Today was a shitty day.

 

No nothing bad happened.

The world in general was kind to me.

 

However in this morning’s journaling I came to a rather stark and honest realization about the current state of my health.

 

I’m ok.

This is not to insight panic.

 

But also, there is something.

A something I am accepting as a sort of “new reality”.

Although I’ve talked about this here and there, I’ve never really fully dove (on a public level) my experience with chronic fatigue.

 

Story Time.

PS – if you want to get to the point of this entry and skip the story time part, scroll down to “Back to present revelations” …

 

It was in February 2014.

I caught a cold – a normal winter cold.

Like usual, I recovered in a few days, and other than feeling a little snotty, felt pretty much good to go.

At the time, I worked as a Park Ranger in the Coast Mountains of BC, Canada.

As my energy returned to normal, I figured the best way to celebrate was a chill day in the field with my dear friend and co-worker Katy.

Katy and I decided on a beautiful little jaunt on our skis in one of my parks near Whistler, BC. It was a beautiful warm spring day in the mountains, and excellent spring skiing conditions. Katy led the way, breaking trail – hardly much to break that day as the last night’s freeze had made for pretty compact trail conditions.

 

I remember it was a relatively short day in the field. We were both feeling pretty mellow and the snow was increasingly getting stickier and we decided to not push our bodies and return back to the office a bit earlier than planned.

 

I came home, showered, feeling pretty tired but something was off.

I wasn’t feeling “normal” tired – the very familiar to me feeling of my body feeling heavy and kind of melty after a day skiing.

No, this was a deeper down to my very centre tired.

I figured it was probably just the combination of still recovering from the cold and the day out.

I figured in a few weeks I would feel good again.

Except I didn’t.

 

Almost 2 months later, I still felt that deep fatigue in my bones – like I was perpetually recovering from some illness and just never getting any better.

I could sleep for days.

Literally.

I slept around 20 hours a day.

 

I was down to some basic office duties at work.

I was working at home to accommodate my extensive napping schedule and sleep needs.

It fucking sucked balls.

 

Anyone with chronic and mysterious illness and has dealt with the Western Medical System knows what happened next.

After running extensive tests, it was concluded that I was no dying (yayyyyy!!!!!), however they had no idea what was going on, so my doctor sent me on my way with prescription strength iron supplements and the advice to “maybe try go for a run”.

 

***  insert eye roll here ***

 

I would have loved to have the energy to go for a run.

Or better yet, a climb or two or three, or a bike ride.

I longed for those things.

The privilege of having the energy to do basic life functions was not taken for granted.

It was a running a literal marathon just getting out of my bed in the morning.

 

I took the iron supplements.

I slept.

Part of me surrendered to my body.

Part of me dove furiously into research in all reaches of the known – and the unknown – of the human body and spirit.

 

It seemed to be working.

 

That summer – the summer I turned 30 – I declared my 30 by 30 project.

I was feeling well enough to get back into the mountains again, and after an inspiring idea from another crazy climber, I decided to mark my 30th by shifting my state of being and rewiring my nervous system from some pretty deep seated habits of being.

I decided to lead climb 30 routes before my 30th birthday in October.

It was nearly the end of August.

I lived in a temperate rainforest where I was just exiting the dry season.

It was time to climb.

 

I didn’t announce my project to anyone except my notebook, my friend Katy, and my bestie Callie.

I wasn’t even on Facebook back then I don’t think.

 

My energy was pretty decent – enough to convince myself that I had surpassed whatever horrible experience that plagued my body that spring. That summer was marked by hiking, climbing, swimming in lakes, and riding my bike. I slowly felt the reclaiming of my body and my life and I was drunk with the aliveness of living and working in the most beautiful part of the world.

 

Towards the early fall, I noticed something a little funny.

I was topping out of one of my favourite routes – an incredible, sustained, but moderate clean line of granite crack next to a waterfall – when I noticed how heavy the rope felt as I was cleaning the anchors.

70 meters of rope is not exactly light, and it was a particularly warm day, so I chalked it up to that and didn’t think much of it.

Until a week or so later.

I noticed it again.

Deep to the bones fatigue.

Oh. God. No.

Here we go again.

