Stopping My Heart to Survive—On the Days I Kept Saying 'It Can't Be Helped'

Chapter 1 | Starting with the confession that 'I stopped feeling anything'

In work, there are situations where you have to cut people off.
You cut off those who 'can't keep up.' You don't protect them. You abandon them.

If you don't do that, your own position becomes precarious.
If you defend them, you become suspected. Your evaluation drops. You lose your role. Your income wavers.
And if there are people you have to support, that instability is no longer just your own problem.

As those days continued, at some point, I suddenly realized.

“I had stopped feeling anything about cutting people off.”

I want to place this sentence at the beginning.
Because this is neither a clean reflection nor a noble lesson.
Rather, it is closer to the “realization” that remained deep in my heart.

Perhaps many people will react in two directions here.

One is condemnation.
They might say, “You’re cold,” “That’s terrible,” or “What kind of person are you?”

The other is self-justification.
They might say, “It’s work, so it can’t be helped,” “It’s to survive,” or “The company is to blame,” ending the conversation about emotions entirely.

But what I want to write here is neither of those.

This is not a story about “cruelty.”
I think this is, rather, a story about the shutting down of senses that occurred in order to survive.

By nature, people cannot be insensitive to cutting others off.
If one can remain insensitive, it is not because they were a cold person from the start.
It is because they have passed through the same scene over and over, stepped on the same pain, carried the same guilt, and continued in a situation where they could not stop each time—
and as a result, the heart stops “feeling.”

What is important here is not that “not feeling” is correct.
It is actually the opposite; it is precisely because you would feel it that you need to stop it.

If you feel, hesitation is born.
If you hesitate, your judgment dulls.
If your judgment dulls, your work falls apart.
If your work falls apart, your life falls apart.
If your life falls apart, the people you must protect are put in danger.

In that chain of events, the heart learns.

“It’s dangerous to feel.”
“It’s safer not to feel.”

Ultimately, numbness is not malice, but adaptation.
In order for humans to survive as humans, they sometimes temporarily suspend certain functions.
That may not be something to be proud of.
But to dismiss it as “just cruelty” is probably also wrong.

And this is also the reason why I do not want this article to be a “justification.”

At that time, I did not think I was doing the right thing.
I was just telling myself, “It can’t be helped, in order to survive.”
In other words, I was not upholding righteousness; I was setting it aside.

So this is not a heroic tale.
It is not a story of “I did it by being cold-blooded.”
Also, it is not an accusation that makes one person the villain.
Of course, I don’t think the structure of the organization is irrelevant. But I am not writing this to end it by placing the responsibility elsewhere.

This article aims to address a more tangible realm.

The experience of “stopping one’s heart to survive” is not limited to a select few.

At work, at home, in society.
There are people who appear to be handling everything fine on the surface, while freezing something inside.
There are people who think, “It’s easier not to feel,” yet still harbor a sense of discomfort somewhere.

If you cannot dismiss this as someone else’s problem,
if there is a part of you that has repeatedly said, “It can’t be helped,”
this text is not meant to judge you or force a conclusion of salvation upon you, but rather,to go and see together “what was happening”to you.

Now, I intend to break this down bit by bit.
Why was numbness necessary?
What makes us do this?
And if the heart is to move again, under what conditions does that happen?

Chapter 2 | A Choice with No Options—It Was a Matter of Survival, Not Ethics

If we were to treat the change I wrote about in Chapter 1—that of “feeling nothing”—solely as a moral issue, the matter would be simple.
“Cold,” “wrong,” “what kind of person are you?”—that would be the end of it.

But what was actually happening was a different kind of pressure.

The situation I was in was not a place to choose between good and evil.
It was,a binary choice for survival.

The structure of “protecting someone else vs. protecting myself and my family”

If I don’t cut someone off, my position becomes precarious.
If my position becomes precarious, my evaluation drops.
If my evaluation drops, my income wavers.
If my income wavers, my life falls apart.

And if you have a family to support, having your life fall apart doesn’t just mean you are in trouble.
It means putting the people you are supposed to protect in danger.

At this point, reality takes this form.

• Protect someone right in front of you

• However, as a result, you lose your position and your own household sinks

Or conversely,

• Protect your own position and household

• However, to do so, you must cut off someone right in front of you

There is no “correct choice” here to begin with.
All that exists isthe distribution of loss.

Ultimately, this is not an ethics test, but a structure that forces you to decide the order in which things sink.
That is why the more conscience a person has, the more they suffer.
And when the suffering exceeds the limit, the heart begins to protect itself in the form of numbness.

The modern work environment where work, evaluation, and life are integrated

The reality behind why this binary choice exists is that work is no longer just a 'job'.

Work does not just generate income, but is also closely tied to:

• Evaluation (approval from others)

• Status (position within the community)

• Security (the conviction that one can live tomorrow)

• Self-esteem (the sense that one is not worthless)

Therefore, losing one's standing at work does not end with just 'a lower salary.'

It can cause the very foundation of one's existence to collapse.

And what is terrifying is that this collapse of the foundation often happens not in stages, but in a chain reaction.

