Doing the Work: What No One Tells You About Rock Bottom and Real Change

We hear it all the time—"do the work." It’s the refrain of therapists, coaches, and well-meaning people on Instagram. And sure, it sounds good. Empowering, even. But what does it actually mean?

This post isn’t a how-to. It’s not a list of things to check off. It’s an honest reflection on what “the work” has meant for me, and why it really only truly begins once you hit bottom. 

Hitting Bottom Isn’t Always Loud (But It Is Honest)

When people think of bottoming out, they imagine chaos. Addiction, loss, heartbreak, something explosive. And sometimes, yeah, it is. But other times, it’s subtle. It’s numbness. It’s realizing you’ve been performing awareness without actually changing. Or seeing the same relational patterns replay over and over, with slightly different faces and slightly worse outcomes.

Bottom came to me at my first apartment, no cave, soon after I moved out of the family home on the path to divorce. Prior to that, I had had many therapy sessions and learned a lot, but it had not hit fully yet. Bottom, for me, was when loneliness collided with the realization that I was choosing it. Not passively—actively. I had built systems, routines, relationships that kept me emotionally isolated while convincing myself I was connected. And when that truth hit? There was no one left to blame.

This wasn’t a dramatic crash. It wasn’t homelessness or addiction. It was the painful clarity of seeing how I was contributing to my own discontent—and having no more excuses to hide behind. That’s what I mean by hitting bottom. It’s not about chaos. It’s about reaching a level of self-reflection deep enough that it breaks the illusion that anyone else is responsible for your patterns.

That moment? That’s when the deconstruction ends and the rebuilding begins.

They say someone can only learn when they’re ready to hear it. Bottom is when all these new smart terms are realized, and not just a word. Like the word “boundaries” it hit differently—a term I heard and discussed many times prior, but now integrated into my life in a clear way.

The Work Is Radical Self-Honesty

Doing the work is sitting down and saying: what am I avoiding? Where am I complicit in my own suffering? It’s easy to spot who hurt you. Harder to face how you’ve betrayed yourself.

And no—this doesn’t mean shame or self-blame. It means learning to hold yourself accountable with compassion. To tell the truth to yourself even when it’s inconvenient. Especially when it’s inconvenient.

That’s what changed everything for me.

But here’s the hard part no one likes to say out loud: it’s also easy to fake doing the work. To intellectualize it. To talk about your trauma eloquently, repeat quotes from youtube videos, or books. To look emotionally fluent on the outside but avoid the actual discomfort of changing.

Sometimes the more someone claims they’ve "done the work," the more I worry. Because real work tends to make you humble. Cautious. Less performative. It shows in behavior more than branding.

That’s one of my fears, honestly—both in myself and in others. That we can become fluent in the language of healing without ever touching the actual process.

So What Does the Work Actually Look Like?

For me, it’s not one thing. It’s a mix of:

• Journaling not to vent, but to notice patterns
• Using emotional tools like the feelings wheel to get specific about what’s really happening inside
• Checking for projections: am I reacting to this person, or to something old?
• Revisiting inner child moments—not to stay stuck there, but to integrate
• Practicing self-forgiveness, not just insight
  
  

It’s also noticing when I want to bypass pain with productivity or caretaking. When I’d rather help someone else than sit with my own discomfort.

It’s Ongoing (and Imperfect)

Here’s the part nobody tells you: the work doesn’t end. There’s no certificate. No badge. It’s less like climbing a ladder and more like tending a garden. You’ll revisit the same themes. You’ll think you’re done with something, and then it shows up in a new disguise.

And that’s okay.

Another misconception? That at some point, you'll have gathered enough insight and tools to prevent all the behaviors that once hurt you—or others. But the reality is, we don’t erase our patterns. We build a library of tools to recognize them sooner, respond with more grace, and repair with more honesty.

For me, one of the biggest patterns has been inventing stories in my head—reacting to imagined scenarios as if they were real. Under stress or mental fatigue, I still slip into this. One of the tools I’ve developed is the phrase: If I didn’t see it or hear it, it didn’t happen. That helps. But sometimes, the old reaction still shows up. And that’s where the next layer of work kicks in.

The work becomes: How quickly can I spot it? Can I forgive myself for the slip? Can I re-regulate and take responsibility without spiraling?

That’s the deeper layer. Not perfect behavior—but more resilient repair.

My Reframe

Doing the work isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were before the coping, before the masking, before the burnout.

It’s about becoming honest. Becoming accountable. Becoming free.

It’s not easy. But it’s real. And if you’ve hit that quiet bottom—or feel it approaching—you’re not broken.

You’re just at the beginning.

More of this work lives in my writing, my mentorship conversations, and my own daily practice. If this resonates, let’s keep the dialogue open.

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