Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Author: Echoes by Dana

  • Closing My Laptop, Opening My Life

    It’s the final few minutes before I shut down my laptop for the day—the ceremonial click that marks the end of “professional me” and the beginning of “please-don’t-email-me-again-today” me.

    This week? Busy. Chaotic. Cheerfully overloaded.

    But somehow… deliciously good.
    Okay, maybe not perfect… but almost-perfect-adjacent.
    Close enough.
    “Hi, remember me? I’ve returned to ruin everything.”
    But this week? The opposite. Magical. Busy and good at the same time—proof that life comes in waves, and not every wave is here to drown you.

    • checking that all emails are sent
    • scanning through Teams to confirm no rogue chat is waiting
    • pretending I didn’t see the extra two messages that just came in
    • watching the sausage dog run around the room like a deranged mop because he just had a bath and apparently being clean is personally offensive to him

    Another day done.
    Another week survived beautifully.Every morning I enjoyed my little commute to work, pretending I was the main character of an indie film where the plot is 90% walking scenes and 10% existential monologue. Then there was my daily walk with the sausage dog, who continues to behave like a tiny dictator trapped in a long body. And after work—catching up with old and new friends, feeling like life is serving social moments on a silver platter.

    I like it when “busy” takes the narrative in a good way—when the days are full but my heart isn’t empty. When “feeling good” becomes a daily thing.

    And then there’s spring outside, doing what spring does best—throwing sun, warmth, birdsong, and optimism in my face like a seasonal intervention. I swear the longer walks, the light, the fresh air… they’re bringing me back to life even more than coffee ever did.

    What makes it sweeter is that just last week, I was scared. I felt that old trauma creeping back, tapping politely like:

    And oh, the luxury—the absolute privilege—of finishing the workday and still having enough energy to go to the sauna, grab a drink, or take a long walk… that’s something I plan to enjoy fully this year. I want to stretch this feeling like pizza dough and make it last.

    Right now, I’m doing my end‑of‑day ritual:

    And with that, I’ll close my laptop.

    Spring is here, energy is back, and life—finally—feels like it’s unfolding, not collapsing.

  • Relapse or Just Too Much Coffee?

    It’s Tuesday.

    The week has barely stretched its legs. Spring is out there showing off like it personally invented sunshine, and the birds are performing unpaid concerts at 6 a.m.

    And me?

    I started the week crying.

    Not the poetic, cinematic kind.

    The “oh no, not this again” kind.

    It began over the weekend, that familiar exhaustion. The muscle pain. The heavy limbs. The personality of a boiled potato. Suddenly I wasn’t just tired. I was transported.

    Straight back to The Lyme Year.

    You know the one.

    The antibiotics. The Herxheimer reactions. The days when getting off the couch felt like Olympic training. The trapped-in-my-own-body era. The “is this my life now?” season. The Googling. The documenting. The desperate bargaining with the universe.

    My brain didn’t hesitate. It packed a suitcase and time-traveled.

    “Oh, we know this feeling,” it whispered. “Welcome back to doom.”

    Very dramatic. Zero chill.

    So I did what I always do when fear shows up wearing last year’s trauma like a costume:

    I investigated.

    What changed?

    What did I eat?

    What did I do?

    Did I breathe wrong?

    Is this a relapse?

    Is this karma?

    Is this because I skipped stretching on Thursday?

    I opened my mental detective board. Strings everywhere. Wild theories. Charts. Evidence that proves nothing but feels important.

    And yes, ChatGPT became my slightly overqualified emotional support colleague. We assessed symptoms like it was a corporate meeting.

    “Agenda item one: Are we dying?”

    “Unlikely.”

    “Excellent. Moving on.”

    Monday arrived with the same symptoms. That scared me. I won’t lie.

    Trauma is loud. It doesn’t knock politely. It kicks the door open and shouts, “REMEMBER ME?”

    But here’s the difference between last year and now:

    I didn’t lose hope.

    Instead, I made small, calm decisions.

    Maybe slow down on the coffee. (Sunday included friends and two morning coffees. I don’t even usually drink coffee. Who am I?)

    Maybe pause the sauna this week.

    Maybe accept that hormones + treatment + spring + life = temporary chaos.

    Maybe rest Tuesday instead of pushing through like a warrior powered by anxiety and exhaustion.

    So I rested.

    And Tuesday came… slower than usual.

    But it didn’t collapse.

    The day softened.

    The energy returned, gently, like a shy guest who wasn’t sure it was welcome.

    My brain lowered its voice.

    My body didn’t betray me.

    And suddenly I saw it clearly:

    It wasn’t a relapse.

    It was probably too much coffee, a bit of sauna enthusiasm, some hormonal gymnastics, spring overstimulation — and a nervous system that remembers too well.

    Trauma doesn’t mean you’re back there.

    It means your body once survived something big.

    And sometimes it panics before asking questions.

    But here I am.

    Energy back.

    Hope back.

    Brain quiet.

    Crisis downgraded.

    Spring continues.

    Birds still dramatic.

    Coffee… currently on probation.

    And Tuesday?

    Tuesday tried to gaslight me.

    But I’ve survived Lyme.

    And I don’t go back that easily.