• Once marked as a 'person who protects others'

• Deemed to have poor judgment

• Management ability is questioned

• No longer trusted with tasks

• Results are not produced

• Evaluation drops

• Status wavers

When this chain reaction comes to mind, people are forced to prioritize 'switching off' over 'feeling.' This is because the time spent feeling itself becomes a risk.

To begin with, there is a dynamic here that cannot be resisted by individual personality alone.

A place where you are forced to decide 'who sinks' rather than what is right or wrong

This is the point I most want to write about here.

In this kind of environment, discussions are not framed in terms of good or evil.
It is not about 'what is right,' but in practical terms, it comes down to this.

• Who will be cut loose in this situation?

• How much must be cut to meet the numbers and deadlines?

• Whose failure should this be processed as to keep the organization stable?

• Who will be the one assigned to take on the 'pain'?

In other words, what is being questioned is not righteousness, but processing capacity.
And the people with higher processing capacity are the ones who get made into the 'designated scapegoats'.

Within this structure, those who 'keep hesitating' or 'keep feeling pain' are gradually excluded.
Or rather, even if they aren't excluded, they break first.

Conversely, it is not because people who become increasingly numb are 'cold-hearted'.
There are cases where that person has simply endured for a long time, processed for a long time, and taken on burdens for a long time.

I didn't 'win' there, either.
I just survived.
And to survive, I gradually closed off the circuits through which my heart feels.

Organizing it as a structural problem, not an individual one

Therefore, it is easy to end this story by saying, 'You were cold-hearted.'
But if we do that, we lose sight of what is important.

As long as this structure remains, the same thing will happen to someone else.
In fact, the stronger a person's conscience and sense of responsibility, the more deeply they will become paralyzed.

Let's consider one thing here.
What we should be asking might not be 'who is to blame,' but a much deeper question.

Why does a situation where one cannot choose between good and evil become established as 'normal work'?
Why is cutting someone off evaluated as a 'skill'?
Why are those who do not cut others not protected?

In the next chapter, I will delve a little more carefully into how that 'numbness' occurs psychologically—especially from the perspective of attachment and safety.

Chapter 3 | Adaptation Called 'Numbness' Seen Through Attachment Theory

If I were to summarize what I wrote in Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 once more, it would be this.

• I became numb to discarding people

• That was not so much cold-heartedness as it was sensory blocking for survival

• And in the background of that, there was a structure where one could not choose between good and evil

Here, I would like to shift the perspective for a moment.
It is a perspective that redefines "paralysis" not as a personality issue or a moral defect, but as a fundamental mechanism of the human heart.

A clue to this is psychologist John Bowlby's Attachment Theory.

The Basics of Attachment Theory: Humans Need a 'Secure Base'

Attachment theory is originally known as a theory that deals with the relationship between children and caregivers.
However, and this is important, attachment does not end with childhood.
Even as adults, people need a "secure base" in invisible ways.

To put it extremely, the core of attachment theory is this.

People can only explore within relationships where they feel safe.

Exploration refers to learning something, taking on challenges, making judgments, recovering from failure, cooperating with others—in short, "living" in general.

When there is a secure base, people become like this.

• They have a place to return to even when anxiety rises

• They have a sense that the relationship will not be severed even if they fail

• That is why they can feel

• That is why they can think

• That is why they can maintain empathy for others

Conversely, when a secure base is lost, people prioritize "defense" over exploration.
This defense can sometimes manifest as what is known as "paralysis."

When a secure base is lost, people adapt by moving toward 'not feeling'

If we replace the talk of the workplace with the language of attachment theory, it goes like this.

• Cannot fail

• Cannot be uncertain

• Cannot show weakness

• There is no protective relationship (or it is unstable)

• And one's evaluation and livelihood are directly linked

Psychologically, this is close to a state where a 'secure base' is not functioning.

What happens to a person in this state?

In reality, they do feel.
Guilt, hesitation, and empathy all arise properly.
However, that "feeling", stops action, dulls judgment, slows down work, and ultimately endangers survival (income, status, livelihood).

Then, the heart learns something.

Feeling = Danger
Not feeling = Safety

And as this learning accumulates, emotions do not 'decrease' but 'close off'.
In a sense, a shutter comes down on the circuit that feels.

One must not misunderstand here: numbness is not 'emotionlessness'.
Numbness is, in many cases, not a state of having no emotions, but a state of avoiding contact with emotions as a result of the judgment that touching them is dangerous.

Numbness is not immaturity, but an 'adaptive strategy for adults who have lost safety'

The word 'numbness' has a somewhat 'degraded,' 'regressive,' or 'broken' ring to it.
However, from the perspective of attachment, numbness is actually highly rational.

In an environment without safety, people are forced to prioritize 'functioning' over 'feeling'.
This does not mean they have abandoned their humanity, but that they have entered a mode for human survival.

For example, one cannot keep crying in a dangerous place.
If you cry, you become a target. If you stop, it's over.
So the body stops the trembling, stops the tears, and puts pain on the back burner.
Something similar happens amidst social dangers.

Workplace dangers do not look like blades.
But the fear of one's livelihood being destroyed can be comparable to physical danger.

