The Post I Never Thought I Would Write

I used to wake up feeling like a superhero. Now I wake up wondering if I’ll make it through the day.

This post is going to be different from the topics I usually write. In fact, it’s different from anything I’ve ever written. And to be honest, sharing this publicly feels about as comfortable as showing up naked to a dinner party, but here we are.

As I type this, I'm battling a headache and brain fog so thick I'm surprised I can still form complete sentences. I wish I could say it was just the aftermath of a wild night filled with questionable decisions and too many tequila shots. But sadly, it’s not. I went to bed at 9 pm, got a solid 8+ hours of sleep, and my craziest drink last night was herbal tea. Clearly, I’m living on the edge.

I joke because humor helps, but the truth is, something much deeper has been going on.

The last few weeks have been some of the hardest of my life.

A Life That Just Worked (Until It Didn’t)

I had the kind of childhood people write gratitude journal entries about. No major trauma, no real hardships. Just love, stability, and space to grow. And as I got older, things just... worked. I was building my business, lifting heavy, dancing hard, learning fast. A regular day felt like a 10/10. I didn’t just feel good, I felt unstoppable.

That doesn’t mean life was easy. I still had stress, problems, tough moments, just like anyone. But when you wake up feeling like you’re on drugs most of it didn’t really touch me. I could eat those things for breakfast (or let’s say lunch, since I don’t eat breakfast).

I say this not to brag, but because I remember that version of me so clearly. And I want you to understand what it felt like… before the tide turned.

Something’s Off

My baseline was so high, I didn’t even realize it was a baseline. It was just… life. Then things started to shift. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way. There was no single moment where everything changed. It slowly but surely.

It began with my resting heart rate creeping up. Not by much, just a few beats. Nothing unusual. In the past, that usually just meant I needed rest. So I did what I always did: more sleep, more food, take it easy. But this time, it didn’t help.

My heart rate variability dropped. My energy dipped. My workouts got harder. At first, I thought I was just overreaching. Maybe I was pushing too hard. But then the fatigue settled in. Deeper than usual. Not tired like I need a nap, but tired like my body is running on 60%.

I stopped dancing. I could barely make it through gym sessions. My moods shifted. I started to feel irritated, sluggish, flat. The 10 out of 10 days started disappearing, and I couldn’t explain why.

One day my physiotherapist suggested it might be long-COVID. She had been dealing with it herself and recognized the patterns. At first, I dismissed it. It didn’t seem to match what I thought long-COVID looked like. But nothing else made sense. And as time went on and nothing improved, I started to wonder if she was right.

When Your Body Stops Making Sense

Over time, it got worse. Not just physically, but mentally. I started to feel like I was losing access to the part of me that made me me.

I wasn’t just tired anymore. My brain stopped working the way it used to. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t think clearly. Ideas wouldn’t stick. Conversations took effort. Work became a mountain I couldn’t climb.

And the worst part? Nothing helped. I tried everything. More sleep. Less sleep. Supplements. Breathwork. Cold plunges. Biohacking protocols. Rest days. Meditation. Mental reframes. None of it moved the needle.

I felt like I was doing everything right and still getting worse. That’s a deeply helpless place to be. Even the doctors didn’t have much to offer. Tests came back “normal.” Advice was vague. Try to rest. Try to reduce stress. Try not to overthink it.

But how do you not overthink it when your body feels like it’s breaking down and no one can tell you why?

When Fear Hijacks Your Body

Then fear entered the game.

It wasn’t constant, and it wasn’t always intense. But it appeared often enough to leave a deep mark on me.

Worst though were the moments I genuinely thought I was going to die. Not in some abstract way, but in a real, physical, terrifying way. It’s hard to explain. They came out of nowhere and triggered a whole cascade of rumination. A strange tightness in my chest. A wave of dizziness. A weird, electric sensation running through my body. Sometimes my hands would start sweating, or my heartbeat would shift just enough to make me freeze. My mind would spin: Is this a panic attack? A heart problem? Am I about to pass out? Is this the end?

Time would slow down. My thoughts would go dark. I wasn’t scared in the way you’re scared before a presentation or a breakup. This was raw animal fear. The kind that hijacks your whole system. The kind that says, You are not safe in your own body.

I had never felt anything like it before. And once you feel that kind of fear, it doesn’t just leave. Even when the episode passes, the imprint stays. I became more cautious. More watchful. I didn’t trust my body anymore. I started looking for signs of collapse, analyzing every little sensation, always wondering if the next wave was coming.

