Building A Life Around The Body You Have

For a long time, I thought the goal was to get back to the life I had before.

Back to the energy I used to have.

Back to the routines I used to follow.

Back to the version of myself that could do everything in a single day and still have energy left over.

Well, if I'm being honest, I can't really remember a time when I had an abundance of energy.

Looking back, I think I was always exhausted.

Always pushing through.

The difference is that the exhaustion didn't get better with time.

It got worse.

But eventually I realized something important.

The goal wasn't getting my old life back.

The goal was building a life that worked with the body I have now.

A body I had always had, but didn't understand.

And while many of my symptoms became louder with time, the signs had often been there since childhood.

New problems appeared.

Old problems intensified.

The body kept communicating.

I just didn't understand the language yet.

That sounds simple.

In reality, it took years to understand.

Partly because I didn't know what was happening in my body or why I was constantly exhausted and in pain.

When I received my first diagnosis at 31, Crohn's disease, some of the pieces finally started falling into place.

For the first time, I had confirmation that what I had been experiencing for so many years wasn't normal.

It wasn't all in my head.

And it wasn't something I simply needed to try harder to overcome.

Because most of us are taught to build our lives around expectations.

Work expectations.

Family expectations.

Societal expectations.

Our own expectations.

Very few of us are taught how to build a life around capacity.

The Difference Between Knowing and Doing

When I first started learning about pacing, energy management, and chronic illness, I thought information would be enough.

If I understood what was happening, surely everything would improve.

But understanding and implementation are very different things.

Knowing I should rest and actually resting are not the same thing.

Knowing I need recovery time and protecting recovery time are not the same thing.

Knowing I can't do everything in one day and actually choosing not to do everything in one day are definitely not the same thing.

And even when you know these things, and genuinely try to practice them, the reality is that sometimes the conditions around you make it incredibly difficult.

If you're expected to work, function, and keep up with life in the same way as everyone else, where is the space for recovery supposed to come from?

Where is the space for taking care of yourself?

The truth is that chronic illness isn't only an individual challenge to navigate.

There are also societal barriers that make sustainable living harder than it needs to be.

That's a much bigger conversation, and one I'll return to in a future blog post.

For now, let's focus on the things we can influence in our own lives.

Building a life around the body you have requires making practical adjustments.

Not once.

Over and over again.

Learning To Divide Things Up

One of the biggest changes I made was how I approached housework.

For years, cleaning meant cleaning everything.

Laundry.

Dusting.

Vacuuming.

Mopping.

Bathrooms.

Kitchen.

All in one day.

Because that's how I thought it was supposed to be done.

The problem was that every cleaning day left me exhausted.

Sometimes for days afterwards.

So eventually I started experimenting.

What would happen if I divided things up?

Dusting one day.

Vacuuming another.

Mopping on a different day.

Taking breaks in between.

Leaving things unfinished and coming back to them later.

At first it felt very wrong.

Lazy even.

But over time I realized something.

The apartment still got cleaned.

The only difference was that I no longer needed several days to recover afterwards.

And I went from cleaning every week to doing it less often because I wanted my energy to be spent on more exciting things than cleaning.

Recovery Is Part Of The Plan

For many years, I treated recovery as something that happened after everything else was finished.

Once the work was done.

Once the errands were completed.

Once the cleaning was finished.

Then I could rest.

The problem was that there was always something else that needed doing.

Recovery became the thing that got postponed.

Again and again.

Now I try to think about recovery differently.

Recovery isn't the reward.

Recovery is part of the plan.

It's something I actively schedule rather than something I hope will happen if there is time left over.

That mindset shift changed a lot.

Learning To Leave Space

One of the biggest lessons chronic illness has taught me is that life becomes easier when there is space between things.

Space between appointments.

Space between activities.

Space between travel days.

Space between demanding tasks.

Not because I'm trying to do less.

But because constantly moving from one thing to another uses far more energy than I ever realized.

Leaving space allows my body time to catch up.

It allows recovery to happen before exhaustion becomes overwhelming.

And it gives me flexibility when things don't go according to plan.

Which they often don't.

I've also learned that not every empty space in the calendar needs to be filled.

For a long time, I treated free time the same way I treated everything else.

As something that should be optimized.

Planned.

Used efficiently.

Even rest became another task on the to-do list.

But a calendar can become surprisingly stressful when every minute has a purpose.

Even if some of those plans say "rest."

I've learned that I need space.

Not just for recovery.

But for life.

For changing my mind.

For following my energy.