• Rent

• Tuition

• Caregiving

• Living expenses

• Family life

When these are at stake, people choose to 'endure' rather than 'feel'.

Therefore, it is easy to call numbness 'immaturity,' but that is not accurate.
It is, rather, an adult's strategy for adapting to an environment without safety.

Learning that 'the more I feel, the more dangerous it is / the less I feel, the safer it is' changes a person.

The reason numbness is terrifying is not because one becomes a cold person from the start.
On the contrary, the terror lies in the fact that someone who felt things at first gradually changes.

At first, it hurts.
You cannot sleep on the nights you cut things off.
You wonder, 'Was this the right thing to do?'
But there is work again tomorrow.
Life goes on. Responsibilities increase. The pressure mounts.

When that happens, the heart does this.

• It tries not to feel pain.

• It tries not to think.

• It tries to decide quickly.

• It tries to view hesitation as shameful (otherwise, one cannot endure).

This is not so much a corruption of character as it is an adaptation to the environment.
And if left unchecked, this adaptation seeps in until it looks like 'personality'.

In other words, numbness is not a single incident, but long-term learning through relationships and environment.

Redefining insensitivity not as 'pathology' but as a 'product of relationships'

I do not mean to romanticize numbness here.
If numbness continues, a person drifts further away from themselves.
The time spent 'setting aside' relationships with others, faith, and conscience grows longer.

However, if we dismiss numbness as pathology, the path to recovery is blocked.

If treated as pathology, what follows is 'correction'.
You are told, 'Feel more,' 'Be kinder,' 'Regain your humanity.'
But if you try to feel without a secure base, you will break again.

Attachment theory suggests the opposite.

Recovery begins not with effort, but with the restoration of safety.

In other words, before blaming insensitivity, this is what we must ask:

• Where was the secure base, or was there none?

• In front of whom were you able to show weakness?

• Was there a place where the relationship wouldn't break even if I failed?

• Was there any room to make decisions without gambling my livelihood?

Paralysis is not a personal defect.
It is a state created by relationships and the environment.
Therefore, if the relationships and environment change, people can change.

In the next chapter, I would like to delve deeper and explore, from the perspective of developmental psychology, how 'people who take on too much responsibility' are formed, why they are chosen by organizations, and where they reach their breaking point.

Chapter 4 | 'People Who Take on Too Much Responsibility' from the Perspective of Developmental Psychology

In Chapter 2, I summarized it this way.

There are places where you are not asked to choose between right and wrong, but rather
forced to decide 'who will sink.'
Within that, paralysis can occur as an adaptation for survival.

And in Chapter 3, from the perspective of attachment theory, I re-examined paralysis not as a 'pathology' but as an 'adaptation to an environment that has lost its safety.'

From here, I would like to add another layer: the perspective of developmental psychology.
Because even when placed in the same environment, there arepeople who are particularly 'prone to taking it on'.

These are people who are capable and sincere.
And ironically, the more they are like that, the more they are 'evaluated.'
They are evaluated, entrusted with tasks, relied upon, and expected to perform.
As a result, they sometimes break down.

Adult development is not completed by 'being able to shoulder responsibility'

Society often defines adult maturity this way.

• Able to shoulder responsibility

• Not swayed by emotions

• Able to make decisions without hesitation

• Able to produce results

That is certainly 'competence.'
However, from the perspective of developmental psychology, that is only a part of maturity.

Maturity is not simply being able to shoulder a burden.
It is being able to choose whether to shoulder it or not,
being able to recover yourself after shouldering it,
and furthermore,being able to have boundaries so you don't shoulder too much.

People who can shoulder burdens are not necessarily mature.
People who can only shoulder burdens are actually in a precarious position.

I think this is a point that is easily overlooked in adult development.

True maturity: Being able to feel / Being able to set boundaries / Being able to separate one's role from one's self

I would like to define true maturity as these three things.

1) Being able to feel

A mature person does not stop feeling.
Rather, they are able to feel.
They can accept guilt, pain, and uncertainty.

However, what is important is to be able to feel without being 'swallowed up.'
Instead of feeling and falling apart, one can take a step back after feeling.

2) Being able to set boundaries

Boundaries are not coldness.
Boundaries are not irresponsibility.
Boundaries are the lines that allow you to say, 'Beyond this point is not my responsibility.'

A person without boundaries is not kind; they are vulnerable.
Without boundaries, a person can be 'used' indefinitely.
And it becomes difficult to notice that one is being used.

3) Being able to separate one's role from one's self

Even if you take on a work role, your 'true self' does not become entirely that role.
Maturity is being able to step down from a role after playing it.

When a role and the self merge, this happens:

• Failure at work = I have no value

• Lower evaluation = I am finished as a human being

• Unable to meet expectations = My existence is denied

When this happens, people follow 'evaluation' rather than 'what is right.'
And to avoid losing that evaluation, they move toward stopping their hearts.

What organizations prefer are 'people onto whom they can safely project their emotions'

This is where things get a bit painful.

