Three years ago now, I hit rock bottom. After years of increasing exhaustion, brain-fog and pain I had given up my work and become dependent on my husband. My career was in ruins and I was caught up in the post-Covid backlog, waiting months for an appointment with a cardiologist to investigate the weird pounding in my chest at the slightest exertion. My sleep was disturbed by sudden heart-swooping panics, and I was terrified that my skipping, bumping heart would just stop one day. On this memorable occasion I had been whisked off in an ambulance, blue lights flashing, to the resus room at our local hospital. After the initial flurry of activity I lay on a gurney, alone, watching the erratic trace of my atrial fibrillation. I felt a sudden shift in my symptoms; a heat in my ears, a shiver through my body, and a sudden heat and wetness as I lost control of my bladder. Several thoughts flitted through my panicked mind.

‘I’m dying.’

‘I should call the nurse.’

‘They’re busy; I shouldn’t make myself a nuisance.’

And then the voice of reason, giving me a good slap in the face

.

‘If you don’t make a fuss now, you may never do anything ever again. Shout!’

‘Nurse!’

Thank God, I wasn’t dying, it was only the signs of my heart shifting out of atrial fibrillation and back into normal rhythm, but I look back on that moment now as the pivotal point in my recovery. It was the shock I needed to drive the long climb back to health.

In that moment I realised just how deeply ingrained and dangerous my reluctance to ask for help was. I had thought I was dying, and yet I still hesitated to call out! I expected frustration and dismissal, but instead I received only kindness and reassurance from the wonderful nurse who answered. I wept in humiliation and relief as she washed me, saw me, put herself in my place, told me that she knew I was a nurse too, and named how hard it must be to lie there as she washed me and changed my soiled sheet and gown.

On that gurney, weeping in relief at just being alive, I realised that until I could prioritise my health above all else, my life had in effect ended. I went home with a new commitment to doing whatever it took to recover, a willingness to bite the bullet and invest in myself for a change. Against deep seated guilt around spending our limited resources on myself, I booked a private cardiologist appointment. Later, I paid for the trauma therapy that resolved my paroxysmal, vagal, atrial fibrillation. I looked my old guilt and misplaced self-sacrifice square in the eye and walked past them towards a new and better life. I had no idea at that point what that new life would be, but I was determined to keep walking away from hell, step by step until my future became clearer.

As I write this I am sitting in a hotel room in Santiago de Compostela. In my old life my husband travelled the world, while I stayed home, juggling a young family with my own job and caring for my elderly parents. I had no boundaries, saying yes to everyone who asked, except myself. This time, I was able to say, ‘Take me with you.’ when the conference invitation came. I have set boundaries, and walked away from those who only valued my usefulness. I have picked up the frayed threads of my nursing career and built a life in which I am my own boss, doing work that I love. This time I could pack up my laptop and phone and take my work with me.

Last night we sat in a small café, drinking wine and eating tapas, chatting with a group of complete strangers, and laughing as we negotiated the language barriers of a multi-national group. This morning I set out alone into Santiago as my husband re-joined his conference. I was scared as I left him and walked into a strange city with only a few words of Spanish and no Galician, but I was exhilarated too. I climbed the steep hill through a park, under Spanish oaks and blossoming camellias, to a perfect viewpoint, looking across the city’s pan-tiled rooves to the glory of the cathedral. Robins sang in the trees above as I sat on a bench and wept again, this time for the joy of regained health. I reached back in time to touch and heal my broken self, lying on that gurney. ‘It’s OK. I am here. I am happy. I am well. I am no longer a shell, a burden, a failed nurse, an old woman. I am an adventurer, a businesswoman, a healer again.’ In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined this life, and yet here I am among the other pilgrims, sitting at the latest peak of my own journey, and looking forward to what is still to come.

Have you hit rock bottom yet?  

What would it take to make you put your own health and well-being above all else?

It can be hard to picture what your new life will be, so sometimes your first steps need to be away from what you know you don't want. Please trust that if you are in hell and keep walking, step, by step, by step, you will find the light again.