which transactional analysis works, fit very appropriately and organically. If the idea that the body can live for years inside an old, imposed story deeply resonates with you, you can continue your exploration and read more via our special article “Favorite role from childhood: scripts and fairy tale therapy”.

Perhaps it's worth looking at it this way: an illness is far from the expected guest whom we are sincerely happy to see and whom we await with a welcoming loaf of bread. Absolutely no one in their right mind opens the door to their new symptoms with words full of joy: "Oh, you finally arrived! Come on in quickly, the timing is perfect, I was just setting the table for a fresh existential crisis and a panic attack." Of course not. An illness almost always arrives completely at the wrong time, destroying all plans. It shows up without an invitation, without any gifts, boldly stomps down the hallway in dirty shoes, and unceremoniously sits on your favorite white sofa.

But sometimes it happens that even such an extremely unpleasant and tactless guest can bring and deliver vitally important news to you. And it does this not at all because it is so kind or caring. But simply because its presence and its voice become simply impossible to ignore any longer. By its appearance, an illness can sharply and uncompromisingly ask those very uncomfortable questions that a person has masterfully postponed to the farthest corner of their consciousness for years. It forces you to wonder whether you are truly living your own life or simply fulfilling someone else's expectations, and whether there is any room left for yourself in your current reality at all. It highlights those places where you regularly and habitually compromise your own values, and forces you to admit that what you have called the lofty word "love" for so long is actually just codependent exhaustion. An illness asks which of the things you proudly call your "responsibility" is actually just your panic-driven fear of losing control, and exactly where in those tasks that you label with the word "must," you have long wanted to loudly say "I've had enough." In the end, it forces you to see exactly where you critically need warm support and sympathy, and not at all another heroic, exhausting surge of willpower. These deep questions, of course, are not capable of curing the body by themselves instead of medication. But they can certainly open the path for you to those qualitative changes in thinking and everyday life that powerfully support medical treatment, accelerate recovery, and help return the lost contact with the joy of living.

Let's imagine another character—a man named Oleg. With a certain periodicity, his chest feels noticeably tight, he has started sleeping very poorly and anxiously, he flares up and gets irritated at colleagues and relatives instantly, and at the same time, he has already filigreed learning to utter the phrase "it's all just nerves, it'll pass" with such ironclad confidence, as if these few words are an official diagnosis, a treatment protocol, and a detailed plan for his future rehabilitation all at once.

One day Oleg finally goes to a specialist doctor, carefully checks all his physical indicators of his heart and blood vessels, takes tests, and disciplinedly does everything that objectively needs to be done from a classic medical point of view. But parallel to the pills, he finally begins to look at his condition much more broadly and asks himself: when exactly does this tightness in the chest exacerbate the most? After which specific unpleasant conversations with management? On which exact days of the week? After carrying out which exact internal directives of "I must do this perfectly"? In what situations can he not physically squeeze the word "no" out of himself? And exactly where does his vital energy leak out every day not onto building his own life, but onto the endless, exhausting proof to everyone around him that he is an absolutely normal, flawlessly strong, and maximally convenient guy for everyone?

And right at this moment, his frightening physical symptom ceases to be some magical, incomprehensible punishment from space. It unexpectedly becomes a door into deep, conscious mindfulness of himself. The position changes from the childish "I am to blame that I didn't look after myself and got sick" to the adult and investigative "I really want to understand in what exact toxic rhythm of life my body is forced to signal for help so loudly and desperately." This is already a completely different, mature life position. There is room in it for evidence-based medicine and respect for doctors. There is room in it for personal responsibility for one's health. There is space in it for deep self-reflection. Therapeutic humor must be present in it, because without it, serious Oleg will inevitably turn his recovery process into another rigid KPI for the next quarter and burn out all over again. And most importantly—in this position, true respect for one's own body appears, which no longer needs to be defeated in an unequal fight in order to finally begin to collaborate fruitfully with it.

