The Silence After the Chaos
Today, the kids headed off to Dingle with the extended family — five families in total, laughter, wetsuits, chaos, and all the excitement of a proper Irish family getaway.
Usually, I’d be right there in the thick of it — packing lunches, organising wetsuits, and shouting reminders about chargers, socks, and forgotten toothbrushes. But not this year.
This year, I watched from my bed as the car doors slammed and the laughter drifted down the road.
Then came the silence.
It’s strange how quickly noise can turn to nothing. One minute, you’re surrounded by energy and motion — the next, it’s just you. A woman with a ruptured Achilles, a wheelchair, a pair of crutches, and a Pilates reformer you can’t even use anymore.
The silence hit harder than expected — like grief. Grief for my normal life, for the chaos I used to complain about but secretly loved.
Tea, Triumph, and Milk Tray Madness
When in doubt, the Irish solution is simple: make tea.
But when every move feels like a military operation, the kettle becomes Mount Everest. So I settled for something more achievable — chocolate.
And not just any chocolate — a hidden box of Milk Tray. One of the kids had stashed it under the bed (clever move), but little did they know, my determination is undefeated.
Cue the dramatic retrieval mission:
- One shoulder wedged under the bed
- A heroic stretch
- A triumphant rescue
Victory was mine — for all of three seconds.
Because, of course, I decided to hobble on crutches while holding the Milk Tray. Enter: Henry Hoover and his traitorous lead.
One step too far, and there I was — plank position, face first.
No scream. No tears. Just laughter.
Because sometimes, laughter is the only medicine that works.
There I was, surrounded by scattered chocolates, a circling dog ready to pounce, and a bruised ego. And I couldn’t stop laughing.
The Ridiculous Beauty of Recovery
Here’s what recovery really looks like:
You start the day with good intentions — to heal, to stay positive, to “embrace the stillness” like all the mindfulness books say.
Then life throws a Henry Hoover lead across your path to keep you humble.
Healing isn’t linear. It’s messy, clumsy, full of tiny moments that test your patience — and your balance.
But within that chaos, there’s power:
- Power in slowing down
- Power in laughing at yourself
- Power in accepting that doing less doesn’t make you less
I’ve gone from early-morning Pilates and marathon running to measuring success by whether I can pick something off the floor without crying.
And that, weirdly enough, feels like growth.
Takeaways: What I Learned Today
✅ Healing isn’t linear – It’s full of good days, bad days, and Milk Tray disasters.
✅ Find the humour – When life knocks you flat, laugh before you cry.
✅ Small wins matter – Whether it’s reaching for chocolate or just making it through the day.
✅ Silence isn’t empty – It can be uncomfortable, but it’s also where reflection and growth begin.
✅ You are more than your productivity – Worth isn’t measured in steps, achievements, or Pilates sessions.
Final Thought
Some days, it’s not about thriving — it’s about surviving with a smile.
So here’s to Day Four — a bruised shoulder, fewer Milk Tray chocolates, and one big reminder that even in stillness, there’s strength.
