Health alone is not enough

Can you feel whole without being healthy?

That question has been on my mind for quite some time.

In my work, I meet people with Long COVID who still live with significant physical limitations, yet gradually feel less broken. They experience more peace, greater trust, and a deeper connection with themselves. At the same time, I also know people whose bodies appear to function perfectly well, yet who never truly seem to feel at home within themselves.

It made me wonder.

Perhaps health and wholeness are not the same thing.

A definition that has endured

Since its founding in 1948, the World Health Organization has defined health as a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being. Despite decades of debate, this remains its official definition.

For me, the tension lies in one word: complete.

Taken literally, this definition would imply that anyone living with a chronic illness could never truly be healthy. That has never felt entirely right to me—not when I look at the people I work with, and perhaps not when you pause to reflect on it yourself.

Gradually, I began to look at health differently.

The Ayurvedic tradition offers another perspective. The concept of svastha is often translated as established in oneself or grounded in oneself. It shifts the focus from health as the absence of disease to the relationship a person has with themselves. It is not an alternative to the WHO definition, but it is a different way of looking at health.

Health and wholeness are not the same

For me, health primarily concerns how the body functions.

Wholeness is something different.

Wholeness is the experience of being able to experience yourself, your body and your life as one coherent whole. That does not mean everything is perfect. Nor does it mean that all symptoms have disappeared. It means being able to be present with what is, even when life is difficult, without constantly being at war with yourself or your body.

You can be physically ill and still experience greater peace, acceptance, connection and meaning.

And you can be physically healthy while feeling deeply unhappy, empty or alienated.

More than the body

This line of thinking led me to Aristotle.

He described the highest aim of human life not as health, but as eudaimonia - a flourishing and meaningful life in which a person can fully develop their potential. Health contributes to this, but it is not identical to it. Physical circumstances matter, but they do not tell the whole story.

I encounter a similar idea within yoga philosophy, although from a very different starting point. Rather than defining a person primarily through health, classical yoga describes the human being through different layers of experience, of which the physical body is only one. The Taittirīya Upanishad describes these as the five koshas: the physical body, vital energy, the mind, discernment, and a deeper dimension of inner fulfilment. They are not arranged in order of importance, but represent five simultaneous dimensions of the same human being.

Two traditions, separated by centuries and continents, yet beginning with the same question: not "What is health?" but "What is a human being?"

Why the word whole?

The word that has continued to occupy my thoughts is whole.

I realise it can also create resistance; as if being whole would mean that nothing is damaged, nothing is missing, nothing is broken.

That is not what I mean.

Whole does not mean undamaged. It means not being reduced to what has been damaged.

You can live with physical limitations, have lost abilities, and still remain whole because you are more than what no longer functions. Your body may be damaged. You remain a whole human being.

There is something fascinating about language here. The words heal, health, whole and holy all share the same linguistic roots, referring to ideas of wholeness and completeness. That does not prove a philosophical truth. But it does invite us to think differently about what healing might mean.

Perhaps healing is not about returning to who we once were.

Perhaps it is not about eliminating pain or limitations.

Perhaps it is about no longer experiencing ourselves solely as someone who is damaged or broken.

I recognise this idea beyond philosophy as well.

Jon Kabat-Zinn describes mindfulness as paying attention to the present moment, intentionally and without judgment.

Thich Nhat Hanh often spoke about coming home to yourself.

In different words, they describe something remarkably similar to what I witness in the yoga studio.

Healthy, yet empty - or ill, yet whole

I know people with healthy bodies who nevertheless feel deeply unhappy, directionless or empty.

And I know participants living with chronic illness who, despite their limitations, gradually rediscover peace, trust and connection.

This reminds me of Viktor Frankl's description of the existential vacuum—a sense of inner emptiness that can exist even when external circumstances appear perfectly fine.

Apparently, physical health alone is not always enough to feel connected, meaningful or truly at home within yourself.

Perhaps this also explains why yoga can sometimes contribute something valuable to healthcare.

Medical treatment rightly focuses on reducing disease and improving physical functioning.

Yoga, alongside that, may invite people to cultivate a different relationship with themselves, their bodies and their circumstances.

These approaches do not compete.

They complement one another.

Two movements

Sometimes I see participants who recover physically.

Sometimes I see participants whose symptoms hardly change, yet who experience greater peace, trust and quality of life. Both movements are valuable.

The first is physical recovery. The second is the rediscovery of wholeness. My work is aimed at creating conditions in which both become possible. I cannot promise recovery.

What I try to do is create conditions that support the body's and mind's natural regulatory and restorative capacities as well as possible. This may include rest, appropriate pacing, safety, mindful attention, breath, movement, connection and space to discover what is truly needed. Not to force recovery. But to support the body as well as possible.

Sometimes profound illness also brings new priorities, new insights or a deeper sense of meaning. Psychology refers to this as post-traumatic growth. This does not mean suffering is necessary or valuable, nor that everyone should grow through adversity.

It is simply one possible path alongside ongoing symptoms, loss and grief.

Why I am sharing this

This is not a new definition of health.

Nor is it a finished scientific theory.

It is a personal exploration, informed by my work as a yoga therapist, conversations with participants, scientific literature, mindfulness and yoga philosophy.

A conversation with a psychologist confirmed for me that this is not merely a yoga question. Psychology and healthcare are also searching for ways to take people's inner experience seriously without reducing it solely to measurable data.

What someone feels, experiences and finds meaningful cannot be fully captured by a scan, a blood test or a questionnaire.

That does not make those experiences any less real.

I believe that body and mind possess remarkable regulatory and restorative capacities when conditions are as supportive as possible. That does not mean recovery always occurs. Nor does it imply that people are somehow to blame when recovery does not happen.

What I do see is that some people recover physically while others do not, yet even when symptoms remain, people can rediscover a sense of wholeness: a feeling that, despite living in a changed body, they remain fully human.

For me, this thought captures the essence:

Health concerns how the body functions. Wholeness is not about having a body without illness or limitations. It is about the experience of not losing yourself as a human being, even in a changed body, and of being able to experience your life once again as a coherent whole.

The two often coincide.

But not always.

Perhaps healthcare ultimately needs both: attention to physical recovery wherever possible, and attention to the person who is more than their illness.

When I began writing this article, I thought I was writing about health.

Now I think the question gradually shifted into something more fundamental:

What is a human being, and what does a person need in order to feel whole, even when the body no longer fully is?

At the end of August, I will take this question with me to the ISLC-PAIS Conference in Amsterdam, where researchers, healthcare professionals and people living with PAIS and Long COVID from around the world will come together.

I am curious to hear how they think about it.

Perhaps my thinking will change.

Perhaps it will be confirmed.

Either way, dialogue helps deepen ideas.

To me, that is precisely the value of science: not defending a position, but searching together for a better understanding of health, recovery and what it means to be human.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Does health begin with the body, or perhaps with our understanding of what it means to be human?

🇳🇱 Nederlandse blog:

https://www.youarethebuddha.com/post/gezondheid-alleen-is-niet-genoeg

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Marlies Tobias is a yoga therapist in training, founder of Yoga Academy You Are The Buddha (Breda Central Station, The Netherlands), and an MSc student in Yoga Therapy at Vivekananda Yoga University (VaYU). She writes about health, yoga, and what it means to remain whole, even when the body is not.