Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings

Healing takes time, energy, and money—but what happens when you don’t have any of those things to spare?

Trauma survivors are constantly told that healing is a choice, that if we just find the right therapist, the right treatment, or the right support system, things will get better. What no one tells you is just how expensive, exhausting, and disheartening the search for help can be. The irony is that in trying to heal, I’ve often felt more broken than when I started.

Therapy—the most basic form of mental health support—is already inaccessible for many people. Even with insurance, coverage is often limited, forcing survivors to choose between getting help and paying their bills. And if you want to go beyond talk therapy to deeper healing techniques like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) or ART (Accelerated Resolution Therapy), you’re met with an even harsher reality: most of these treatments aren’t covered at all.

But therapy is only part of the equation. Many of us aren’t just struggling with our past—we’re struggling with our present. Healing is nearly impossible when you’re still stuck in an environment that is actively harming you. Trauma recovery requires safety, yet so many survivors are trapped in toxic relationships, abusive family dynamics, or financial instability with no way out. I’ve looked into wellness retreats, hoping to find a space where I could step away and truly focus on healing. But the moment I started googling “yoga retreats,” I laughed at myself—because who can actually afford that?

Even when you do find a therapist or a program that seems like it could help, you have to be careful. There are so many people out there selling false hope—people who prey on survivors looking for answers, pushing overpriced coaching programs and “miracle” treatments that do nothing but drain your wallet and your spirit. With so many different options, how do you even know where to start? How do you know who to trust?

The process of searching for the right help—both for my mental and physical health—has left me exhausted, discouraged, and at times, hopeless. I’ve had to fight just to be taken seriously, to be seen as more than a list of symptoms, to not have my pain dismissed or ignored. And I keep asking myself: How is anyone supposed to do this alone?

Because the truth is, many of us are alone.

I’ve done almost all of this by myself. My support system is small, but at least I have one—even if it’s “just” emotional support. And I say that with deep gratitude because I know even that is something not everyone has. It’s in those moments—when someone holds space for the big emotions, when someone reminds me that I’m not alone—that I find the strength to keep going. It’s in the rare days when I have enough “spoons” to have a dance party with my kids that I remember why I keep fighting to get better.

But I won’t lie: I don’t know where to turn anymore.

And that’s the problem. Healing shouldn’t be something we have to fight for. It shouldn’t be something only available to those with the right insurance, the right resources, or the right financial privilege. It shouldn’t feel like a full-time job just to navigate the system. Healing should be a right.

But until that changes, we are left trying to heal when we can’t afford to break.