Chapter 8 – A focus on Health, Hope & Faith

February 2016

I. am. struggling.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like to exist without waking. Weeks, months, maybe even a year, pass and I feel as if I’ve never truly been present. A heavy cloud sits over my brain, smothering thought, clarity, and focus. I try to sit with my thoughts, focusing on my breathing. I deploy affirmations like tools in a futile attempt to calm my mind, to grab onto something real. But the thoughts flitter away like dandelions in the breeze. I can’t hold them. I can’t make sense of them.

The familiar spiral begins as the month edges toward my period. Anxiety, panic, and dread seep in. I am irritable, short-tempered, hopeless, and irrational. Classic PMDD. My mind whispers cruelly that no one would notice if I disappeared.

I am trapped in a living hell of no energy, no motivation, no faith, no hope. Fear, worry, stress, regret, and anger – the never-ending anger – permeate every thought. Anger, I tell myself, is still preferable to the soul-sucking emptiness of detachment, though sometimes it feels like my chest will combust from it. My body signals danger – flashes of light, pins and needles, a brain malfunction – I feel primed for flight. The choice is always the same: detachment or meltdown. And yet, even in the numbness, there is a strange inner peace, a quiet acceptance of what is, a still point I cling to when the chaos is gone.

When my period begins, the panic dissipates. A calm replaces chaos. And I survive.

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March 2016

Side effects from medications continued to plague me. Thyroid tablets brought headaches; iron injections left blisters; iodine burned my throat. Every day felt like navigating a minefield of my own biology. Desperate for answers, I sought Dr. Kromhout, a kinesiologist highly recommended by many. And in a twist I could hardly have predicted, my body revealed another layer: Lyme Disease.

Lyme Disease? I couldn’t believe it. A tiny tick bite in 2010 had potentially triggered the cascade that led to Hashimoto’s and adrenal fatigue. Suddenly, the pieces began to fit together in a new, terrifying, and strangely hopeful puzzle. Within three weeks of his treatment, which included silver-based therapy and a custom blend of vitamins, my fog lifted. My energy, focus, and clarity returned incrementally, a reminder that my mind had not failed me – it had been tethered to a body crying out for balance and care.

I revisited one of my old favorites, John Kehoe’s Mind Power into the 21st Century. It was transformative once again. Daily affirmation, daily mindfulness, became essential. I learned that mental control was impossible without first nurturing the physical foundation: my health, my environment, and my daily practices. Six months prior, I wouldn’t have had the capacity to even entertain the idea of controlling my thoughts. Now, settled in my tranquil farm home, I could practice focus, positivity, and self-guardianship.

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Inner Work

I thought often of Dr. Helen Laurenson, my psychologist, who taught me to validate my feelings, to hold space for myself even when everything outside was falling apart. Looking back, I realized that even in the chaos, I had been building myself from within. Trusting my intuition, looking inward for guidance, became my north star. Growth, like life, was a dance: three steps forward, one step back. Learn to dance in the storms, I reminded myself.

Goal 1: Accept the Past
Gratitude emerged from the wreckage of old mistakes and heartbreaks. Every difficult lesson carried something precious, if only I was willing to see it.

Goal 2: Move Forward
Action, no matter how small, mattered. Every step – be it picking up the camera for photography, or writing, was a reclaiming of agency, a signal that I was not broken beyond repair. I even relaunched photo.co.za, nurturing my passion and reminding myself that creativity could coexist with recovery.

By August, I returned to my cart horse contract – my first real engagement in work after months of struggle. Two or three days a week, I tested my stamina, my focus, and my resilience. There were difficult days, yes – brain fog and fatigue made me question my capabilities – but they were tempered by breakthroughs, productive days, and the simple joy of being able to contribute again. Gratitude became a practice, a conscious choice each morning I woke feeling healthy.

Goal 3: Keep the Faith
Faith – faith in life, in the process, in my body’s capacity to heal, and in myself – became my anchor. Setbacks occurred; a pause in medication, a flare-up of fatigue, moments of doubt. And yet, each time, my body and mind proved resilient. I was feeling stronger than I had in months, perhaps even two years. I was working more, focusing more, living more.

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Reflections

The journey from despair to hope is never linear. Illness, heartbreak, and personal failure often arrive intertwined, masking lessons as cruelty. Yet, through the haze of fatigue and the turbulence of mood, I discovered a truth that would sustain me through future storms: healing is holistic. It is body, mind, and spirit. It is patience, persistence, and faith.

By early 2016, I was not cured, not perfect, but alive in a way that felt extraordinary. Every day, I learned to breathe through panic, to trust the process, and to celebrate the small victories: a day without brain fog, a day without tears, a day I felt present in my own life. And most importantly, I learned that even in the darkest valleys, hope and faith are the twin lights that will guide you home.