The Exhaustion Took Over My Body with The Speed of a Fast Race Car

I couldn’t get up. I woke up, the sun pouring into our wall of windows, but my body wouldn’t move, and my brain was stuck in neutral. As I stared up at the ceiling, the minutes turned into hours.

Soon, the sun was setting, and I was still in the same position — staring up into the abyss of a white ceiling. The exhaustion took over my body with the speed of the fastest race car on the track.

It didn’t just seep in; it came crashing in like a wave.

The day before, I was fine.

My husband came home from work, and I was lying in bed. I tried to tell him that I was reclining all day but was missing the bon-bon chocolates. I laughed nervously, hoping he would laugh with me.

The next day I woke up to the sun wafting across the bed linens, shadows dancing on the white wall and ceiling. My body was frozen. I willed my feet to move, to take me to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, the task was accomplished!

I’m making progress, I told myself. I looked over at the kitchen, hoping my stomach would stop making that annoying noise. I didn’t have the energy to cook.

After a few more days of this level of fatigue, I realized that something was seriously wrong. I finally sat up, grabbed my laptop, searching the internet for answers. After all, isn’t that what you do now?

Within a couple of weeks, I was speaking to a naturopath. She encouraged me to have an adrenal test, which required me to spit into small plastic tubes at different times of a 24-hour period. As I waited for my next appointment, I continued to stare at the white ceiling intermixed with watching too much Netflix. When my naturopath doctor announced the diagnosis, her voice softened and got quiet.

“Your adrenal glands are in a state of extreme fatigue,” she said.

“What does that mean?” I asked. Later I learned that if I had been diagnosed by an M.D., I would have most likely been hospitalized with Addison’s Disease. That’s what she meant by “extreme.”

“We need to help your adrenal glands come back to life,” she answered.

As I continued to spend my days in bed, lots of things rolled through my mind. Along with the fatigue came depression at a level I had never experienced.

My husband and I had set up a system so that I was able to limit the amount of physical energy I would use throughout the day. He cooked all the meals. I would only get up when I was absolutely hungry, which ended up being never.

Throughout those six months, I began to reevaluate what was important in my life. The Type A Perfectionist thing needed to be thrown in the trash, but when you’ve been wearing those clothes for many years, it’s hard to let go of the comfy sweatshirt. It’s not easy to change.

About five years prior, I had instituted a day of physical rest into my week. This idea of rest was already firmly established, but it was physical rest.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing, and our bodies need physical rest. It’s ok to take a nap, read a book, sip on a hot cup of tea, pet the dog, and love every minute, but I didn’t grow up that way.

My family model taught me how to do things, not rest. When you are doing something, you’re making, producing, or creating, or … You get the idea. If you are not in this space at all times, you are considered lazy.

Besides the fact that I was fighting away the emotional havoc of laziness because I was lying in bed for six months, I knew that something had to change. I began to explore other ways I could rest.

What did it mean to fully rest?

Eventually, I realized that rest could be painting or writing or something that brings me joy. I was afraid to move into this new territory, but each time I approached something that felt good and right, I felt my body relax.

Now, you could say, how much more could my body relax? After all, I was laid up in bed! But it was different.

Within that six-month time, I also started a photography group on Instagram. Each day I featured the work of a local photographer. What began with five followers grew into a following of over 2500 people. It didn’t feel stressful. I enjoyed facilitating meet-ups when I could get out of bed, and I started making new friends.

I began to reflect upon the idea of rest in a way that allows a person to be at work but not feel like they’re working. I realized that rest isn’t about ceasing work or movement, the dictionary’s definition, but more significant.

It has been eight years since I was bedridden, and I am still recovering from adrenal fatigue. Most days, I can get out of bed, be at rest when I write, and allow my soul to breathe into my wholeness.

It’s been a long journey, and I am not perfect, but I think I needed to be bedridden in order to enjoy the creative soul that I am meant to be.

I have also come to know rest when I meet with a soul friend or watch the ocean slide up the sand only to slither back into the abyss below. My body rests when my dog is snuggled up next to me, and we are napping.

I am also at rest when I enjoy the chocolate cake and stop thinking about the calories. Those damn calories. Nom nom nom. I am learning that rest and joy go hand in hand like Siamese twins, and they are slightly separate but really intertwined.

What about you? How do you find rest?