You know when you’ve had a week… and you’re just quietly whispering to the universe, “Please don’t let me have another one of those again”?
Yeah. That was Week 18.
Christmas is practically banging on the door, Mariah Carey is warming up her vocal cords, and I—drumroll please—can walk. Technically. Sort of. If you ignore the fact that I’m doing the weirdest, most dramatic limp known to humankind. Honestly, if limping were an Olympic sport, I’d at least make the heats.
It’s still painful, still stiff, and I discovered this week that walking into Smyths and having a browse like a normal festive adult is absolutely not on the cards. Five minutes in and my ankle was like, “Absolutely not. We discussed this.” So no wandering aimlessly, no soaking up the Christmas buzz, no accidental overspending while pretending I’m “just looking”. Tragic.
I also can’t quite do the whole Christmas hype thing this year—parties, running around town, bustling from place to place like a festive elf on caffeine. Instead, I’m more… seasonal observer. From a chair. With my foot elevated. Very Grinch-adjacent behaviour, if I’m honest. I feel like I should just lean into it and growl at carol singers.
Recovery-wise, I’m at that strange marathon point where you’ve come so far… but the finish line is still waving at you from what feels like another country. I know I’ll get there. I know I’ll feel like myself again. But some days—usually the tired ones—I have that quiet fear: What if this limp sticks around? What if this is it? What if I’m no longer the person who runs after her kids, power-walks everywhere, and never thinks twice about her feet?
That thought sneaks up on me sometimes, uninvited and unhelpful, like an awkward guest who won’t take the hint.
So that’s Week 18. Messy. Frustrating. Slightly funny in hindsight. Not one I’d like to repeat. But I’m still here, still going, still inching (limping?) forward. The finish line is there. I might not be sprinting towards it, but I am moving.
Even if I do look a bit like the Grinch doing a very slow Christmas shuffle.
Week 18 Takeaways
- Walking is happening… but with a limp so dramatic it deserves its own soundtrack. Progress is progress, even when it looks weird.
- Just because I can walk doesn’t mean I can walk around. Browsing shops like a carefree Christmas elf is still very much off the table.
- Christmas hype hits differently when you’re sidelined. It’s okay to opt out of the madness and observe the festivities from a chair.
- Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint — and Week 18 feels like that bit where you’re exhausted, questioning everything, and still somehow moving forward.
- Fear sneaks in sometimes. That doesn’t mean it’s true — just that this part of recovery messes with your head as much as your body.
- I’m not finished. I’m not stuck. I’m just in the slow, awkward, frustrating middle bit.
