I’ve written about recovery before - what it means, how it looks different for each of us. And the quiet, meandering process of coming back to yourself.
When I’ve written before, I’ve shared stories of working with people after acquired brain injury. But I’ve never really shared my own story of recovering.
I’m going back to the beginning. To share the part of my journey where I realised that the career path I’d chosen wasn’t the one for me - and all because I got sick.
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2003
The beginning (September)
I graduated from University with a degree in Psychology aged 21 🥳
Then I took the next step on the career path I’d ‘chosen’ - continuing in the academic world.
I started a research degree in psycholinguistics and sign language processing. I was going to be an academic.
2004
A slow descent
After a few months in my new city, on my new course, I noticed I was slowing down. I couldn’t walk as far as I used to.
I felt lazy, unfit.
I kept going. I just need to push through this, right?
I started having doubts.
Something about how the academics around me treated each other felt off.
I wasn’t sure where I was going with my research.
Am I cut out for the academic world?, asked my doubts.
2005
A false negative?
I stopped walking to work; I needed to get the bus instead, now.
I blamed the weather. Or my shoes. Or both. But mostly, myself. I couldn’t seem to get fit, no matter how much walking I did.
I saw a doctor. “Maybe glandular fever,” they said. “We’ll do a test.”
The test was negative. “That often happens with glandular fever. It doesn’t mean you don’t have it.” They said. “But if you do have it, there’s nothing we can do.”
I struggled on with my studies. And kept putting one foot in front of the other.
I’m not a quitter. I just need to keep going. This is what I want. If I repeat it often enough, maybe I’ll believe it.
2006
An unexpected odyssey begins
A second doctor suggested a series of blood tests - a ‘tiredness screen’.
“But I think you’ll find you have to go on Prozac,” they said.
I was told to read some self-help books while I waited for the results. I was sleeping most of the day and all night, and still felt exhausted.
I kept going with my research, because ‘sticking to routine will help.’
But those results weren’t normal. I was missing a vital hormone, and my body was struggling without it.
Finally, an answer. And treatment begins.
I started hormone replacement (turns out self help books aren’t much help here). My research supervisors didn’t understand why I needed time off now I had an answer.
I waited for the next blood test.
I went back to my parents for Christmas, feeling pretty rubbish.
2007
The “struggle” (January)
The next blood test come back. “You should be feeling better by now.” Um, no. I wasn’t.
I kept going to work, leaning on pieces of furniture to stay upright. Met my external examiner. Kept going with my research. Heard the talk about finishing my degree as if it was about someone else.
Struggled to articulate what was happening to me. Being hauled from sleep every morning by my boyfriend. Not really functioning. I’m disappearing.
I wondered: Perhaps this is just how I am, now? Perhaps this is what life is like for me?
Close to fainting, forced to surrender. I moved back in with my parents. I saw my childhood GP: a breakthrough moment.
“Your numbers are still way off. Of course you’re not feeling better.”
“We need to double your dose. It will feel weird for a few weeks.”
“You need a year off to recover.”
Relief.
The double dose kicked in hard: palpitations, breathlessness.
I rode it out, in bed, staring at the ceiling. Out the window at the sky.
Listened to the radio. Watched TV with my eyes closed. Walked to the bathroom, breathless. Then back to bed.
Image credit: Lou Shackleton (@loushackleton); made with Canva.
The “cure” (Spring - Summer)
Then: Short walks. Clearer thoughts. Familiar parts of me started to resurface.
Slowly, I started to come back to myself.
And I realised, I don’t want to go back. Not to my degree, not to my research.
Not to the career I had chosen. Not to that version of me.
I had been building a life that didn’t fit me.
And if I don’t want that… Now what?
Figuring it out (Summer and beyond).
Where to begin? I needed to figure it out.
I moved to a new city. Made new friends. Found some temp work.
Take my time. And it took a long time. It was the start of something.
That’s a story for another day.
Because that’s the thing with a ‘now what’ moment: there are no signposts, no instruction manuals.
There was a lot of figuring it out along the way - what I could do, what I was good at, what I wanted. Who I was.
But along the way, I gathered tools and approaches. Stored away what worked; discarded what didn’t.
I became a self help book expert; the books couldn’t cure my hormone disorder. But they did help me explore ways to find myself again.
I got ‘there’ eventually: back to myself. With quite the toolkit. I still use these tools to adjust. And I love supporting others to use them too.
How did I get there? It’s too much for a single post. But I’ll share more of my journey, if you’d like to hear it? And it all started with a ‘now what’ moment.
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How about you?
Have you ever had a “now what?” moment?
Let me know in the comments👇🏻
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PS - I’m sharing these stories because I know how disorienting it can feel to start again. If you’re in the early stages of your own ‘now what?’, know this: You’re not alone.
Writing: Lou Shackleton, with editing help and using feedback from ChatGPT. Illustrations: Lou Shackleton (@loushackleton). Photos: Lou Shackleton (@loushackleton).
💬 If this resonated, and you’d like to read more about my take on recovery (especially when it doesn’t follow a straight line), here are two posts where I explore it further. I draw on my work supporting people to rebuild their lives after acquired brain injury: 🔗 Unpacking and unpicking recovery – Part One 🔗 Unpacking and unpicking recovery – Part Two