What organizations truly prefer are not just people who can do the work.
Of course, ability is necessary, but even more convenient are people like this:

• Those who keep the work moving even while carrying guilt

• Those who take on tasks without complaining

• Not breaking the atmosphere

• Swallowing contradictions

• Being able to play the role of the one who cuts others off (and enduring it in silence)

In short, a person who processes the organization's anxiety and guilt on its behalf.

In other words, a person who can become an emotional trash can. This is not an insult, but a description of the structure.

The decision to cut someone off always comes with filth.
There is filth that the entire organization should originally bear.
However, the organization does not disperse it, but often concentrates it at a single point.

“This person can probably do it”
“This person will probably endure it in silence”
“This person will probably be able to compartmentalize it”

In this way, responsibility gathers, pressure gathers, and the role of the 'dirty worker' becomes fixed.

And what is scary is that this phenomenon is wrapped in words like “trust” and “evaluation”.

• I have expectations for you

• You are the only one for this

• You are the only one I can entrust this to

• This is an opportunity for growth

Behind those words, what is actually happening is the concentration of emotional burden.

The paradox of “breaking down as a result of being evaluated”

Herein lies a paradox.

People with low ability are not entrusted with heavy decisions in the first place.
Irresponsible people are also difficult to use as 'dirty workers'.
People who do not feel are conversely unsuitable as guilt-processing agents.

Therefore, responsibility gathers in many cases on those who are,

• sincere and

• have the capacity to feel

• Without running away,

• the person who still manages to get the work done,

in other words, the person who should actually be fragileis the one who gets burdened.

And that person gets "evaluated". The more they are evaluated, the more difficult the situations they face become. The more difficult the situations become, the more often they have to cut things out. The more often they cut things out, the more numbness becomes necessary.

Even though evaluation should be a reward,
sometimes evaluation becomes proportional to the "depth of numbness".

Ultimately, this is not because the individual's heart is weak.
The structure "optimizes" certain types of people.

Are 'people who take on too much responsibility' like that from the start?

In many cases, they are not like that from the beginning.

Small acts of taking on responsibility are praised.
Once you take something on, you are asked again next time.
If you don't refuse, your reliability increases.
If your reliability increases, it becomes harder to refuse.
In this way, taking things on becomes part of your personality.

In that process, your boundaries thin out.
The circuits that feel things close off.
You become unable to step down from your role.

And one day, you suddenly realize.

“I had stopped feeling anything.”

The words in Chapter 1 are formed this way.

The next question to look at

If you feel a stirring somewhere in your chest after reading this far, that is likely the core of it.

• Why is responsibility handed over in a way that makes it 'impossible to refuse'?

• Why are people who have boundaries less likely to be evaluated?

• Why do those who "feel" the most end up having to become the most numb?

In the next chapter, I want to delve into the relationship between this 'numbness' and 'faith (or conscience).'.
Why is it that even though faith can be a "secure base", it is set aside when real-world dangers are strong?
And what are the conditions for what was set aside to return?

Chapter 5 | The workings of the heart that tell itself 'it can't be helped'

"It can't be helped."

How many times have I told myself these words?
And how often must people have thought of these words as a flimsy excuse?

Certainly, there are people in this world who use "it can't be helped" as a license to trample on others.
But the "it can't be helped" I kept repeating had a slightly different texture.

It wasn't a justification.
It wasn't an idealization either.
It was a more desperate, more impoverished phrase.

A minimal support beam needed to keep from collapsing.
That is what "it can't be helped" was to me.

Not self-justification, but the minimal words to prevent self-collapse

If I could have truly believed it was "right," I wouldn't have needed such words.

"This is justice."
"This is only natural."
"It's the fault of those who are late."
"It's self-responsibility if you get cut."

Those kinds of words are certainly strong.
Once you say them, your heart feels lighter.
You can simplify the world.

But I couldn't simplify it that much.
That's why I couldn't say it was "right."
What I said instead was, "It can't be helped."

Instead of saying it's "right,"
I tell myself, "This is to survive."

This difference may seem small, but it is decisive.

"Right" repaints the world in black and white.
"It can't be helped" is the language of someone who must keep moving without being able to paint it black and white.

In the end, those words were not a license but a temporary beam to keep myself from collapsing.

I didn't discard my conscience; I survived while carrying it

There is something I don't want to be misunderstood here.

The reason I said "it can't be helped" was not because I lacked a conscience.
It was, in fact, the opposite: because I had a conscience.

If your conscience works, it hurts.
If it hurts, you want to stop.
If you stop, your life falls apart.
If it falls apart, the people you need to protect are put in danger.

Therefore, without being able to erase my conscience itself, I kept moving while trying not to touch it.
I kept the work going by trying not to feel.
I moved forward while carrying something deep within my heart.

This state is far more exhausting than it looks from the outside.

If you have no conscience, conflict does not arise in the first place.
There is no guilt, either.
You might even sleep well at night.

But for those who still have a conscience, it is not that simple.
Somewhere in your heart, a bell is ringing, saying 'this is wrong.'
You have to make the next decision while trying not to hear it.

This "double life" deepens the numbness.

The decisive importance of the point that 'I did not think it was right'

At the time, I did not think I was doing the right thing.
This is not an excuse, but a fact.

