I spent decades glued to a desk, chasing deadlines, and convincing myself that exhaustion was just part of being productive.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

By the time I hit my sixties, my body had had enough.

Everything ached, nothing moved easily, and I realized the only way forward was to stop pretending I could think my way out of what I’d worked myself into.

These were the two hardest choices I had to make along the way.

Hard Choice #1: Admitting I wasn’t fine.
For years, I told myself the exhaustion was normal. That everyone my age felt this way. That it was just “getting older.”

But when the exhaustion became stabbing pain in my back and hips just after my 60th birthday, my body had all of my attention.

The truth was uncomfortable. I’d ignored my body for so long, I didn’t know how to listen to it anymore.

Choosing to face that truth meant setting aside denial, pride, and a good dose of “I’ll deal with it later.” It felt like standing naked in fluorescent light.

Hard Choice #2: Changing my habits—even when no one else understood.
After decades of sitting at my desk, working more 15-hour days than not, my body finally had something to say about it.

Mobility had become a real issue. Stiff joints, stabbing pain in my hips, and a general sense that everything required more effort than it should.

So I had to start moving, stretching, and rebuilding from the ground up. With way more pain than I’m willing to admit to those closest to me.

(See? I’m definitely still a work in progress. I’m getting over thinking, “You did this to yourself…you don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy.”)

It isn’t dramatic. It is daily. And it is hard.

But here’s the thing: Being forced to make those choices isn’t just changing my health, it’s changing how I show up for myself.

Every stretch, every ache, every small win is proof that healing isn’t passive work.
It’s the slow, unglamorous kind of resilience that rebuilds you one stubborn muscle at a time.

I’m not there yet. But I’m moving—and that’s the point.

Day 24: I Worked Myself Into Pain. Now I’m Working My Way Out.

I ignored what my body was trying to tell me for decades. Turns out, it doesn’t whisper forever.

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