Back to Work: The I-Can’t-Believe-I-Did-It

So, I did it. I went back to work. 

Cue the confetti, the “You’re amazing!” texts,  and the Facebook post with 57 likes. People were proud; they really were. And part of me? Well, even part of me was proud, too. But here’s what no one talks about when they cheer you on the crushing weight of feeling like it’s still not enough.

Let’s backtrack after years of managing my chronic pain and illness with the efficiency of a world-class CEO. I was teaching classes on Living a healthy life with chronic pain, and I was walking the walk. I had made it.  I had been pacing myself like a pro (or so I thought), carefully balancing the delicate ecosystem that was my daily life. I thought I was finally ready to tackle part-time work again. So when I returned to work, everyone acted like I had just conquered Everest. My doctor practically beamed when she was told the news, as if I had unlocked the ultimate level of healing.

“Look at you!” she said with a smile that was just a little too triumphant. You’re back to work! That’s amazing! You must be feeling so much better.” 

I nodded and smiled, but inside I was screaming. Better? Yes, in the sense that I’m no longer completely bed-bound. But no, in the sense that I still wake up every morning with a body that feels like it was hit by a freight train. Not to mention the fatigue that rolls in by noon, leaving me questioning every life choice I’ve ever made. 

But the reality? It’s been less of a victory lap and more like a slow-motion fall down the stairs.

The first day back, I felt on top of the world. “Look at me!” I thought. I’m contributing to society again! I’m more than my illness!” I rolled into my new work with a spring in my step (okay, more like a slow shuffle, but still). People greeted me with smiles, welcoming me to the team. My supervisor was all "Tell us how we can help."

For a hot minute, I thought, “This is it. I’m finally winning at life again.”

But you know that saying, “The higher you fly, the harder you fall?” Yeah, I lived that. By the end of the first week, the fatigue hit me like a freight train. The energy I had managed to conserve over months of careful pacing slipped through my fingers. Every day, I’d drag myself home, too exhausted to do anything but collapse on the couch. My body was giving me those *not-so-subtle* reminders that I wasn’t built for this kind of stamina anymore.

What people don’t see is how the pain creeps back in, slowly at first, like a nagging reminder that chronic illness doesn’t just go away because you *want* it to. At first, it was just a bit of soreness, a few more aches than usual. But by the second week? Every part of me was screaming. The pain was growing, each day chipping away at that delicate balance I’d worked so hard to maintain.

I could feel myself slipping. I wasn’t able to get up as quickly in the mornings. My pacing was thrown completely off. I wasn’t sleeping well because my body was too busy aching in places I forgot could ache. And the worst part? I felt trapped. I had made it this far, and people were *so proud* of me—how could I back out now?

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Everyone’s so proud. “Look at you! You’re incredible! You’re such an inspiration!” And while I appreciate it, it adds this invisible pressure. It’s like if I don’t keep going, if I don’t keep pushing through the exhaustion, the pain, the *everything*, then I’m letting people down. They see my return to work as a triumph, and don’t get me wrong, it *is*—but they don’t know how much it’s costing me.

Whenever someone says, “I’m so proud of you,”  or " You Made it!" a tiny weight gets added to my shoulders. Because while they’re celebrating, I’m sitting here thinking, “Is this really worth it? Am I slowly undoing all the progress I’ve made?” The truth is, I’m not 100% sure I made the right decision. I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but I’m also terrified that I’m letting myself slip further into a place I can’t recover from.

I had a balance before I went back to work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I had learned to pace myself, to listen to my body, to say no when I needed to, and to rest when things got too much. But now? Now, it feels like I’m slowly chiselling away at that balance. Every day, I push through the fatigue, the pain, and the fog that creeps into my brain by mid-afternoon. I can *feel* it—like my body sends warning signals, begging me to stop.

But I can’t. Not really. Because I’m *back*. And once you’re back, you’re *back*, right? There’s this unspoken pressure to keep going, to prove that I’m capable and didn’t make a mistake. But deep down, I’m wondering if I did. Did I push myself too soon? Is this sustainable? Or am I on a path that will lead to another crash, another period where I’ll be forced to hit pause on life all over again?

Here’s the kicker: I don’t have the answers. I wish I did, but I’m still figuring it out. Some days, I feel like I’ve got this like I’m managing to balance work and life and illness in some sort of twisted dance. Other days, I’m barely holding on, exhausted and wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea in the first place.

Yesterday, I cried all the way home from work, repeating the mantra, "You got this, you can do this." But at this exact moment, I feel like I don't have this. 

But!

For now, I’m sitting with my decision, unpacking it, writing out my feelings, and trying to find a way forward that works for me. And if that means taking a few more steps back before moving forward again, then so be it.