And I believe this one point is decisively important.

Because when people become completely numb, in many cases, a sense of 'righteousness' is granted to them.
It is not just insensitivity that sustains the numbness.
You need an ideology to justify that insensitivity.

• That is just how work is

• It is immature to bring emotions into this

• It is the fault of those who cannot do it

• People who hesitate are weak

• A leader who cannot make the hard cuts is disqualified

Once such 'righteousness' solidifies, people stop getting hurt.
Or rather, they stop admitting they are hurt, even though they are.

In that sense, the feeling that 'I did not think it was right' is both a pain and a hope.
Because I still had that pain, I had not yet completely gone over to "that side".

To begin with, it is painful to have pain remain.
But having pain remain also means that your conscience is still alive.

It was precisely because my conscience remained that I needed the numbness

Here, I will write the most paradoxical thing.

The reason I needed numbness was not because my conscience was weak.
The reason I needed numbness was because my conscience was "strong".

People with a strong conscience feel things.
People who feel things cannot repeat the same actions.
When placed in a situation where they must repeat them, people who feel things break.

Therefore, to avoid breaking, they shut down their feeling circuits.
And those shut-down circuits eventually manifest as 'feeling nothing'.

Coldness is not a personality trait from the start, but can occur as a freezing of the conscience to protect it. If you misinterpret this, recovery becomes difficult.
If you misinterpret this, recovery becomes difficult.

This is because recovery ends up becoming a matter of moralizing—things like 'be kinder' or 'feel more.'
If people try to feel without having safety, they will break again.
That is precisely why, as I wrote in the previous chapter, recovery requires a 'secure base.'

And there is one more important thing.

There is a moment when a person who has been repeating 'it can't be helped' can no longer repeat it.
That is not because their heart has become weak.
Rather, it is because their heart has begun to come back to life.

It is because the conditions that made it unnecessary to support oneself with 'it can't be helped' have gradually fallen into place.

Placing a question to step outside of 'it can't be helped'

At the end of this chapter, I will not provide a conclusion.
It is still too early to draw conclusions.

However, I do want to leave a question behind.

• If there had been even one word other than 'it can't be helped' back then, what would it have been?

• If there were an environment where I didn't have to say 'it can't be helped,' what would be needed there?

• And now, how safe have I become to be able to speak like this?

In the next chapter, I will finally step into the choice of 'setting faith aside.'
It was precisely because my conscience remained that I could not abandon my faith.
Even so, I had no choice but to set it aside.
At that time, what had my faith become? That is what I want to talk about.

Chapter 6 | The Choice to 'Set Aside' Faith

I did not abandon my faith.
I did not deny it.
I did not destroy it, nor did I betray it.

I simply set it aside.

This phrasing is the closest.
Even to me, it is strange how no other words feel quite right.

To say 'abandoned' implies a severance.
To say 'denied' implies hostility.
But what I was doing was neither severance nor hostility, but suspension.

If I touched it, it hurt.
If I looked at it, I would crumble.
However, that does not mean I thought it was meaningless.

That is why I set it aside.
I set it aside, pretended it was out of reach, and kept going with my life.
To eat, to protect, to keep from losing my position.

The feeling of 'setting it aside'—not that I abandoned it, but that I could not touch it

Faith is, by nature, something that supports the heart.
When you are suffering, praying brings salvation.
When you are lost, it becomes a place to return to.

When people say that, I truly believe it is the truth.
However, reality sometimes takes the opposite form.

The more genuine one's faith is,
the more painful it becomes to return to it at a certain point.

Why?

Faith does not just calm the heart;
it illuminates what is inside you.
It awakens your conscience.
It throws questions at you, asking, 'Is this really okay?'

But in the environment I was in, there was no room to face those questions.
If I faced the questions, I would stop.
If I stopped, I would collapse.
If I collapsed, the people I had to protect would be in danger.

In other words, I did not lose my faith, but ratherI became unable to touch my faith.

I think this is important.

I didn't set it aside because my faith had become a lie.
The more true my faith was, the less I could hold onto it at the same time.

Because my faith and conscience were genuine, I could not hold onto them at the same time.

As I wrote in Chapter 5, I did not think it was 'right' at the time.
That is precisely why I had no choice but to repeat, 'It can't be helped.'

Here, the position of faith overlaps.

If faith had been merely a decoration, a habit, or a badge of belonging,
I might have been able to work while holding onto it.

I could have even transformed my faith into a convenient form.

• Convincing myself by saying, 'This, too, is a trial from Heaven'

• Cutting off others by saying, 'It is for the sake of justice'

• Escaping guilt by using 'myself with faith' as a shield

But I did not do that.
It might be more accurate to say I could not.

The more genuine faith is,
the more internal resistance arises when using it as a tool for justification.

Faith is hard to turn into a convenient indulgence.
It is the opposite.
Faith refuses to grant absolution.
It tells you, 'Deep down, you know the truth.'

That is why I could not hold both at the same time.

I did not set it aside because my faith was weak.
I had to set it aside because my faith was strong.

