The Symptoms We Normalize

There are things I still live with every single day
that I now know aren’t normal —
even though I used to believe they were.

Because when you’ve been in survival mode long enough,
you stop noticing the red flags.
You start calling them personality traits.
You start telling yourself:

“I’ve always been this way.”
“It’s just part of getting older.”
“I’m probably just being dramatic.”

So let me name what I’m still living with —
because I refuse to pretend it’s normal anymore.

Most mornings, I wake up feeling stiff, heavy, and foggy.
My low back usually aches,
and my muscles feel sore, tight, and worn down —
sometimes for no clear reason.
Other times, it feels like the residue of everything I’ve pushed through.
There are days when everything feels weak and heavy,
like my body’s running on fumes before I even begin.

There’s this mental haze I carry —
slowed thinking, forgetfulness,
trouble focusing, difficulty finding words.
It’s like my brain is constantly moving through mud.

And then there’s the emotional weight —
once labeled “depression,”
treated with antidepressants for decades.

But what I’ve come to understand is this:
it’s NOT just a diagnosis.
It’s something deeper.
Something real, raw, and heavy.

A deep lack of motivation.
A flatness that blurs joy and numbs clarity.
Days where hope feels distant and everything feels too hard.

I’m in the process of tapering off those meds now —
not because I’m ignoring what I feel,
but because I’m finally addressing the root of it.

And let me be clear:
This isn’t about denying what I’ve lived through.
It’s about reclaiming the truth underneath the label.

This isn’t just burnout.
This isn’t aging.
And it’s definitely not all in my head.

It’s inflammation.
It’s imbalance.
It’s my body still saying,
“I need help.”

But instead of ignoring it,
I’m listening now.
I’m tracking it.
Feeding it better.
Giving it space, support, and honesty.

Because I’ve learned the hard way —
pushing through isn’t healing.
It’s just delayed collapse.

We live in a world where women are taught to downplay their pain
and power through as if that’s strength.

But strength isn’t found in silence.
It’s found in truth.
In paying attention.
In choosing to believe your body before someone else does.

When I saw my labs —
the inflammation, the cardiovascular risk, the nutrient depletion —
I finally stopped pretending everything was fine.

It wasn’t.
And honestly? It still isn’t.
But now I’m doing something about it.

If any part of this sounds familiar to you,
I want to say what no one said to me:

You’re not weak.
You’re not broken.
You’re not imagining it.

You’ve simply been conditioned to ignore yourself.

I still live with symptoms.
But I also live with clarity.
With intention.
With the decision to do it differently this time.

The body keeps the score.
But we get to write the next chapter.

With heart,
Rebecca