Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Category: Lyme

  • 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.

  • From Safe Mode to Full Power

    Wow.

    I never thought this day would come.

    A day where my whole identity is not about Lyme.

    A day where I wake up and simply live — not monitor, not survive, not brace myself — but thrive.

    For so long, illness shaped everything: my thoughts, my limits, my plans, my fears. And then, quietly, without fireworks or announcements, life started fitting back into place. Almost as if it had been waiting patiently for me to return.

    It’s unbelievable how dark things can feel for months — even years — and then suddenly, the fog lifts. The body remembers. The soul exhales. And one day you realize: I feel like myself again.

    Lately, I feel so full of life that I throw myself at it every single day.

    I do things I never thought I would.

    I enjoy life without apologies.

    I show up as myself — unfiltered, unedited, unapologetically me.

    Yes, the hormonal clinic appointment was a turning point.

    Yes, there are a lot of pills these days.

    But honestly? I feel invincible.

    Like I found my voice again.

    Like I finally found someone who listened — truly listened — and treated me holistically, not just as a diagnosis, not just as a collection of symptoms.

    Maybe it’s the pills.

    Maybe it’s leaving sickness behind.

    Maybe it’s choosing life after so much surviving.

    Whatever it is, I’m done postponing joy.

    This year is about living.

    About enjoying all the things I put on hold for the last three years because I wasn’t myself.

    About cherishing every moment — not later, not someday, but now.

    I survived.

    And now, I live.