Why We Aren’t Meant to Self-Heal: The Power of Spiritual Community Healing

Healing happens in connection. This is the power of the huddle.

Let’s be real: the “lone wolf” aesthetic is exhausting.

We’ve been told that healing is a solo trek—that we have to get ourselves “fixed” before we can show up for others. That if we just meditate longer, journal harder, or self-care our way through enough discomfort, we’ll finally arrive at some emotionally independent finish line.

What we rarely talk about is that spiritual community healing isn’t optional — it’s how human nervous systems are designed to feel safe, supported, and whole.

But if you look at the penguin, they don’t survive the Antarctic winter by being the strongest individual. They survive by huddling.

And yes—I have favorite penguins.

Mine live at the New England Aquarium. @newenglandaquarium. And yes, I know some of their names (or at least I think I do).

Vondeling—buddy, I hope I’m spelling your name right—was one of the first to catch my attention. He’s a talker. Loud. Expressive. The kind of penguin who makes sure you know he’s there. When we first saw him, he practically announced himself, and I like to imagine that same energy carries into his little penguin world too—checking in, calling out, keeping the group together.

Because even in their playfulness, penguins understand something deeply wise:

no one survives the cold alone.

When the wind picks up and the spirit feels brittle, trying to self-care your way out of isolation is like trying to stay warm with a single match.

True spiritual community healing isn’t about being perfect together; it’s about the quiet, sturdy magic of being seen.

It’s that deep exhale when you realize you don’t have to carry the heavy stuff alone anymore.

What You’ll Learn

• Why emotional co-regulation is the nervous system’s favorite form of medicine

• How to identify the “huddle” that actually feels safe for your big-feeling soul

• Small, low-pressure ways to reconnect when you’ve been in a season of hiding

Moving Beyond the “I Can Do It Myself” Myth

For most of my life, I genuinely believed I could—and should—do everything myself.

Not because I was trying to be impressive, but because it honestly didn’t occur to me that support was something I was allowed to rely on.

Two weeks before my daughter was born, I was still moving boxes.

Not delegating. Not calling friends. Literally loading the back of our SUV while my husband drove a U-Haul ahead of us. Then running around buying furniture. Setting up a home. Nesting… but in the most hyper-independent way possible.

Did I mention my daughter was due any day?

Before she was born, I cooked and filled the freezer with meals so we’d be okay once she arrived—so we’d have food to defrost when we were completely sleep-deprived and running on fumes.

The only help I asked for was having my cat stay at my parents’ house so she wouldn’t be stressed by the chaos. That felt reasonable. Everything else? I had it handled. Or so I thought.

After my daughter was born, I kept going. Planning. Preparing. Trying to stay ahead of exhaustion. And yes—my mom brought food anyway. But it still hadn’t fully landed for me that help doesn’t always have to be requested. Sometimes it’s simply meant to be received.

When the Body Becomes the Messenger

Fast-forward to when my daughter was about 13 months old.

I was not okay. I was running on fumes, traveling, working, trying to keep every plate spinning, and telling myself I was fine because I was still functioning.

Until my body forced the conversation.

I fainted. I went days without real sleep. My heart raced all night like it couldn’t find the off switch. I couldn’t calm down. Then I’d feel weak and shaky—like my system was swinging between panic and collapse.

I finally went to the hospital thinking, maybe this is just a panic attack.

But in the ER, it was undeniable.

I was hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff. I was severely dehydrated, completely exhausted, and deeply dysregulated.

And every time I moved—or even just sat up—my heart rate would spike and set off the monitor.

My blood pressure would plummet.

They kept me for 12 hours for observation until things stabilized. They gave me fluids. They ran tests. They had me walk around to see what triggered it.

Eventually, they released me—comfortable that I wasn’t about to collapse, but without a clear answer for why this had happened.

Just one instruction: strict follow-up with your doctor.

“Your Lifestyle Is Killing You

So I did follow up with my doctor.

And he didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Your lifestyle is killing you,” he said. “You need help.”

I remember sitting there, stunned—not defensive, just exposed. Because I had been in complete denial that I wasn’t Superwoman.

I admitted I was waking up in the middle of the night to work. Putting together proposals, products, client emails. Convincing myself this was just a season.

That appointment wasn’t just medical.

It was spiritual.

It was my body saying: we are not doing this alone anymore.

Why Asking for Help Felt Unsafe

Even then, asking for help wasn’t simple—because help isn’t just a mindset. It’s logistics. It’s trust.

We had tried childcare. Our very first babysitter is still our favorite. If you’re reading this, you know who you are—and we couldn’t love you more if we tried. But she was booked all summer, and suddenly we were on our own again.

