Letting Go of the Comeback Story
By Michelle Labine PhD
May 2025
Everyone loves a good comeback story and for a long time I did too. In many ways I lived that narrative on repeat for decades. It is the familiar arc that appears everywhere around us, the dramatic fall followed by the triumphant rise, the rock bottom that becomes the turning point for transformation. The message is clear and comforting. The struggle is worthwhile if it leads to a powerful return, preferably the kind that is visible, impressive, and inspirational.
For years I held onto that story in my own life. I believed that if I could simply push through the difficult parts, whether that was burnout, grief, fatigue, or emotional dysregulation, I would eventually emerge stronger, clearer, and more balanced than before. I imagined that the hardship itself was the pathway to becoming a better version of myself, someone more focused, more organized, and somehow more whole. Over time I began to question whether that was really the goal.
For many late diagnosed Autistic and AuDHD women what we are recovering from is not a single moment of crisis or a short season of struggle. It is often the cumulative impact of decades spent masking, adapting, pushing ourselves beyond our limits, and performing versions of competence that the world rewarded. Many of us lived in systems that praised us for suppressing our needs while punishing us whenever our authentic selves became visible.
When we finally begin to loosen the grip of that survival mode we often expect that healing will deliver us to a refined version of the person we once were. We imagine we will return to being productive and capable in ways that feel healthier or more sustainable. We hope we will become more organized, less exhausted, and somehow able to manage everything that once overwhelmed us.
But over time I began to ask myself a different question. What if the goal is not to come back at all? What if the version of myself that looked high functioning from the outside was never sustainable in the first place?
The comeback story assumes that we will return stronger than before, that we will become a better version of who we used to be, and that our pain will serve as fuel for a new level of success. Yet many nervous systems are not longing to bounce back into the pace of the life that exhausted them. Instead, they are asking for something entirely different. They are asking for space to settle, to move more slowly, to rest in quiet, and to step away from the constant pressure to become the next improved version of ourselves.
Many people remain stuck in recovery mode because they continue to measure healing against standards that do not belong to them. They evaluate progress according to expectations that were built within systems that demanded productivity, consistency, and performance above everything else.
Letting go of the comeback story is not about giving up. It is about asking a new set of questions about how we want to live. It invites us to consider what we truly want now rather than what we once believed we should want before burnout reshaped our lives. It asks us to explore who we are when we are no longer performing competence for others and what kinds of rhythms actually feel supportive in our bodies rather than looking organized on a calendar. It also asks us to consider what we might be ready to release instead of focusing only on what we are trying to recover.
Sometimes the purpose of a difficult season is an invitation to root more deeply in a life that is slower, more aligned, and more sustainable. Instead of trying to rebuild the same structure with better strategies, we may begin to build something entirely different, a life that does not require constant recovery from the way we are living it.
I often return to a reflection about the parts of my life I am no longer willing to return to. It has become a kind of inventory of what once helped me survive but no longer supports the person I am becoming. I no longer want to push through exhaustion simply to meet expectations that were never truly mine. I no longer want to mistake busyness for meaning or feel compelled to explain and justify the limits my nervous system requires. I am no longer willing to shrink my needs to make others comfortable, perform competence in spaces that do not feel safe, or believe that rest must be earned through productivity. I am also letting go of the belief that my worth can be measured by output, consistency, or energy.
These realizations have become a new set of agreements I hold with myself, boundaries that help ensure I do not have to fracture or exhaust myself simply to be perceived as strong. Letting go of the comeback story has become a form of reclamation. It is a declaration that I am allowed to rebuild my life according to terms that reflect who I actually am now. It means allowing healing to unfold without turning it into another performance and allowing my life to look different from the one I once believed I needed to maintain.
This moment is not the dramatic climax of a movie or the final scene of a triumphant return. It is my life continuing to unfold according to its own rhythm. No comeback required.
What parts of myself have I been trying to come back to, and do they truly fit who I am now?
What expectations have I internalized about what healing is supposed to look like?
What does my nervous system actually need in this moment?
Where in my life am I still measuring progress according to old standards that no longer serve me?
What might it look like to root more deeply in this season of my life rather than trying to rise above it?
What rhythms, relationships, or routines am I no longer willing to return to?
What might unfold if I allowed becoming, rather than bouncing back, to guide the next chapter of my life?