Sick Season

Our usually very healthy family of four has had RSV, the flu, weirdly-not-COVID-but-suspiciously-COVID-adjacent disease, random fevers, and a mom-only (thank God) norovirus situation that felt both biblical and personal. And we are considered only mildly affected. Which feels like a lie someone tells you while handing you a damp washcloth and a Gatorade.

I struggle with being sick in a way that is probably not spiritually evolved. I thrive in routine. I exercise almost every day. I like order. I like systems. I like knowing that if I do the same things repeatedly, the universe will reward me with stability and a functioning immune system.

So when I get sick, I don’t just feel physically bad. I feel… betrayed.

It feels like an inexcusable weakness. A character flaw. A mutiny. My own body staging a coup while I am simply trying to be productive and mildly optimized.

Someone will eventually diagnose some unresolved childhood trauma from that description. And they will probably be correct. But listen. I am who I am.

The hardest part is the disruption. It just feels like we will never get back on track. If I miss three days of running, I might never run again. If I allow disorder, I might always allow it. If the laundry piles up, it will one day form a sentient being and begin paying property taxes.

Intellectually, I understand this is not true. Spiritually, however, I am fighting for my better angels while also aggressively folding towels and trying not to cry.

And this is the part where this stops being about viruses and starts being about patterns.

Because the thing about Sick Season is that it doesn’t just reveal your physical vulnerabilities. It reveals your mental ones. It exposes the patterns you default to when things stop working.

Some people collapse.

Some people control.

Some people scroll.

Some people spiral.

And some of us—hi, it’s me—decide that if we cannot control our health, we will instead attempt to control literally everything else in our environment.

Which brings me to Dwelling.

This season has not only been a parade of fevers and pediatrician visits. It has also been a season of discouragement. The kind that is quiet and persistent. The kind that makes you question your own ideas. The kind that whispers, “This was cute, but maybe you should return to something safe.”

Starting something new is exhilarating in the beginning because you are running on vibes. The ideas are big. The possibilities are endless. Everything feels expansive and creative and slightly delusional in the best possible way.

And then, at some point, reality arrives. Usually wearing sweatpants and holding a spreadsheet.

You realize that vibes are not a business model.

You realize that consistency matters more than inspiration.

You realize that growth is slower than your imagination.

You realize that burnout doesn’t always look like exhaustion. Sometimes it looks like distraction. Or perfectionism. Or avoidance disguised as “research.” Or constantly tweaking your logo instead of doing the hard, boring, necessary things.

This is where the pattern shows up.

Because just like with being sick, when the routine breaks, you have a choice. You can panic and assume you will never get back. Or you can accept that disruption is part of the process.

What I’m learning—slowly, reluctantly, and against my will—is that progress is less about motivation and more about pattern recognition.

When I feel discouraged, I want to stop.

When I stop, I lose momentum.

When I lose momentum, the mountain looks bigger.

When the mountain looks bigger, I want to stop again.

The solution is not heroic bursts of energy. It is small, boring, repeatable steps. It is lowering the bar so far that you almost trip over it. It is doing the next thing even when you are unimpressed with yourself.

It is, essentially, recovery.

So I’m thinking about this season—both physically and professionally—as a Sick Season.

A time to reset.

A time to rest without quitting.

A time to pay attention to what is and is not working.

A time to learn my burnout patterns instead of pretending I am immune to them.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be making some changes and honing in on what Dwelling is really about. Less “throwing spaghetti at the wall,” more intentional focus. Less noise, more clarity.

We were running on vibes. And honestly, vibes got us pretty far. But now it’s time to step up.

Because the seasons do turn. They always do. The sun comes back. The routines return. The body recovers. The ideas get sharper. The work gets better.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

Not perfection.

Not constant productivity.

Not pretending we never get sick, discouraged, or off track.

But learning how to start again. Over and over. With slightly more wisdom each time.

Hopefully in time for the sun.