Happy birthday to me! And this is a VERY special one.
For those who don’t know, I was a HUGE gym junkie before I got sick. I was in the best shape of my life – radiating health, strength, and wellness from every fibre of my being … and I LOVED it. Exercise was a big part of my identity; the gym was my happy place.
And then I got sick.
And just to rub salt into my wounds – exercise made me MORE sick.
And then I was housebound.
And then a wheelchair.
And then a stairlift.
The gym – plus a chunk of my identity, became a distant memory – and a seemingly impossible dream for my future.
Five years of inactivity, and five birthdays have passed without my traditional birthday workout. FIVE. Or … to really emphasise the point – HALF A FUCKING DECADE.
Incredibly, I am now able to return to the gym. This is a HUGE milestone, for which I am so grateful to my body for allowing me to do. I only go when I feel able, which isn’t as often as I would like – but being able to go at all is nothing short of a miracle. It’s still early days – yet already it has been one hell of a journey. A bloody hard, on one occasion terrifying, often-nauseating – yet utterly joyous and life-affirming journey (which I plan to write about in more detail soon).
A huge part of myself caged by ME and POTS for far too long has finally been set free. It emerged weak, emotional, and lacking in confidence – but over the last couple of months, I’ve been watching it rise like a phoenix. Or pizza dough, depending on my energy levels. Regardless, it is rising; I am reconnecting with myself, I am stronger, and I am so proud of my body for all it has achieved.
At last, I am back in my happy place. Happy birthday to me.