How life flips your superhero routine upside down and teaches you to survive, one pillow at a time.
I used to tell my kids, “I’m not Superwoman.” Ha. Looking back, that is adorable. Compared to now, I was basically the superhuman of superhumans. I could cook, clean, organise, referee arguments, cheer from the sidelines, make lunches while signing school forms, all while somehow appearing fully awake and functional. I was unstoppable. Truly. Life was a whirlwind, and I thrived in it.
Now? Well… let’s just say the world of Supermom has temporarily closed for renovations. I am now officially Bedbound Woman, and my only superpower is balancing a cup of tea without spilling it. My cape? Folded somewhere in a drawer, possibly under last year’s paperwork. Leaving the bed? Feels like an Olympic triathlon. Going to a league match? Basically climbing Everest, barefoot, with a bag of bricks on my back.
Here’s the funny part — and there is a funny part: Yesterday, my “achievement” was navigating a crowded car park without crying. Today, my “achievement” is surviving until lunchtime without accidentally falling asleep sitting upright. It’s wild how life flips so quickly. One minute you’re juggling a thousand things like a superhero; the next, you’re arguing with pillows over who gets the prime position and debating whether standing up is worth the energy.
And yet… even in this slow-motion, cast-and-pillow existence, there’s a strange humor and humility. Even in my post-surgery healing, I see the absurdity of it all. I used to race through mornings, checking boxes, winning at life, and feeling invincible. Now? I’m celebrating tiny victories, like making it to the bathroom without groaning or answering an email without collapsing into the duvet mid-sentence. Somewhere between the tea breaks, slow stretches, and moments of quiet reflection, I realize: I’m still me. Just a slower, dramatically sarcastic, sometimes ridiculous version of me.
And maybe that’s okay. The cape may be crumpled, the schedule may be gone, but the spirit is intact. Even as I navigate this long and humbling Achilles recovery journey, I find laughter sneaking in — because if you can’t laugh at being reduced from Supermom to Bedbound Woman, what can you laugh at?
Takeaways from Day 13 of Recovery
- Life can change overnight — your superhero abilities might need a temporary leave of absence.
- Recovery isn’t linear — celebrate tiny wins. Surviving a half-hour at a time counts.
- Humor is a healing tool — laughter can be just as restorative as therapy.
- Being a mum doesn’t require perfection — sometimes just showing up, slowly, is enough.
- Even when your body says “no,” your spirit can say “well… okay, but still sarcastically yes.”