Here it is necessary to articulate an extremely important point that cannot be ignored: a systemic, psychological view of illness and psychosomatics in no way implies the rejection of traditional evidence-based medicine. Quite the contrary. If you have real physical symptoms, we always first go to a specialist doctor. If laboratory tests or examinations are needed to understand the picture, we go and obediently take them. If a specific treatment is prescribed after the examination, we discuss it in detail with the specialist and follow the recommendations. If important medical drugs are prescribed to you, we absolutely do not cancel them on our own just because suddenly "I deeply realized my childhood psychological trauma and understood the cause." The psyche, reflection, and working with internal diary-practicums are wonderful and necessary, but your liver or heart absolutely should not suffer from your sudden psychological enthusiasm and self-medication.

The healthiest and most adequate position of a modern person is not the conflicting "either traditional medicine or pure psychosomatics," but the synergistic "both quality medicine and an understanding of the broader life context." Medicine effectively helps us see objective physiological processes, assess real risks, measure indicators in numbers, and select effective therapeutic pharmacological strategies. At the same time, the psychotherapeutic and body-oriented approach helps to see what no MRI will show: how exactly a person lives daily, where and why they become so catastrophically exhausted, how their nervous system reacts to constant stress, whether they have any emotional support in their life at all, whether they know how to ecologically complete cycles of tension, and whether they generally allow themselves the right to weakness and recovery. These are absolutely not competitors in the market of your health. These are two caring hands of one holistic system of self-care. One hand professionally says: "Let's carefully check all your tests and ultrasounds." And the second hand softly but persistently says: "And now let's sit down and talk honestly: why have you been living for three years in a row as if you can only be charged every morning from a high-anxiety generator?".

Let's imagine for a moment that an emerged symptom does not need to be immediately silenced in the very first minute. This is not in the sense of "endure the pain and do not treat it medically," but exclusively in the sense of the psychological approach—do not devalue its important life message. What could it say to you if it had a voice? It might begin by saying that it came here not at all to brutally punish you for some sins, but appeared precisely where your nervous system and psyche simply could no longer cope with the pressure. It could remind you that you tried very hard to be strong for a very long time, but this strength without periods of recovery gradually turned into slow self-destruction. The symptom would surely note that you perfectly learned to keep quiet and swallow insults, but your body never signed this destructive contract of silence with you. It would point out that you are used to calling insane tension the norm of life, but biology simply does not know how to live forever in the mode of an activated hazard alarm without consequences. Perhaps it would add with sadness that you tried so long and diligently to be convenient and good for all other people that, probably, right now is that very critical time to finally become alive and real for yourself. The symptom would honestly admit that it is by no means your whole life story and not the end of the world, but it is that important part of this story that it is vitally necessary for you to read much more attentively right now.

Sometimes, to begin healing, only one internal step is enough: shifting from the position of a helpless victim complaining "why and for what did this happen specifically to me?" to the position of an adult explorer who asks "what exactly is this situation pointing to in my current life?". This shift in focus radically changes a person's position. From a passive victim of some incomprehensible biological breakdown, they turn into an active participant in their own healing process. Not into an omnipotent magician who heals fractures with the power of thought, and not into a guilty sinner who brought trouble upon themselves, but precisely into a responsible participant. Into someone who has every right to ask uncomfortable questions, who learns to gratefully accept help, who begins to slowly change the destructive conditions of their daily life, who gradually regains their right to a voice, and who seeks not perfect total control over the body, but a new, flexible life balance.

These questions were created not at all for you to engage in self-diagnosis instead of going to a doctor; they exist exclusively to develop your inner mindfulness. You can take a favorite notebook, brew some warm tea, find a little silence, and, most importantly, do not turn this process into another strict school exam for a grade. Because if even such an intimate thing as self-reflection is forcibly turned into a test with a deadline, your body will simply sigh heavily and doomed say: "Oh, we went somewhere wrong again."

