It’s funny how we respond to illness.
When I was younger, I fought it. I wasn’t going to let being unwell interrupt anything important. When I went into labour, I kept writing an Open University essay. When I was taken into hospital with a DVT in my leg, I sat there with my briefcase, finishing reports because they needed to be done.
Looking back now, through the lens of age, I can see that neither of those things really mattered. But they were true to my character at the time. I pushed through. I kept going. I didn’t stop unless I absolutely had to.
This time has been different.
Getting ill, having the operation, then the bad cough, and now what seems to be a viral infection has slowed me right down. And for once, I haven’t fought it. I’ve taken time to recover. I’ve still been thinking, but I haven’t pushed myself into doing the hard physical things. I tried to go back to the gym and didn’t have the energy, so I stopped. I’ve been kinder to myself than I would ever have been years ago.
What I felt today, this Saturday in mid-December, wasn’t an urge to achieve or produce. It was a need to clear space.
I sent something to my paid subscribers earlier, then turned my attention to small, ordinary tasks. I swept my balcony. I wiped the windows. It’s a tiny space, but making it clean and tidy felt quietly satisfying. Over the course of the day, I’ll keep moving gently through my home, letting things go.
My living room is already set for Christmas. It looks warm and calm. But there’s clutter, and I don’t need it. This feels like a moment for releasing rather than adding.
As part of that clearing, I was tidying my Substack homepage, moving sections that didn’t belong where they were. And as I did, I came across articles I’d forgotten I’d written. One on gratitude. Another on joy. A really good piece, actually, and one where joy was my word of the year.
I’d completely forgotten that.
And yet, as I read it, I realised how much I’d been living it without consciously noticing. More than once this year I’ve caught myself asking a simple question: does this give me joy? I hadn’t set out deliberately to follow that idea, but I’d embodied it all the same.
That feels significant.
As Christmas approaches, I notice something else too. I’m calmer than I’ve ever been at this time of year. My mother already has her present. I’ve sorted things for my son. But Christmas, for me now, isn’t about gifts or busyness. It’s about peace. About calm. About seeing some people, not everyone. About not doing too much.
Perhaps that’s what slowing down has given me this time. Not a loss of momentum, but a clearer sense of what matters. Space instead of struggle. Recovery instead of resistance.
