11. Learning to Trust My Body Again

There was a part of me that thought once I started my thyroid medication, things would begin to fall back into place.

Take the tablet.

Wait a few weeks.

Start feeling like myself again.

Get back to training.

Get back to normal.

It seemed like a simple enough plan.

But recovery, once again, has reminded me that healing isn't always as straightforward as we'd like it to be.

Looking for Answers

After my initial blood tests showed that my TSH was more than double my usual baseline, I finally had an explanation for the overwhelming fatigue I'd been living with.

It wasn't just that I was recovering from surgery.

It wasn't that I wasn't trying hard enough.

It wasn't a lack of motivation.

My body simply wasn't functioning the way it had before.

Starting levothyroxine felt like the next step forward. I hoped it would be the piece that helped everything click back into place.

And, slowly, it has started to help.

But not overnight.

Two Weeks...

I often think back to the day I decided to have surgery.

One of my very first questions to my surgeon was, "How long will I be off training?"

The answer was, "About two weeks."

At the time, that sounded completely manageable.

As an athlete, two weeks felt like a small pause. A chance to recover before easing back into the routine I loved.

What I hadn't considered wasn't the surgery itself.

It was how my body might respond afterwards.

I knew there was a possibility that the remaining half of my thyroid might not function normally after surgery.

I knew I might need medication.

What I didn't understand was just how much that could affect everything.

Not just my thyroid.

My energy.

My recovery.

My confidence.

My ability to train.

My day-to-day life.

No one had really prepared me for the possibility that the recovery from surgery might be the easy part.

When Your Mind Is Ready, But Your Body Isn't

If you've known me for a while, you'll know that movement has always been a huge part of who I am.

Training has never just been about fitness.

It's been where I process life.

Where I clear my head.

Where I challenge myself.

Where I find confidence.

It's part of my identity.

So when I started trying to return to training, I expected it to feel familiar.

Instead, it felt frustrating.

Some days I could manage a gentle session.

Other days, a short walk was enough to leave me exhausted for the rest of the day—and sometimes the next day too.

That was probably one of the hardest things to accept.

Not because I wasn't willing to work hard.

But because, for the first time in a long time, working harder wasn't the answer.

Learning to Listen

For years, my body and I have had a pretty simple agreement.

I ask it to do hard things.

It responds.

This time, it was asking something different of me.

Slow down.

Rest.

Recover.

Wait.

Those words don't come naturally to me.

I'm much more comfortable with plans, goals and ticking boxes.

But this experience has taught me that healing isn't something you can rush.

You can't out-train it.

You can't out-eat it.

You can't out-stubborn it.

Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is stop trying to force progress and allow your body the time it needs.

Small Wins

The medication is beginning to help.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

But enough that I'm noticing little things.

An afternoon where I don't feel completely drained.

A walk that doesn't wipe me out for the next day.

Moments where I catch myself thinking, "I actually feel a little more like me today."

Those moments might seem insignificant.

Right now, they feel huge.

Because they remind me that healing is happening, even when it's slower than I'd like.

A Different Kind of Strength

I've spent years believing that strength looked like pushing through.

Digging deep.

Doing one more rep.

One more kilometre.

One more session.

This season has shown me a different kind of strength.

The strength to rest without guilt.

The strength to change the plan.

The strength to trust that my worth isn't measured by how much I can do.

And perhaps the hardest strength of all...

To believe that slowing down doesn't mean I'm moving backwards.

Trusting My Body Again

After my diagnosis, I remember saying to my doctor, "I feel like my body has ripped me off."

At the time, that's genuinely how it felt.

I looked after myself.

I exercised.

I ate well.

I did everything I thought I was supposed to do.

And yet, I still found myself hearing the words, "You have cancer."

For a while, it felt like my body had let me down.

But as the weeks have passed, I've started to wonder if that's really true.

Maybe my body wasn't betraying me.

Maybe it was asking for help.

The lump was never my body working against me.

It was my body giving me the only sign it could that something wasn't right.

And ever since then, it's been working incredibly hard to heal.

Perhaps now it's my turn to meet it with the same patience it's asking of me.

What I'm Learning

I'm still learning.

Learning that medication isn't a magic switch.

Learning that recovery doesn't follow a schedule.

Learning that progress isn't always measured in kilometres or pace.

Learning that some of the biggest victories are the ones nobody else can see.

And perhaps most importantly...

Learning to trust my body again.

Not because it will never let me down.

But because, even through surgery, recovery and everything that has followed, it has never stopped trying to carry me forward.

One small step at a time.

Learning to trust my body again.