Try asking yourself in a free-writing format about what exactly in your life right now is overloading your system the most, and in what specific situations you have been habitually saying "yes" to others for a long time, even though a protesting "no" has been loudly screaming inside you. Think about which core emotion you suppress most often and diligently—perhaps it is unexpressed anger, deep sadness, or paralyzing fear—and listen to where exactly in your physical body you most often localize the sensation of this tension. Try to recall and analyze what exactly was happening in your life and environment in the period immediately preceding the appearance or acute exacerbation of your symptoms, and what old or fresh stress cycle you still have not been able to emotionally complete. Ask yourself honestly in which specific areas you live daily with a background sense of danger or anxiety, even if outwardly, to society and on social media, your life looks absolutely "normal" and even successful. Pay attention to your deficits and understand what exactly you are critically lacking right now: elementary physical rest, warm human support, the establishment of firm personal boundaries, total honesty with yourself, simple movement, healing silence, medical treatment, or safe contact with someone. Reflect on what social or family role you have been playing for so long and flawlessly that you have almost forgotten who you really are without this mask, and which of the things you proudly call your adult "responsibility" might actually just be your childhood fear of losing control or love. Think about which vulnerable part of your personality right now needs not strict "repair" and improvement, but simple, warm compassion, and finally determine for yourself what one, smallest, and simplest step you can take this week to at least slightly reduce the crazy load on your exhausted system. And remember that in this process there is absolutely no need to try to answer ideally or "correctly," because there are no right answers here, there are only honest answers.

When we talk so deeply and metaphorically about illness as a complex process, it is extremely important not to get stuck forever only in beautiful psychological philosophy and reflections. Because our physical body very much loves absolute, grounded specifics and real actions. Our body does not need abstract mantras in the style of "I consciously open myself to the endless flow of cosmic harmony," but a very clear "I promise to put the phone away today and go to sleep by midnight." The body does not need a blurred "I gratefully accept my inner vulnerability," but a very concrete "I am writing a message right now and canceling one absolutely unnecessary work meeting." And instead of a pompous "I am finally returning to my true origins," the body expects a simple "I am picking up the phone and finally making an appointment with a specialist doctor, because pretending for three months in a row that this pain will somehow pass on its own is no longer cheerful optimism, but a cheap plot for a black comedy with a very alarming ending."

Here are the basic, absolutely concrete steps that are worth gradually introducing into your routine. First of all, it is vitally necessary to undergo a full medical check-up and take basic tests if you have any alarming symptoms. Next, you need to make every effort to establish your sleep schedule as well as your current life circumstances allow, and be sure to add gentle, comfortable movement to your weekdays, whether it is a leisurely walk in the park, light stretching on a mat, swimming in a pool, intuitive dancing to your favorite music at home, or a calm bike ride. It is also critically important to purposefully learn to ecologically complete your biological stress response through active physical movement, deep breathing practices, vocal release, cleansing crying, or by receiving support from a safe person, while simultaneously trying to minimize your chronic domestic and work overloads and begin active work on establishing personal boundaries. Find a reliable, safe person or a qualified psychotherapist with whom you can speak absolutely honestly and without censorship, by an effort of will finally stop calling your total exhaustion the phrase "just a normal busy period at work," and start carefully noticing those moments every day where your body begs you not for another act of productive heroism, but for elementary, warm care. This is not some esoteric magic and not a quick pill. This is the systematic, gradual return to your complex biological system of those basic, normal conditions in which it will finally get the chance to independently and fully recover.

For deep and structured written work with your obsessive thoughts, unlived emotions, and automatic, repeating reactions, a specialized practicum is ideal, which we know as the Diary-course "Self-Discovery", or another powerful tool — the CBT SHIFT workbook (because it is worth reminding that all diaries from MriyaRun are specifically specialized psychological practicums, and not just notebooks for free writing). Of course, these tools cannot completely replace working with a live therapist or full medical treatment, but they can become for you that reliable, safe structure and framework, relying on which it will be much easier for you to notice what exactly you are feeling right now, how exactly you automatically react to triggers, where your true personal boundaries lie, in what exact situations you imperceptibly lose yourself to please others, and what real, small, but very important steps you can take today to improve your condition.

