On Saturday, I was a runner. A mother. A teacher. A person whose identity was built on movement — half marathons, daily runs, GAA matches, school sports days, bike rides, endless errands, laughter, and action. Sport was how I connected with my kids. How I reached my students. How I processed stress. It wasn’t just something I did — it was who I was.
Then, in an instant, it stopped.
A ruptured Achilles. Surgery. Bed rest. Weeks — maybe months — of stillness. In one moment, my whole life was turned upside down. Everything I loved doing — everything that made me feel alive, useful, joyful — was gone.
And here’s the truth: I wasn’t prepared for this. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not mentally. I went from feeling strong and full of purpose to feeling helpless, stuck, and invisible.
This blog is my way of processing all that. It’s a space to be honest — about the pain, the mental battle, the mess, the guilt, the rage, and the surprising beauty that sometimes shows up in small, quiet ways. It’s about being a woman whose body suddenly said, Stop. And being a woman who’s learning what that means.
I’m writing for:
- Women who have been injured, sidelined, or forced into stillness.
- Mothers who are used to doing everything and don’t know how to just be.
- Teachers, carers, athletes, and high-achievers who suddenly feel useless.
- Anyone who’s had their identity stripped overnight and is trying to figure out who’s left.
There are hundreds of blogs about wellness and movement. But this is about what happens when you can’t move. When your world shrinks to four walls, painkillers, and learning to wash your hair on the bathroom floor.
It’s personal, yes — but I know I’m not the only one going through something like this. If my story helps someone else feel less alone, or gives voice to what they haven’t been able to say out loud, then this time won’t have been wasted.
This is a journey I didn’t ask for. But I’m showing up anyway.
Thanks for being here.
— Marie