For doing whatever feels good in the moment.

Sometimes that's reading a book.

Sometimes it's going for a walk.

Sometimes it's watching a series.

Sometimes it's doing absolutely nothing at all.

I've found that having a little white space in my days often supports me just as much as any carefully planned routine.

Because life doesn't always happen according to schedule.

And neither does energy.

Leaving room for spontaneity doesn't mean being irresponsible.

Sometimes it simply means leaving enough space for yourself to exist inside your own life.

I've also learned that the way we organize our lives doesn't have to look the same for everyone.

Some people love detailed plans.

They enjoy scheduling tasks, time blocking their calendar, and knowing exactly when things will happen.

And if that works for them, that's wonderful.

Personally, I've discovered that too much planning can sometimes become stressful.

I use my calendar a lot.

Appointments go in there.

Travel goes in there.

Workshops, meetings, and activities go in there.

But when it comes to everyday tasks, I prefer a different approach.

I usually write down what needs to be done and then do it when I have the time, energy, and space for it.

I've always been quite good at holding myself accountable and getting things done.

I don't need every task scheduled into my day.

In fact, when every minute is planned, I often feel more restricted than supported.

What helps me most is getting things out of my head.

Ideas.

Tasks.

Reminders.

Projects.

Things I need to remember.

The moment I write them down, I can stop carrying them around mentally.

I know I'll come back to them when the time is right.

And that frees up space for other things.

Living with brain fog means thinking can sometimes require far more effort than people realize.

Even the fear of forgetting something can quietly take up energy.

It sits in the background.

Taking up mental space.

Demanding attention.

Writing things down helps reduce that load.

Whether it's sticky notes, a notebook, an app on your phone, or a dedicated list, having a trusted place to store information can free up valuable mental capacity.

And sometimes protecting your energy isn't only about what you're doing.

Sometimes it's about what you're no longer carrying around in your head.

Travel Looks Different Too

Travel has always been one of my greatest passions.

And for a long time I travelled the same way I approached everything else.

As much as possible.

As quickly as possible.

See more.

Do more.

Fit more in.

These days, travel looks different.

I stay longer in each place.

I schedule recovery days.

I allow plans to change.

I leave room for rest after flights and long travel days.

And perhaps most importantly, I no longer measure the success of a trip by how much I managed to do.

I measure it by how much I was able to enjoy it.

That shift has made travelling far more sustainable.

And honestly, far more enjoyable.

Boundaries Protect Energy

Building a life around the body you have also means learning that not everything deserves access to your energy.

Some commitments are worth it.

Some aren't.

Some activities support your wellbeing.

Some quietly drain more energy than they give back.

Some relationships support us.

Some don't.

And chronic illness has made me much more aware of the difference.

I've learned that the people who matter most are often the ones who stay when life becomes difficult.

The ones who continue showing up.

The ones who adjust alongside you.

Just showing up when life is easy isn't enough for me anymore.

Life is too short, and energy is too precious, to spend it on relationships that only exist when everything is going well.

Over time, I've become much more selective about where my energy goes.

Not because energy is the most important thing in life.

But because energy influences what is possible.

And I want to spend mine on the things that matter most.

Sustainable Doesn't Mean Perfect

I think one of the biggest misconceptions about sustainable living is that people imagine it means having everything figured out.

It doesn't.

I still overdo things sometimes.

I still underestimate how much recovery I need.

I still make plans that don't work out.

I still have days where I wish my body worked differently.

The difference is that I recover differently now.

I adjust sooner because I understand what my body is telling me sooner.

I make changes more quickly.

And I'm far kinder to myself when things don't go according to plan.

Making Room For What Matters Most

For a long time, I thought all these adjustments were about protecting energy.

And they are.

But they're also about creating space for the things that matter most.

The things that make life feel meaningful.

The people we love.

The experiences we remember.

The moments that bring us joy.

Because the goal isn't simply to spend less energy.

The goal is to have energy available for the things that make life worth living.

Building A Life That Fits

Living with chronic illness often requires adjustment.

Not because we're failing.

But because our reality changes.

The goal isn't to build a perfect life.

The goal is to build a life that fits.

A life that allows room for recovery.

A life that respects capacity.

A life that includes meaningful experiences.

A life that works with your body instead of constantly fighting against it.

And while that life may not look exactly like the one you originally imagined, it can still be a life that feels meaningful, fulfilling, and entirely your own.

Sometimes sustainable living isn't about doing more.

It's about building a life that fits better.

And sometimes that understanding is the first real shift.