Even relaxing became complicated. Meditation, something I previously enjoyed, became difficult because it required being present inside a body that no longer felt safe or reliable. The calm, steady place I used to retreat into suddenly felt like the very place I needed to escape.

These moments weren’t happening every day, but they didn’t need to. They showed up enough to change me. I used to feel invincible, strong, confident. Now I carried caution with me. I became careful. A little less brave. And lot more uncertain.

Afraid of My Own Body

But it was really those moments of feeling like I’m going to die that added tremendous value to my life. I know that sounds weird. But over time, I found a rhythm for moving through them. A way to be with the fear without letting it break me.

A kind of presence would rise up. The kind I used to feel only after ten-day meditation retreats. The noise drops away. You're just... here. Nothing to distract you. No filters. No bullshit. Just reality. Clear and unfiltered.

At some point, I stopped asking how to fix it. That question had taken me in circles for too long. Instead, I started asking a different one: What actually matters?

When you're facing constant headaches, brain fog, and moments where you feel nothing at all, you start seeing things differently. If my time here really is limited, I don't have the luxury of wasting it. And if I have to deal with this every day, maybe I can at least make it count for something beyond myself.

Strangely, this thought brought relief. It loosened the tight grip of my ego. I began to think less about proving myself and more about how I could help others. If my energy was limited, it felt clear that I should spend it on something meaningful. Something that genuinely mattered.

Nietzsche famously said

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

I understood this intellectually for years, but for the first time, I truly felt it.

The Question That Changed My Life

This insight became the starting point for defining the purpose of my life. Suddenly, things clicked into place. It felt like discovering a missing puzzle piece I have been searching for. I realized my gift was to inspire. It had always come naturally to me. Even in small ways, I always felt most alive when inspiring someone or making them see things differently.

But having a gift isn't enough. A gift only matters if it's used with intention, direction, and purpose. That's where my calling emerged clearly from this experience: helping people discover who they truly are, and guiding them toward building a life they genuinely love. Specifically, helping them build a solo business that gives them autonomy, leverage, and the freedom to fulfill their potential and purpose.

This purpose wasn't a new invention. It had always been somewhere beneath the surface, whispering to me quietly. But now it shouted. I knew, in a deep and undeniable way, that this was how I wanted to spend whatever energy and time I had left.

I didn't suddenly heal. I still had the same symptoms, the same uncertainties. But now I had clarity. And clarity changed everything.

Appreciating What Really Matters

This also translated into how I treat my relationship with the people I love. I want to appreciate the time with them more. It is precious and limited.

Of course, I had known this intellectually for years. But now, facing uncertainty about my own health and mortality made this truth incredibly real. It no longer felt abstract. Every interaction started to feel meaningful and urgent. I found myself constantly asking: What if this is really is last time?

In the case of my grandparents it doesn’t take much to get to this thinking. Every time I see them it really could be the last time. Instead of waiting for weeks or months to pass by, I visited them that weekend and told them what I wanted to tell them. I’m trying to leave without anything being unsaid.

The same realization shifted my relationship with my parents. We hadn’t been on a real vacation together in almost 20 years. And looking at our lives honestly, I saw clearly that our chances were limited. So I booked us a trip to Mexico for Christmas. Will it be our last trip? I certainly hope not. But I’ll treat it as though it could be, savoring every moment we have together.

Why Pushing Harder Made Everything Worse

I’ve always considered myself pretty self-aware. I read tons of books. I reflect. I do the inner work. I thought I had a good handle on my blindspots. But nothing prepares you for the blindspots you don’t even know you have.

One of the biggest revelations was how deeply entrenched I was in the achiever mindset. Listening to audiobooks at 3x speed, anyone? Or how about doing 1,000 pull-ups in less than an hour just for the fun of it? Yeah, I was that kind of person. My solution to almost every problem was simple: push harder. Running through a brick wall. Everything else was considered weak.

Well it worked for me pretty good for me - until it didn’t. Long-Covid doesn't care how disciplined or motivated you are. In fact, trying to push through fatigue is the worst possible strategy. It just doesn’t work. Trust me, I tried it. When I felt slightly better I hit the gym, doing a bit more and… crashed. I would wake up the next morning feeling like I got hit by a train (or two). Sometimes even the same day.

The key is to stop even before you hit your limit. Preferably even long before you feel tired. It’s a concept called pacing and it is one of the only things we know that helps with chronic fatigue. How do you know when to stop? Well you don’t. It is trial and error and there will be many times you don’t get it right. But over time you will get better.

