I was sick for a while before I knew I was sick. I’d been tired. So tired. I’m normally a lower-energy person who needs more rest than others, but this was extreme. I supposed it was more perimenopause.

I had aches and pains. By the end of the day, I felt like I had the flu. I couldn’t wait to relax in a warm shower for a few minutes and then lie flat in bed. I used to take a walk in the evening, but I didn’t even have the stamina for that anymore. 

I assumed it was aging. I’ve heard you get a lot of aches and pains as you get older. I thought this was just my life now, a life where everything hurt all the time. I simply had to get used to it.

I was having a lot of what I believed to be hot flashes, even though I’m on HRT. My face would flush, and I would overheat, sweating profusely, sometimes while on a work call. It was just menopause, though. Right? 

I was so tired, I could barely work. Even when I was awake, I struggled to focus on the task in front of me. I knew menopause came with brain fog, but this was next-level. Would I ever be able to concentrate again?

I was out of breath all the time, pulling back on exercise, and it seemed not even sleep could restore my strength. I remember one weekend in particular we were going to have a family night, and after my nap I could barely lift my hands. What was wrong with me?

I was discouraged because I had just finished this beautiful month of semi-sabbatical in May. I’d spent time restoring my relationships and renewing my creativity. I had ideas and energy for moving forward in life, then bam! Hard stop.

You know how moms take their kids to the doctor — or at least call the doctor — at the first sign something is wrong, but we don’t always take ourselves? Um, yeah, that was me. Until I could barely sleep, swallow, or move for the pain.

So one morning I finally dragged myself to the doctor. I feared an autoimmune disease. They happen more to women in their 40s and 50 — and more to women in general. And I know enough of the medical world to know that sometimes people contract viruses such as Ebstein-Barr (which causes mono and which I got tested for) and never recover. They remain ill, sometimes bedbound, permanently.

Thankfully it didn’t look like my tests were pointing to anything permanent or autoimmune, but to something else: thyroiditis. The pace of recovery would be slow. Sometimes there would be no improvement day to day, and I would only notice improvement from week to week. Sometimes I would get worse instead of better, as progress turned to regress. And truth be told, I’m not fully recovered yet.

I’ve been seriously ill before, but it’s been many years. Most of the time when I get sick, I’m down for a couple days, and then I recover. And although I had lots of people praying for me this time around, I have to admit I wasn’t always very patient in waiting for improvement or healing. Whenever I was conscious, that is.

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Several months ago I asked God to expand my horizons. One Sunday during communion I went forward for the bread and the cup, and when I returned to my seat, a prayer from long ago popped into my mind, and I prayed it. 

I hadn’t thought of the prayer of Jabez in a quarter of a century, and I certainly wasn’t praying it in a prosperity-gospel type of way. Still, although I’d intended the petition for one area of my life, God seemed to be answering it in other areas. He opened invitations and pathways I didn’t see coming. Stirred my heart to long for more depth, more fruit, more of Him in my life. I started seeking, pulling on the threads of my desires.

Until I got sick. I lay on the recliner for weeks. I had a little supply bag — books, phone, sudoku, water or rehydration mix, sugar-free mints. Still, most of what I did was sleep. Monitor temperature and heart rate. Manage pain and pills. I basically lost the month of June; my children can attest to this.

As I recovered, I knew I needed to rebuild my capacity. Slowly begin small amounts of work. Slowly start to move my body more. Keep resting a lot, trying not to overdo anything or push myself too soon. 

But as I continued improving, I remembered all this deep work I’d done before my health declined. And I suddenly saw that the daily habits of my life weren’t sturdy enough to support the spiritual, creative, and vocational expansion I was longing for and starting to step into. I needed better scaffolding for my life, a better structure to hold all the plans and dreams that were being birthed inside me.

If I wanted to be more fruitful, I needed a healthier support system to cultivate that growth. I couldn’t just rebuild my former capacity. I needed to build more capacity than before.

And so I outlined ways to make that happen. I scrutinized my daily schedule, figuring out where I was losing time to news reels, task switching, internet scrolling. Ascertaining how to stack the daily routines of meal prep, personal care, household tasks. Learning how to bundle and batch, streamline and save. 

Turns out, I was scattering my tasks simply because I could. Because I work from home and can do anything at any time. And also because my midlife brain is so distractible. But then again, this is how I lived for years as a homeschool mom, flitting from one need to the next, never knowing if I would finish a task before a child needed me for something else.

I hadn’t realized that I was fissioning away my days. I had to do nothing for a month to realize that I could do more than the somethings I was doing before.

But I also know I recoil from strict schedules. I do much better being able to finish a task before moving onto the next, even if the clock says it’s time. The perfectionist in me hates a schedule. I thought back to the early days of homeschooling and how I’d approached our days. I’d developed a routine for ourselves — a particular order to our tasks and a general time placement for them, whether before breakfast, before lunch, before dinner, or before bed.

Something too structured, and I collapse in fear of failure. Something too loose, and I don’t accomplish enough. The concept of scaffolding seemed spacious enough, sturdy enough, to balance these competing inclinations and still hold my dreams and desires.

Even before I got sick, I’d had a hunger to go deeper into the spiritual life, the creative life. I’d been working through books and chatting with friends about these things. I’d been a little bit wander-y, of course, but I’d been on the right track. I feared I’d lost the momentum with this illness. 

But that doesn’t have to be true. I can build a better scaffolding to support the bigger, more expansive life I’m dreaming of. I’ve always had limited capacity, and even more so in midlife, but as I heal from physical sickness, I’m reaching for more capacity. I guess that’s what dreams, visions, invitations will do to you — prompt you to alter things that aren’t working so you can open your soul to something new.

Seen in this light, I suppose even sickness has its upsides.