Ten Years of Pain -The Journey Home to Myself-Part 2

At the age of 33, I was now truly “grown up”.

I had a house, a mortgage, a car and the same job, only with a lot more responsibility. I was a success. Hurrah!

I had also just had my first baby, a beautiful blue-eyed wonder who completely stole my heart.

I’d agreed to go back to work when she turned six months old. I just thought this was what successful people did.

I remember visiting nurseries with her before Christmas, taking in the brightly coloured paintings on the walls and the smell of sausages and mash wafting through the air. All the while, I had a huge lump in my throat and a heavy heart.

I was breaking up inside.

I knew I would soon be leaving her, and the guilt I felt was immense.

Lo and behold… drum roll, please…

Yep, you guessed it.

That very week, my back gave way like never before.

I bent over to place my sleeping baby into her cot and suddenly my back seized. It genuinely felt as though something had broken.

Sorry to sound dramatic, but anyone who has ever experienced a severe back spasm will know exactly what I’m talking about.

It was terrifying.

I was on the floor, alone, and paralysed. Not literally, but paralysed by fear.

This was the day everything changed.

This was the day I became scared.

This was the day I started believing I was damaged.

My back eventually recovered from that episode, but it never quite felt the same afterwards.

Then came my second bouncing bundle of joy in the form of a healthy baby boy.

And that, my friends, is when things really kicked off.

By the time my son was two, I was Managing Director of the company where I worked. The responsibilities at home and at work were huge.

I did everything with enormous care and effort.

I was spinning so many plates.

I didn’t want to let anyone down.

I wanted to deliver constant results for my clients, which isn’t exactly easy in a senior sales role. I wanted to train and support my team and keep them performing at their best.

At home, I wanted to show up for my children 110%.

I threw elaborate birthday parties, ordered the perfect cakes, organised party bags. I even provided the entertainment at one party myself-never again!

Honestly, what was I thinking?

I was juggling full-time work, commuting and running a household. Lunchboxes. School runs. Feeding the cats. Endless chores.

Something was eventually going to give and it was only a matter of time.

And something did give, I’ll pay you a million pounds if you can guess what it was.

As if I have to tell you.

It was my back.

In 2016, I ran to the garage to get my bike so I could speed off to the train station when my back completely seized. I somehow made it to my bedroom and stayed there for the next two weeks.

If I’d thought my back was broken before, this was the mother of all attacks, I was convinced I was doomed. I sat on my bed and sobbed for two solid weeks. I was rigid with fear, terrified for my future, I just felt completely broken, the tears fell and they fell.

And it wasn’t self-pity, although to be fair I probably deserved a bit of that, I was just so utterly overwhelmed.

I felt guilty about not being at work. In fact, I still had my laptop open and was trying to work from my bed. I couldn’t help with the children, I couldn’t do anything.

My back had forced me to stop.

But why?

Now, as a stress illness and chronic pain recovery coach, I look back at that woman with so much compassion.

That darling girl was simply trying her best, actually, she was trying far too hard. She was existing from one day to the next, never really present enough to enjoy the life she was working so hard to create. She had weighed herself down with self-criticism, judgement and impossible expectations. She was chasing perfection in the most exhausting way imaginable.

Eventually, enough was enough.

My body simply said no. Sadly back then, I knew nothing about neuroplastic symptoms or the wisdom of the mind-body connection.

And if you’re still reading this and still with me, I’m sorry to say that this wasn’t the end.

I know, maddening, isn’t it? So blooming unnecessary, knowing what we know now.

This darling girl rose like a rather bedraggled phoenix from the flames and limped on for years- yes years!

I lived with back pain 24 hours a day, spasms came and went. The pain started to spread into my right shoulder and my left groin. I developed tinnitus. I got unexplained rashes across my chest that itched like hell. Honestly, it was a pretty shit show.

However, I plonked a smile on my face, dug deep, pushed through and got on with things as best I could. I was happy-ish. But by the end of every day, I was done.

Standing hurt.

Sitting hurt.

Life hurt.

Most evenings found me either lying down or sitting in a dark, quiet room trying to recover enough energy to do it all again the next day.

I visited doctor after doctor. Over the years I was prescribed Naproxen, Tramadol, Zopain, Amitriptyline and Diazepam, to name but a few. Nothing really worked, the pain was still there. I saw countless physiotherapists and osteopaths. I tried acupuncture. I attended a pain management clinic. I had two MRI scans.

Eventually, a consultant diagnosed me with degenerative disc disease, bulging discs, facet joint degeneration and mild scoliosis (at least it was mild!). I joke now, but at the time I was devastated. The diagnoses sounded frightening.

Permanent.

Serious.

I was told not to lift or carry my children-I was devastated. I was told not to sit in bed at a ninety-degree angle. Oh, sod this! At that stage, there wasn’t much else I could do and I happened to quite enjoy watching television in bed. Apparently that pleasure was now off the menu too.

One doctor looked at me and said, “Based on your MRI, This is your life now, Lindsay. You’ve got to accept it-you’re not getting any younger.” Ouch! That comment hurt more than my back!

Just like that, I was essentially told to go away and learn to live with the pain because nothing more could be done.

As a parting comment after my MRI, it was suggested I try Pilates. Well, thank you, Mr Consultant. I’d already been doing Pilates for the previous five years in an attempt to get rid of my pain.

Been there.

Done that.

I slept with pillows between my knees.

I had a grabber stick to pick things up around the house because I no longer believed I could bend down safely. Honestly, I looked like I was preparing for the world’s most boring Glastonbury.

I had heat packs.

Ice packs.

Gels.

Lotions.

Potions.

And pretty much everything else in between. What the actual F was I supposed to do?

Alongside the physical pain sat something else.

Despair.

Anger.

Frustration.

But don’t forget, I was a nice person.

And nice people don’t do public displays of difficult emotions.

Big mind-body clue there, people. There was so much repression going on.

But spoiler alert…

Good times were coming.

Check in and read the final part of my recovery adventure………..coming soon.