This paradox might be difficult for those who do not know religion to understand.
However, I believe it is a feeling that anyone who has ever held faith can nod to somewhere deep down.

The integrity of not using faith as a tool for justification

I do not mean to romanticize myself here.
But I want to write this down as a fact.

I did not use faith as a tool to judge others.
I did not cast anyone aside in the 'name of faith.'
I did not use the 'name of faith' to absolve myself, either.

Instead, I set faith itself aside.

This is not a noble attitude.
Rather, it is a weakness.
It may even look like escapism.

But at the very least, I did not choose to keep holding onto faith in a way that would tarnish it.
I chose not to touch it rather than tarnish it.
I still cannot say for sure whether that was my integrity or just fear.

All I can say is that the moment I turned faith into a tool for justification,
I believe I became a completely paralyzed human being.

If I could use faith as a shield,
I wouldn't even have to say 'it can't be helped.'
I wouldn't have to doubt myself.

That might be an easier way to live.
However, that ease comes at the cost of something decisive.

Describing it not as religious betrayal, but as a pause in faith

Even after writing this much, there will still be those who say, 'That is betrayal.'
That faith is something you must always hold onto.

But I do not want to speak of faith as an ideal.
I want to speak of faith as something I actually lived.

Living faith sometimes stops.
Or rather, it becomes impossible not to stop it.

In the language of attachment theory, in the midst of extreme anxiety or fear,
people prioritize 'defense' before 'feeling' or 'connecting.'
Since faith is also a connection, it is affected by that as well.

In other words, a pause in faith is not a fall from grace, but
a natural reaction that occurs in the absence of safety.

That is why I do not say I 'lost my faith.'
I do not say I denied my faith, either.
I simply set it aside.
In order to survive.

And I believe the reason I am able to put it into words like this now,
is because the conditions that no longer require me to keep it set aside have gradually returned.

So, will the faith I set aside return?

It is not guaranteed to return.
And it is not guaranteed to return in the same form as before.

However, there is one thing that is certain.

The fact that you set it aside means it is still there.

You did not throw it away.
You did not destroy it either.
You simply placed it in a position where you cannot touch it for now.

In the next chapter, I would like to talk about what happens from here.
I wrote in Chapter 3 that the heart begins to move again not through effort, but through the restoration of safety.
So, under what conditions does faith begin to function as a 'secure base' once more?
And when what was set aside returns, what does a person recover, and what can they change?

I will write about what follows, carefully.

Chapter 7 | Why I Can Speak of It Now—The Developmental Stages of Recovery

Those who have read this far might perhaps think the following.

“Why are you able to put this into words now?”
“Why now, and not back then?”

I myself have repeated that question many times.

Back then, I could not speak of it.
Or rather, there was no room to speak.
If I spoke, I would stop. If I stopped, I would collapse. If I collapsed, I could not protect myself.
That is why I stopped not only feeling, but alsospeakingitself.

And yet, here I am, writing this now.

This fact may be more important than the content of the events themselves.
Because being 'able to speak' is not merely a matter of expression, but indicatesa change in the state of the heart.

Being able to see the 'paralyzed self' from the outside

I can now write that I had 'stopped feeling anything.'
There is a subtle but decisive distance here.

If I were still completely within that paralysis, I would write like this:

• “That is the job.”

• “It is only natural.”

• “It is the fault of those who get cut.”

• "Don't bring your emotions into this."

In other words, it is a narrative where I am “identifying” with the state of being paralyzed. There is no doubt, no sense of discomfort, and no reflection there.
But now, I am telling the story differently.

However, the way I tell it now is different.

"I was becoming paralyzed."
"I lived with my heart stopped."
"I set my faith aside."

This is neither affirming nor condemning the state I was in at the time. It is simply
looking at it as an object.

This single point of "being looked at as an object" is very significant.

Paralysis is a state of not feeling, but it is also a state of not seeing oneself. Because if you see it, you stop. So, you keep moving by not seeing.

Conversely, I am at least "seeing" now. I have more of a foothold than before, enough that I won't collapse even if I do see.

This is a narrative from a later stage, after having exited survival mode.

I don't want to use the word 'recovery' lightly here. But even so, there are 'stages'.

The human heart has a mode that prioritizes survival above all else. While in that mode, a person cannot handle 'meaning'.

All that can be handled is,

• getting through today

• surviving tomorrow

• maintaining one's standard of living

• maintaining one's reputation

• protecting one's family

That is all.

At this stage, looking back at the past becomes a luxury. Facing one's own emotions becomes dangerous. Words are used for action, not for introspection.

That is why I could not speak back then. Because speaking would lower the “
speed required to survive”.

The fact that I can talk about it now means, at the very least,

that the conditions for no longer needing to remain numb in order to survive have gradually fallen into place

I believe that is what it means.

In other words, I have finally reached a point where I can handle 'meaning.'
This is a movement that belongs to the latter stages of recovery.

Recovery is not about 'returning to how things were,' but about accepting what happened.

When people hear the word 'recovery,' many imagine 'returning to normal.'

• Becoming kind like before

• Having faith return like before

• Being able to cry like before

• Being able to trust people like before

However, in reality, 'returning to normal' is often difficult.
Because we have 'changed'.

