“Spending all day wishing things were better doesn’t actually improve anything. There’s a degree of acceptance…”

I’m a 30 something single mum of a teenager.  I’ve struggled with my mental health since my early teens – depression, anxiety and anorexia – but with lots of therapy and an amazing family and friends, I’ve learnt to muddle through and try to live my best life.

Lack of energy was always a huge issue, but I could push through it when I had to, and although a burst of activity would leave me exhausted and needing a few days to recover, I could achieve whatever I set out to do.

It’s funny how a stubborn streak can be reframed in a positive light by calling it ‘determination’. A big lesson I learned was in handling fear, and realising that conquering fear didn’t mean you didn’t feel it, just knowing that even when fear is gripping you, you have the power to ‘do it anyway’.

When I was 28, I decided to blow a small inheritance on learning to skydive – something I had always fancied, but never thought I could do. The idea of giving control to someone else on a tandem jump was terrifying, to the point that I have never done a tandem. My first ever jump was made with a parachute on my own back, and two instructors jumping with me. The fear I felt was balanced by the sheer will to want to do it.

Fast forward five incredible skydiving years, and one morning I woke up with a tiny cough. That cough changed everything. It wasn’t a dramatic rib-cracking hack, just a throat clearing cough. Then I couldn’t move. The pain was unlike anything I had ever experienced – broken bones and drug-free childbirth included. It felt like someone was twisting my leg off at the hip, like with a roast chicken. It spread from hip to toe. I didn’t realise that my back was the issue, I thought my hip was the cause.

After weeks of being bedridden and on copious amounts of opioids and anti-inflammatory drugs, various medical appointments where I was told it was likely a slipped disc, and would improve in 6-8 weeks I had an MRI which showed three burst/herniated discs in my lower spine, one of which was badly compressing the sciatic nerve and I needed surgery.

The first op was followed by a huge haematoma and needed another surgery to remove and take more disc and end plate bone. Finally the nerve pain was gone, and the slow rehab process began.

I was so refreshed to be pain free, and relished being able to move, went back to work, to the job I loved and started classes at the gym and became the fittest I’d ever been. I had a full 12 months of this new body. Then when doing a roll-down in a Pilates class I felt that searing pain again, and scans showed that yes, discs were bulging again, and I needed further surgery.

Two surgeries followed, but I never got the relief I felt after the previous two. A few weeks later things were worse than ever, and I was admitted to hospital with a post-op infection and was on intravenous antibiotics for six weeks, which totally wiped me out.

I had to leave my job after six months off sick. This was a huge disappointment, but I’m still close with my former colleagues and boss. Their support had meant so much to me.

Many scans followed, and no further surgery was recommended. The pain clinic became a regular haunt, and I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia because they could no longer see a physical reason for my pain. All the opiods and other drugs left me feeling like a zombie, and sick, and didn’t actually take the pain away, so I stopped taking them. I thought if I had to cope with the pain anyway I needn’t feel poorly as well. Anyone living with pain knows it’s not just physical pain that’s the issue, it affects everything. The loneliness of the experience, and feeling you can’t constantly complain to those around you… it gets old – FAST!

The pain clinic team put me forward for a place on the pain management programme – a six week programme held by physiotherapists and psychotherapists, who teach techniques on living with pain.

As an avid reader and researcher, I’m not entirely sure I learned anything new but the biggest takeaway from it, was this group of 10 other people, from all corners of society, who shared the connection of living with pain. It was these relationships that formed over the weeks that became invaluable. Swapping tricks and tips but mainly just understanding, truly, the experience of having to cope with constant pain.

How it affects you mentally, emotionally, physically. Being able to text someone and whinge about it without feeling judged.

For me it was a totally unexpected outcome. I’m not a very sociable person. I don’t particularly enjoy meeting new people and have lots of social anxiety, yet over the course of a few months these strangers became friends. The inevitable WhatsApp group followed, and some of us attended some special sessions at the gym for disabled people.

I wish I had some words of wisdom that could magic pain away, but despite my best efforts I’ve yet to meet Harry Potter or any of his magical friends.  But the importance of being able to freely talk about your struggles, particularly someone that isn’t emotionally involved was invaluable. When you’re feeling stronger mentally, the physical crap is much easier to cope with.

Spending all day wishing things were better doesn’t actually improve anything. There’s a degree of acceptance that this might be as good as things get physically, but that doesn’t mean it’s as good as you’re going to feel! You can still enjoy things or feel happiness.

It’s a mental shift from willing pain to stop, to getting into the headspace of ‘this sucks, but what can I still do, or try’. Finding allies to share it with was invaluable. I know it’s daunting and scary to put yourself in a situation where you don’t know anyone, but is worth the effort. Lots of gyms across the country offer classes for people with varying disabilities, and there are often support groups run via the pain clinics at hospitals. It can feel like too much stress and effort to find them, but the benefits it could bring make it worth it.

My life now is unrecognisable to that of a decade ago. I still struggle with my mental health, and pain is a constant reminder things are different. I’ve accepted I won’t be able to leap from a plane at 15,000 ft again, and yes that makes me sad- but I LOVE that I have those memories.

I’ve learned other skills and things I can do at home, I miss the adrenaline I used to feel both at work and at play, but I’m still here trying to live my best life – just in a different direction to that I had planned.