And earlier on, we had a deeply unsettling experience with someone who was more focused on her phone than my child. My daughter wouldn’t sleep for hours. There was irritation instead of engagement. Disconnection instead of play. When my daughter fell, she brushed it off.

I was in the house watching it happen.

Watching it. Frozen in shock.

And something clicked in a way that still makes my chest tighten:

This is why I don’t ask for help. My daughter could be harmed.

So yes—part of my hyper-independence came from fear. From the very real belief that if I didn’t manage everything myself, something terrible could happen.

The Season of Half-Measures

I’m not proud of this, but after that hospital visit… I only temporarily slowed down.

There were still things to do. Responsibilities. Commitments. A business we’d built with love. A life that felt beautiful and fragile at the same time.

I was—and still am—in awe of what we created: a family, a business, meaningful work, incredible people around us. And I was terrified that if I truly slowed down, I’d lose it all.

My best friend checked on me daily. And truly—where would I be without you, Sheila.

She didn’t push. She didn’t panic. She didn’t demand updates.

She just knew.

She knew when to check in, when to sit quietly, when to remind me to rest. She knew intuitively what I needed—often before I did.

And still… I was stuck in fear.

The Wake-Up Call I Don’t Take Lightly

Three months later, everything changed.

I had the scariest experience of my life—the one that truly shocked me into asking for help.

If you’re reading this, please hear me: please don’t make the same mistake I did.

I don’t take lightly that I could very well have died.

I was very, very sick—without even realizing how sick I was. A dangerously high fever. Body pain. Complete depletion. And still, I pushed through. I attended a conference I had dreamed of being accepted into. I arranged childcare. I showed up. I even took my daughter to her doctor’s appointment the next day.

But I was in so much pain that my husband drove me to a doctor while we were away. They ran a test they needed before I could start antibiotics. I did it. I started the antibiotics.

And I cried the entire four-hour drive back home.

I collapsed that morning. My body just gave out.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t get comfortable in bed. Every single thing hurt.

It wasn’t just exhaustion anymore. It was my body waving a white flag.

And still—my instinct wasn’t to ask for help.

It was my husband who finally called my mother.

And when she arrived, she didn’t hesitate.

She took over.

She did what villages do.

She took care of my daughter… and she fed me.

She called in more help.

Things were taken off my plate.

And for the first time in a long time, my nervous system wasn’t bracing. It was finally allowed to rest.

The Moment Everything Shifted

About a week later, something finally shifted.

I asked everyone around me for help.

Not carefully.

Not politely.

Not “only if it’s convenient.”

I asked like someone who finally understood the truth:

I cannot do this alone.

I asked for help with childcare so I could rest.

I canceled work. I canceled travel.

I asked colleagues to cover projects and step in.

And every single person I asked said yes.

Not reluctantly.

Not resentfully.

Willingly. Kindly. Immediately.

That was the moment I truly understood how deeply the “I can do it myself” myth had been running my life.

Spiritual Community Healing Is How We’re Wired to Heal

Many of us learned early on that needing others wasn’t safe.

Maybe support was inconsistent.

Maybe vulnerability was dismissed.

Maybe we learned to survive by becoming hyper-independent.

So now, even in adulthood, connection can feel like a risk instead of a resource.

But healing was never meant to be an individual performance.

Human nervous systems are relational by design. We regulate with each other—through tone of voice, facial expressions, shared laughter, quiet presence. This isn’t weakness. It’s biology. And it’s spiritual wisdom.

Sometimes the bravest healing move isn’t doing more.

It’s letting yourself be held.

The Spiritual Power of the Huddle

The power of belonging isn’t that others save you.

It’s that they remind you who you are when you forget.

A huddle doesn’t erase pain—but it makes it survivable.

It doesn’t fix you—but it reflects your wholeness back to you.

You were never meant to self-heal in isolation.

You were meant to be held—sometimes literally, sometimes energetically—by people who can stand in the cold with you and say, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

And if you ever forget that you’re not meant to do this alone—just picture Vondeling, calling out to the huddle, making sure no one drifts too far from the warmth.

Important Disclaimer

This post is shared from personal experience and is for emotional and educational support only. We are not doctors or medical professionals, and this is not medical advice. If you’re experiencing symptoms like fainting, fever, dehydration, heart-racing sensations, or anything that concerns you, please seek care from a qualified healthcare professional.

Everything here is shared as lived experience and nervous-system learning—not medical instruction. If you’re in a season of overwhelm, you deserve real support.

A Gentle Invitation ✨

You don’t have to earn your spot in the huddle.

You are worthy of support exactly as you are.

If you’re ready to start receiving more of the goodness life has to offer, our Free Abundance Guide is a gentle place to begin—no pressure, no fixing, just support.

Download the guide here →