That is not deterioration.
It is a change carved by experience.

I believe the core of recovery is not about returning to how things were, but rather this:

Becoming able to accept what happened as the person you are now.

• Why numbness was necessary at that time

• What kind of structure made it happen

• What I protected, what I lost, and what I froze

• What the price for that was

Do not close these off with 'it can't be helped.'
But do not crush yourself with 'it was my fault.'
In the space between those two, put it into words.

I am now trying to stand in that space between.

And here, there is hope.
Because to be able to accept it also means thatyou can choose your future again.

However, I want to add a note of caution here.

Accepting is not a refreshing form of salvation.
Rather, it is painful.
Because the balance you maintained by not looking is shattered.

Recovery does not always arrive as a comforting light, but sometimes as a blinding reality.

Offering hope, but not easy salvation

Common stories always have a prepared ending.

“It was hard, but I’m okay now.”
“So everyone, please do your best.”
“Faith saved me.”
“Before I knew it, I had grown.”

Those kinds of conclusions are easy to read.
However, I do not want to shape it that way here.

Because real recovery is not such a straight line.

The day after you think you’ve returned, you freeze up again.
Even though you thought you had forgiven, anger suddenly emerges.
Even though you thought you were fine, your body turns cold in the same situation.

Recovery includes both progress and regression.
And it is not something that ever truly ends.

That is why I will not provide a conclusion of salvation here.
However, there is one thing I can say.

The fact that you are able to speak about it now is proof that the numbness was not your 'true self'.

Numbness is not a personality.
It was an adaptation to a situation.
If it is an adaptation, it can change if the conditions change.

In the next chapter, I want to write about those 'conditions'.
I stated in Chapter 3 that the heart begins to move not through effort, but through the restoration of safety.
So, what exactly is safety?
What kind of sustained safety allows what has been frozen to melt little by little?

I intend to move on to that topic.

Chapter 8 | The heart begins to move through safety, not effort

Up to this point, I have not judged 'numbness' as a vice, but have re-examined it as an adaptation that occurred in order to survive.

• There was a structure where one could not choose between good and evil (Chapter 2)

• When a secure base is lost, people lean toward defense (Chapter 3)

• The more people take on too much responsibility, the more they are praised while falling apart (Chapter 4)

• "It can't be helped" was a prop that prevented collapse (Chapter 5)

• Faith was not abandoned, but set aside (Chapter 6)

• And now, I have reached a point where I can speak about it (Chapter 7)

At the very end, there is one thing I want to say strongly.

The heart does not start moving through willpower. It starts moving through safety.

Try to be kind, try to feel, try to regain your faith—
Such words are beautiful, but they often destroy real recovery.

This is because numbness is not "not feeling," but rather
the result of learning that feeling is dangerous—that is why.

If you try to feel while still in danger, the heart will close again.
Therefore, recovery becomes a matter of "conditions," not "willpower."

Recovery conditions in attachment theory = sustained safety

Attachment theory may look like it is about children, but it actually applies directly to adult recovery as well.
When there is a secure base, people can explore.
When there is no secure base, people defend themselves.

The "safety" referred to here is not about mood or atmosphere.
And it is certainly not just about "being spoken to with kind words."

Safety is something more physical, practical, and repetitive.

• Even if you fail, there is always tomorrow

• A single mistake will not sever the relationship

• Your reputation will not collapse if you express weakness

• Your life will not instantly end if your position is shaken

• You will not be abandoned if you say no

This "sustained safety" changes the heart little by little.

It is not cured all at once by a major event.
It is not changed by persuasion.
As a result of safety continuing, it thaws on its own.

Ultimately, recovery does not come from 'trying hard,' but from 'continued safety.'

A place where you are not rejected even if you do not act with righteousness

As I wrote in Chapter 2, in reality, there are places where you cannot act with 'righteousness.'
Places where you are not asked to choose between good and evil, but are forced to decide how to distribute the sinking.

As long as you are in such a place, no matter how much you reflect or pray, it is difficult for your heart to recover.
This is because what is needed for recovery is not 'righteousness,' butthe room to not be rejected even if you cannot act with righteousnessitself.

This is often misunderstood.

Recovery is not about 'becoming a righteous person.'
Recovery is about no longer having to punish yourself for 'not being able to act with righteousness.'

• Being able to stay in a community without having to uphold righteousness

• Being treated as a human being even if you cannot make the right decisions

• Having relationships continue even if you are not morally perfect

In such a place, a person is finally allowed to 'feel.'

Feeling does not lead to collapse.
Feeling does not end your life.
Feeling does not mean being abandoned by someone.

These conditions are what undo the paralysis.

An environment where you do not have to stop your heart to eat

And at the root of this article is a more direct reality.

Not having to stop your heart to eat.

Before 'reclaiming one's heart,'
the problem was 'a state where one cannot live without stopping one's heart.'

Therefore, if we are to talk about recovery, we must address this, not just pretty words.

• Income that is not too unstable

• A life that does not collapse in a single blow

• Resignation or transfer not immediately resulting in 'ruin'

• There are systems and support services you can consult.

