Remember when I said I never really get properly ill?

Yeah. I take it back.

It started two Saturdays ago - May 31st. I was sat on the sofa, trying to write through the kind of mental fog that makes you question whether you're tired, sad, overwhelmed - or just all three. I figured it was the emotional hangover from some bad news the day before. 

Later that day, the nausea started. Slowly, almost quietly. I ignored it. I even went out that evening to meet friends, half-drinking weak shandies and forcing down an alcohol-free beer. I was convincing myself it was nothing. Tiredness, maybe. Stress. Definitely not real illness.

But by the early hours of the morning, it was very real. 

I haven’t been that ill in years. Fever. Chills. Nausea. Completely drained. I kept crawling back to bed between waves of sickness, unable to do anything but lie there and wait for it to pass. Sunday disappeared into a blur of sleep, then throwing up, then more sleep. I was achy and freezing and sweaty all at once. I couldn’t eat. I could barely think. Just sleep.

And the dreams - those strange, fevered, completely surreal dreams. You know the ones. Where nothing makes sense but everything feels intense. To be honest, that’s probably the weird silver lining of being sick for me - a brief, strange trip into delirium, like visiting a totally different, surreal world for a little while. 

By Monday morning I thought I might be through the worst of it. I wasn’t. I tried to work, but by lunchtime I was back in bed, body just refusing to play along. I wasn’t even upset about it. Just flat. Like someone had unplugged the emotional part of me completely. Not sad, not happy - just still. It felt like watching the world through glass.

For the next two days, I kept trying to rally - open the laptop, answer some emails, be vaguely productive. But every time, I ended up horizontal again. Head pounding. Nausea still lurking. And this deep, bone-level exhaustion that sleep didn’t seem to touch.

Eventually, the numbness started to shift - but not into relief. Into frustration. I was so over it. Not even because I felt worse… but because I didn’t feel better. That slow, dragging kind of recovery? It messes with your patience.

But somewhere in that stillness, something clicked - something I think we all forget until we’re forced to remember:

You’re okay… until you’re not.

I thought I could just keep going. Keep pushing. Be fine. Keep producing, showing up, doing all the things. But eventually, something gives. You can’t outrun your limits forever - even if you think you can. I thought I could. I really did.

So if you’ve been pushing yourself and you feel okay right now, maybe that’s the perfect time to give yourself a little space. Some rest. A bit of care. You don’t have to wait until something knocks you off your feet to do the things that help you feel good - mentally and physically. Because, as I’ve just found out, you can go from “I’m fine” to “ugh, not so fine” pretty quickly.

And here’s something else I’ve been thinking about:

Why is it that when we feel good - like, really good - it sometimes feels… uncomfortable?

Like it’s too much. Too unfamiliar. So we do something to tone it down. Mute it a little. You ever notice that?

I do it all the time.

I’ll journal for three days, feel more grounded, more clear-headed… then I’ll just stop. For no reason. Or I’ll take a break from alcohol, feel amazing, and then “reward” myself by going right back to it. Like the second I feel well, something in me goes, “Right, let’s mess this up a bit.”

Why do we stop doing the things that actually help us?

Is it that we don’t totally trust the good feelings? Like we’re so used to coping, we don’t really know how to thrive. Thriving feels… vulnerable. So we pull back. Go back to what’s familiar. Even if it means numbing out again.

I don’t know. But I think staying well - really well - isn’t just about what we do when we’re low. It’s also about learning to let ourselves feel good. To not back away when life starts to feel a little easier.

Anyway. I’m slowly getting there. Still tired. Still not 100%. But the nausea’s gone, and I’m drinking sweet tea from bed and getting bits of work done here and there. Reminding myself that just because I can push through doesn’t mean I should.

So take this as a gentle lesson from me to you:

Don’t wait until your body forces you to slow down. Take the rest you need. Look after yourself before you have to. And if feeling good ever feels a bit weird - if it makes you want to pull back or numb out - try sitting with it instead. Just for a little while. Let it be okay to feel good.

I’ll try to do the same.

We’ll get there. 🩷🩷