It very often seems to us that such a serious and painful topic as illness or psychosomatics can be approached exclusively with a very serious, tragic facial expression. Exclusively in white sterile gloves, speaking exclusively in a whisper, and certainly with the face of a person who has just spent three sleepless nights reading absolutely all available medical forums on the internet, and now knows too much disturbing information about anatomy to ever sleep peacefully again. But it is worth understanding that quality, therapeutic humor is not at all a cruel devaluation of your condition or your problems. On the contrary, humor can be that very saving valve, that wonderful way that helps to drop excess tension and finally regain the ability to breathe freely. This is an opportunity not to laugh at your real physical pain or diagnosis, but to kindly laugh at the absolute absurdity of those scenario-based survival strategies that we invented for ourselves and stubbornly continue to use.

For example, isn't it amusing to realize how an adult, intelligent person can masterfully ignore their crazy fatigue for ten consecutive years, driving themselves at work, and then be sincerely and indignantly surprised that their own body somehow did not send them an official warning letter in advance with a wet stamp and the signature of the head doctor stating that resources are running out? Or how we habitually and optimistically tell friends: "Oh, it's fine, I just got a little nervous at the meeting," even though our exhausted autonomic nervous system at this exact moment is already standing on a metaphorical balcony with a packed suitcase, passport, and tickets, hysterically screaming: "That's it, I've had enough, I quit and I'm flying on vacation to a desert island!". Or how we desperately, with all our might, want to "remove this stupid symptom" as quickly as possible, but at the same time we categorically, to the bitter end, do not want to remove that destructive lifestyle and thinking that we used for years to generously feed this very symptom. This is just like diligently wiping up a puddle of water on the bathroom floor every day with a serious face, while fundamentally refusing to turn off the broken faucet that is spraying like a fountain, and then also sincerely taking offense at your mop for the fact that it, you see, is completely failing at its direct duties and absorbing moisture poorly. Therapeutic humor perfectly helps us not to fall head over heels into the toxic pit of shame for our own imperfection. And shame is an extremely bad and incompetent doctor. It is always very loud, unjustifiably strict, adores lecturing morals, and, worst of all, it almost never washes its hands before climbing into your vulnerable soul.

Perhaps, if we look at this whole picture from a height, the real and most important question is not at all how to heroically and forever defeat one's illness. Perhaps the key question sounds different: how can we finally stop brutally waging war on our own body, which simply tried for too long, sometimes by clumsy but desperate methods, to save us from our own way of life. Yes, an illness can indeed be a very deep life crisis. It objectively can be accompanied by strong physical and moral pain. It can turn out to be a complex medical diagnosis that brooks no delay and requires very serious, lengthy, and professional treatment by doctors. But at the same time, it can also be that multifaceted process in which your biology, accumulated stress, difficult personal history, the influence of the environment, old childhood or adult trauma, harmful and useful habits, the quality of your relationships, chronic fatigue, and your overall way of building your life converged at one point.

And what is most wonderful—in this new, broad look at the problem, there is absolutely no place for destructive blame. There is healthy, adult responsibility here, but toxic self-flagellation is completely absent. There is room here for deep self-care, but without naive magical thinking or esoteric escapes from reality. Respect for evidence-based medicine is present here, but it exists without detaching from the understanding of the unique history of the person themselves. There is a place here for the exploration of psychosomatics, but with a categorical ban on the cruel phrase "you did this all to yourself because you thought badly." Here is your body, which finally ceases to be a battlefield and an enemy. Here is your symptom, which does not claim to be the sole truth about you, but which can become a reliable entrance into a very important, saving conversation with yourself. And in the center of all this is you—a living person who now has every right to say to themselves: "I did not break hopelessly. I am simply in a complex process right now. My native body is absolutely not against me; it is an important part of my grand story. I have every right to be treated by specialists, to curiously explore my reactions, to gradually change the conditions of my life, to gratefully accept the help of others, and step by step, carefully return to that real life in which I no longer need to be so sick in order to finally be heard and paid attention to."