 

By some miracle, I completed my 30 by 30 project (climbing the last route on my birthday), but slowly but surely, the fatigue was coming back again.

Fuck.

 

I went back to my doctor.

More tests.

More bloodwork.

More nothing is wrong with you.

This time, he couldn’t even blame my iron counts which were normal.

 

He said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what do tell you”.

He was honest.

(He really is a good doctor.)

But I was pissed.

 

I wanted answers damn it!

I wanted answers so I could get on with a damn solution!!!

I had just turned 30 damn it!!!

 

Up until now, my mental state had been pretty positive.

As someone who climbs mountains for fun, I knew about patience, timing, and slowly taking one step at a time towards my goal.

Now what?!!!

Where was the fucking goal post?!!!

 

This is the part of pouring down.

Down into the darkness.

 

I didn’t know what to do.

My plans to go to India and return to Nepal for a second trip were cancelled.

My friend I had planned to go to India with was subsequently pissed at me (she’d already bought tickets banking on having me to go with as a travel companion), but she also understood that I was in no shape health-wise to go to India – a country notorious to test your health at the best of times.

All this and the rains began.

The literal rain.

And the literal darkness.

I lived in a temporal rainforest, remember?

It got dark at 4pm.

The sun never really rose.

Every day was just a wash of dark grey to black to grey once again.

 

You could call it depression.

I called it my down.

 

I needed sun.

I needed the ocean.

I needed to do nothing but be – preferably next to the ocean, in the sun.

 

Mexico.

My roommate suggested it when I mentioned that I needed the ocean and the sun and to feel warmth in my bones.

Due to my health, I was back to napping as a full time career path, so anywhere far or multiple connection flights was totally out of the question.

She told me about this “cute little hippy surf town” on the Pacific Coast.

4.5 hour direct flight.

 

S O L D

 

The rest of the story is history.

I fell in love – in more than one way.

My body recovered on a steady diet of ocean, tacos, ice cream, and salsa dancing.

I came back to Canada totally reconnected to my wholeness and femininity in a way I hadn’t felt since ever.

I recovered my energy, my health, my vitality in ways I could have never imagined.

I spend the next few years working my way towards being in Mexico full time.

And here I am.

 

Back to present revelations.

 

Over the last 8 years I’ve deepened and totally shifted my relationship with my body.

I became a biodynamic craniosacral therapist.

And yet, every once in a while, I’d have a day or two, or a week or a month sometimes, where I’d feel shitty.

It was the kind of shitty reminiscent of the chronic fatigue days – but probably due to fear and trauma of the experience, I chalked it up to “needing more rest”, hormones, or some other explainable thing.

This has been occurring off and on over the last 8 years since the very first “onset” and today I finally realized and am starting to accept something.

 

It’s not “gone”.

It’s still here.

And I don’t know what it is.

And I don’t know what to do with it.

 

Thankfully, these past 8 years have taught me the grace of embodiment to a depth that this realization no longer sends me spiralling down into disappointment and darkness.

 

I don’t know what this means.

But it certainly explains a lot.

My changeable states of stamina.

My need to just sleep for a few days or a few weeks.

The pronounced shift in the overall energy available to me in my body since that fateful February 2014.

It’s time to see and accept.

 

I’m not writing this for anything else but to write it down – as if documenting the realization helps me to settle with the truth of it.

 

It does and doesn’t make sense.

It explains the random days I feel shitty and need sleep but just can’t seem to get a quality rest.

It explains the random dull headaches, joint pain, and fatigue.

It explains why it’s difficult for me to maintain a full time, 40 hours a week regular job.

It explains why I’ve been seeking alternative ways to support myself that nourish my body.

It explains why producing results for anything is simply not sustainable for me anymore.

 

I don’t know where I go from here and really, it doesn’t matter so much.

This first part is just the acknowledgement of the thing.

Being honest with myself.

Lying to myself is pretty energetically taxing, so that too must go.

 

For now I sit in some pretty simple and practical questions:

• How do I sustain myself by not producing?
• How do I make a living by beingness?
• Are there any other effects or symptoms that may unfold as a result of whatever this is?
• Will I need someone to care for me in the future?
• How does this all unfold?

 

Not attempting to answer, just sitting with.

There is a lot of sitting with today.