• There are safety nets for when things get tough.

These are not just matters of willpower; they are the foundation of recovery.

Conversely, if you wish to 'reclaim your heart' while your life is constantly on the edge, your heart will continue to defend itself appropriately.

Defense is not evil.
Defense is a function for survival.

That is why, if you try to manage things through “willpower” without changing your environmental conditions, you will only suffer twice as much.

• Blaming yourself for being numb

• But you cannot survive without being numb

• So your self-loathing deepens even further

The key to breaking this loop is not effort, but safety.

Things set aside will naturally return when the conditions are right.

In Chapter 6, I wrote that I did not 'discard' my faith, but 'set it aside.'
This is not just about faith.

There are many things that get set aside.

• Conscience

• Sensitivity

• The desire to cherish someone

• Prayer

• Dreams

• The sense that it is actually okay to be angry

• The sense that you are actually sad

They did not disappear.
They simply became inaccessible.

And what unlocks that inaccessibility is not determination.
It is conditions.

When safety continues, people gradually regain things.
Or rather than regaining, it is more like they just come back on their own.

One day, you suddenly react to someone else's pain.
One day, you suddenly find yourself in tears.
One day, you suddenly want to say, 'This is wrong.'
One day, a prayer suddenly escapes your lips.

This is less a result of effort and more akin to
a natural phenomenon resulting from reduced danger.

Presenting recovery as a matter of 'environment' rather than 'will'

That is why I want to rephrase recovery as follows.

• It is not about becoming stronger.

• It is not about becoming righteous.

• It is not about becoming pure.

It is about being able to place yourself in a place where safety continues.
And from there, little by little, your heart begins to move on its own.

Of course, changing your environment is not easy.
There are life circumstances. There are responsibilities.
That is precisely why I cannot offer an irresponsible conclusion here.

However, I believe one thing is certain.

Trying to change only your heart while your environment remains the same is often cruel.

Conversely, if the environment changes even slightly, the heart can change more than you might think.
Because numbness is not a personality trait, but an adaptation.

Toward the final chapter

What I wanted to say in this chapter is,
not 'if you try hard, you can get it back,'
but 'if safety continues, it will return.'

The question I want to pose next is likely this.

What kind of safety do I want?
What needs to continue for me to no longer need to stop my heart?
What are the conditions for having words other than 'it can't be helped'?

In the final chapter, I would like to land quietly while holding onto that question.

Final Chapter | Searching for Words Other Than 'It Can't Be Helped'

Having written this far, one thing is clear.

I still do not have the answers.

What was right?
Were there really other choices back then?
In what form will faith return, or will it not?
To what extent will the numbness thaw?
Can I ever live again without stopping my heart?

None of these are things I can assert right now.

However, there is still one certain change.

I am now standing in a place where I can set down my questions.

I will not provide answers yet

In the past, I could not set down my questions.
Questions were a luxury.
Questions make you stop in your tracks.
Questions put your life at risk.

That is why I used the phrase 'it can't be helped' to block out those questions.

It was not an escape.
It was a necessary, minimal measure to survive.

Even now, it is not as if 'it can't be helped' has become completely unnecessary.
Reality remains harsh.
There are responsibilities.
There are places I cannot easily walk away from.

That is why I will not present a new answer here.
'This is how I will live from now on'
'Everything has turned into meaning'
I cannot use words like those yet.

Not being able to use them also means I do not want to lie.

However, I have come to a place where I can set down my questions

Even so, there is a decisive difference.

I no longer have to close everything off with 'it can't be helped.'
I do not have to freeze my questions the moment I feel them.

• Why did I carry so much back then?

• What did I protect, and what did I sacrifice?

• Where were my conscience and my faith placed?

• From here on, under what conditions will I be able to live without stopping my heart?

These questions do not yet have answers.
But the very fact that they exist as questions is a change in itself.

To be able to hold a question means
that I no longer have to run solely in survival mode.

To be able to set a question down means
that I do not have to completely disconnect from myself.

As a question for those who have survived to take on next

If you, who have read this far, felt a tug at your heart somewhere,
it may be because you, too, have had your own version of 'it can't be helped'.

To live,
to protect,
to take on responsibility,
you are someone who has stopped your heart.

That is not a shame.
That is not a defeat.

That is the history of a survivor.

And what a survivor takes on next
is not 'to become stronger',
nor 'to become more righteous'.

It is to try to accept what happened, even if it is after the fact.

It hurts.
It takes time.
There are times when I return to 'it can't be helped' along the way.

Even so, as long as I do not let go of the question,
I continue to hold the possibility of connecting with my own senses once again.

Words other than 'it can't be helped', from now on

From now on, I will
search for words other than 'it can't be helped'.

They may not be grand words.
They may not be words that are religiously refined or philosophically complete.

Simply,
not just to survive,
but words to accept that I am living.

If I cannot find them, I will keep searching.
The act of searching itself is already different from before.

In the end,
perhaps more than finding answers,
being able to keep holding onto questions
is what keeps a person human.

I am standing at that point now.

Quietly.
Still unfinished.