If you want to deepen your understanding of this topic and continue your research, we sincerely recommend reading the article Stress, emotions and psychosomatics: how not to burn out, which talks in great detail about chronic stress, the connection between the body and emotions, the work of the nervous system, and offers paths to self-exploration entirely without self-blame. Also pay special attention to the material Stress, immunity and psychosomatics: how emotions affect the body, which will be handy if you want to better understand, from a physiological perspective, exactly how prolonged, uncompensated stress can destructively affect your immune system and recovery processes. For those directly facing complex life challenges, the article Psychosomatics of oncology and stress: MriyaRun support will be extremely useful, where a very delicate, warm framework is set regarding complex medical diagnoses, the importance of support, and a strict ban is placed on blaming a sick person for their ailment. If you are interested in the health and condition of your little ones, the material Children's psychosomatics: when the body speaks will gently explain how children's bodily symptoms can be directly related to background tension in the family, the environment, and their unrealized need for your support. And for deep work with your own past, the text Favorite role from childhood: scenarios and fairy tale therapy will certainly come in handy, telling about the old, learned roles that every person can unconsciously carry for years into their adult, independent life.

If this topic deeply resonates with you, it can and should be continued not only by passive reading of articles, but also by active modular practices, because all MriyaRun diaries are specialized psychological practicums developed for deep work with oneself. For example, you can use the Diary-course "Self-Discovery"—this is a structured 28-day workbook created specifically for gentle work on self-esteem, understanding personal boundaries, the process of self-determination, and developing the skill of daily careful reflection. Also an excellent choice for written work with your beliefs will be the CBT SHIFT workbook, which offers effective practices for working with obsessive automatic thoughts, emotional reactions, old habits, and finding internal resources. If your bodily symptoms and chronic tension are closely related to years of suppressed anger, blurred boundaries, and an internal ban on a direct and firm "you can't treat me like this," the specialized practicum "About emotions. Anger: how to understand and live through it" will come in handy. For more figurative, creative, and deep work with the subconscious, there are Metaphorical cards "My Myth: The Hero's Journey", which are ideal for exploring your personal history, archetypal plots, life tests, shadow work, finding hidden resources, and preparing for a new stage. A soft and supportive way to finally win back your legal right to personal boundaries, legal rest, your own voice, satisfaction of needs, and safe personal space is offered by the Resource cards "I have the right". And for an interesting, playful, and safe exploration of your feelings (relying on classic emotions, such as anger, fear or joy according to Robert Plutchik), your own motives, typical reactions, and communication patterns with other people, our psychological board game RedLines EQ: Emotion Detector is perfectly suited.

Dmytro Telushko is a practical psychologist, the sole author, and the founder of the MriyaRun concepts. (Myroslava Baranovska also assisted him with editing and specific ideas for the texts). He writes about complex human emotions, personal boundaries, relationship models, self-esteem, and transactional analysis life scripts, and he personally creates practical, visually perfect self-therapeutic tools for gentle, daily self-exploration.

MriyaRun is a conceptual Ukrainian project of self-reflection tools, which includes psychological practicums, workbooks, metaphorical associative cards, resource cards, innovative game formats, and deep psychoeducational articles. All these products do not replace a qualified doctor, full psychotherapy, or emergency crisis assistance, but they can consistently help a person hear themselves much better, see their own internal processes more clearly, and gradually return more and more confident support to their daily life.

Tool Catalog: MriyaRun Catalog

If this entire article deeply resonated with you, we beg you—do not rush right now to turn it into another long and anxious list titled "what I must urgently and perfectly fix in myself by next Monday." Start simply with gentle mindfulness toward yourself. Notice exactly where your poor body has been hopelessly stuck in a massive traffic jam for a very long time. Look at where your life energy leaks out daily onto absolutely unnecessary and useless things. Realize where you critically need right now not a new cruel war with yourself, but simply a different, more careful organization of your internal and external movement. For this, you can always use our articles, practicums, metaphorical cards, resource cards, and MriyaRun psychological games—as a safe, warm space where your symptom never becomes a final sentence, and your complex life experience gradually, step by step, becomes much clearer and brighter for you.