Barefoot on the earth, morning sun on my face, chicory and dandelion “cappuccino” in hand, bees in the flowers – all things I’m grateful for this morning.
This moment had me reflecting on the early days of my health journey when I was first diagnosed with Lyme disease and co-infections in my early 20’s. A lot of my dialogue around health and complex chronic illness lately has been centered around ME/CFS, MCAS, POTS, and other clusters of post-viral conditions, because that’s what the medical system recognizes and that’s what I’m left navigating today.
It’s hard to talk about Lyme in a country that doesn’t truly recognize it or effectively test/treat it.
Nature has always been my safe place – but then I got diagnosed with Lyme. A debilitating illness that comes through nature. I started learning about how many people right here in South Delta have contracted Lyme and co-infections from their own backyards and local playgrounds. Suddenly between me and my love (and need) for nature, a big ol’ chunk of FEAR joined the party. And understandably so, as I went through several years of gruelling, sickening treatment often compared to what a cancer patient experiences while feeling like my body was continuing to betray me.
I travelled across provinces to see an internal medicine specialist who could confirm my diagnosis and recommend treatment to my naturopath here, because no doctor in BC would touch the case. My blood got sent to several places around the world, mainly Germany and various US labs. Not only was it positive for Lyme and several co-infections but for a previous (unknown to us) West Nile infection as well.
The treatment was gruelling and sickening. I threw up daily for months. I could barely get through each day. I can remember crawling from my bed to the bathroom because I was too weak to walk. My hair was falling out.
I hit suspected remission in 2019 and got pregnant in 2020. My Lyme doc said it was a miracle the pregnancy took and held, and that that in itself was a positive sign. But then my health began, and continued to, decline again. I got another positive Lyme test, did some more treatment, and eventually got a negative test. Suspected remission again. Except this time, I wasn’t better, I was getting worse.
After multiple CT’s, MRI’s, hundreds of vials of blood, and more specialists than I can keep track of, I saw a complex chronic disease doctor who confirmed what my Lyme doctor already believed – the damage that was done to my body left me with multiple overlapping and debilitating, “incurable” complex chronic diseases.
My life at the time didn’t allow for any source of recovery. I had a high support needs baby who needed all of me and more. I had limited access to resources of support. I barely slept for 3 years as a new parent. My health continued to decline and eventually I ended up fully bedridden, unable to eat or speak.
That’s when life around me began rearranging itself.
I could literally no longer hold the role I’d been in within our family unit, and it took my body completely collapsing for many of the people in my life to understand what I had been telling them for years. This was in Nov. 2023.
Fast forward to now, June 2025. I still must manage my energy wisely, use a wheelchair for walking-type outings (like the bird sanctuary this past weekend), and schedule in true rest. I don’t do many (if any) of the home maintenance, cooking, cleaning etc. besides planting the garden and I don’t solo parent our higher support needs child yet. I regularly look backwards and forwards in my calendar to gauge what I’ve done recently and what is about to be required of me, so that I can accommodate the need for rest and make sure I’m not overcommitted or feeling pressured to do more than I am able to. I often schedule things months in advance so that I can ensure they happen. I significantly limit how much I work, despite having a long waitlist that I feel calling me to move through quicker. I prioritize the groups I run for patients living with complex chronic diseases and then take people off the waitlist one by one, ensuring that I can fully show up for them in the way that they’re trusting in me to do, and I trust that those who are truly aligned to work with me will be met in divine right timing for all parties involved. It’s a very different style than the workaholic I once was. I even designed on-demand virtual content so that the people waiting to work with me could have an accessible way to connect with and be supported by some of my work while they wait and be less reliant on my more limited 1:1 time.
This is not the life I thought I’d be living when I was a 23 year old with 3 businesses – hairstyling and barbering, fitness coaching, and executive assistant. I felt the strongest I’d ever felt, just before getting sick. I was active 7 days a week and I lived for nature and hiking.
This moment this morning with my feet on the earth, sun on my face, had me reflecting on all the things I’ve been doing recently that I couldn’t do 6 months ago.
When you’re inching your way to an average life, it can be easy to miss the signs of progress, but it’s crucial to notice and acknowledge them. It can feel scary to take the wins when we don’t know how long they’ll last, or worse, if they’ll lead to a crash. It’s vulnerable to allow ourselves to fully feel the gratitude because it may line us up to fully feel the grief, too.
I have learned that it’s best (and healthiest for many reasons) to try to invite ourselves to fully feel it all. The body needs to feel what is asking to be felt, to allow the emotions through us rather than trapping them inside, contributing to blockages, disharmony and dis-ease.
6 months ago I couldn’t typically read to my toddler, go to her sports or field trips, get outside more than once or twice a week, get up before 11/12 more than once per week, do a family outing without crashing, get out of bed 7 days in a row or be out of bed for whole days, do yoga, drive myself to run an errand, take on more 1:1 clients or groups than I had already accounted for in my energy expenditure, schedule more than one thing in a day, manage a playdate without my partners involvement, and I definitely couldn’t attempt paddleboarding on the same day as attending a field trip to the bird sanctuary (even though I went in the wheelchair).