For me this was an awful pillow to swallow. Rest felt like weakness to me. And of course in the beginning I didn’t want to swallow it. But after getting hit by the metaphorical train enough times, I was forced to. I had to learn that the achiever mindset doesn’t work here. I had to accept my situation and make peace with it. Acceptance actually became my ally.

Embracing Weirdness

Acceptance opened another door for me. A door I never expected. Behind that door was something far deeper: self-acceptance, compassion, and authenticity.

I realized how harshly I judged myself in the past. I would argue all of us are guilty of this, especially high-achievers. We compare, measure, and always find ourselves lacking. We push endlessly because it feels like the only way to prove our worth. But when my body forced me to slow down, I was left with no choice but to confront these judgments head-on.

At first, it felt like defeat. But eventually, it felt like freedom.

Acceptance allowed me to see myself clearly, maybe for the first time. I started embracing parts of myself I previously ignored or rejected. I stopped worrying about becoming some ideal version of myself. I realized that life is not about becoming some ideal self. Life is about discovering who we already are, and then have the courage to be exactly that. It felt like dropping a heavy weight I did not even realize I was carrying.

It also helped me to express myself. Not just in my work, but also in the way I dress myself. I traded some of my boring clothes for ones that are more expressive of who I am. Small as it sounds, it symbolized a deeper shift. It reminded me that being yourself is one of the best feelings you can have. It is not just about living congruently with your values. It is about embracing your weirdness and feeling good with it. To show up more fully as yourself.

When you truly allow yourself to be yourself, you stop judging yourself. We have a strong tendency to judge ourselves (and others) too critically.

We all have a strong tendency to judge ourselves (and others) too critically. The funny thing is, when you really allow yourself to be yourself, you also stop judging yourself so harshly. You become a little more kind, a little more gentle with your own inner world.

From Judgment to Compassion

Self-acceptance also softened my view of others. Before this experience, life was going so well that I unknowingly disconnected from the struggles others faced. If someone was struggling, my first instinct was to believe they simply needed to push harder, change their mindset, or get out of their comfort zone. But what if pushing harder does not work? What if some challenges simply cannot be overcome through sheer willpower?

Now I see others and their struggles differently. I am more compassionate, less judgmental. I have learned that sometimes you can do everything right (eating well, exercising, staying socially connected, practicing gratitude) and still struggle deeply. Especially if biological or genetic factors are involved. Depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue, these are not moral failures or signs of weakness. They are human realities, and pretending otherwise helps no one.

However, this realization does not mean people should settle for less or use it as an excuse to remain comfortable. Most people still do not live up to their own standards. They can do and become far more than they currently allow themselves. My point is simply that some struggles are real, and peak-performance strategies do not always apply.

For me, the biggest lesson was learning how to extend that compassion inward. Toward myself. Self-compassion, it turns out, is not indulgence. It is the foundation for resilience, growth, and healing. Without compassion for ourselves, we can never genuinely extend compassion to others. And the world desperately needs more of both.

A Call for Compassion

As I write this, I’m not cured. In fact, I’m still struggling with the symptoms of long-COVID. Maybe now more than ever. Some days are still incredibly hard, and I’m still learning to navigate life in this new reality.

So why am I writing all this?

Maybe you’ve heard about long-COVID, or maybe you know someone who is suffering from it. Many people still don’t take it seriously. From the outside, those struggling might seem like hypochondriacs or pessimists. But I can tell you from firsthand experience: it’s real, and it’s deeply challenging. One of the worst parts is not being taken seriously. When others dismiss your struggles, it amplifies the loneliness and isolation.

I know of people who've taken their own lives because the isolation and hopelessness became overwhelming. My hope in sharing my story is that it helps more people take this illness seriously and treat sufferers with compassion. Your understanding could literally save someone’s life.

For anyone currently battling long-COVID or another chronic illness: I want you to know you’re not alone. There is genuine hope, even though it might not always feel like it. You're not powerless, even if your circumstances feel overwhelming. Over time, things often get better. I wish I could tell you life will eventually return to exactly how it was before. Unfortunately, I can’t promise that. Your happiness doesn’t have to depend entirely on your health or your circumstances. Acceptance, as difficult as it may sound, can bring genuine relief. It can help you recreate yourself and turn your life into something new and meaningful.

Your ability to experience joy and fulfillment isn’t permanently tied to your sickness. I know it might feel strange or impossible at first, but fully accepting your circumstances can lead to a profound kind of relief. You might even find yourself smiling again, genuinely, despite everything.

If my story helps even one person feel less alone or inspires them to hold on, then writing all of this will have been worth it.

So hold on. You’re not broken. You’re just becoming something new. And you’re not alone.