No Pause Button
There’s a moment after a major life event—an illness, a loss, a diagnosis—when you expect the world to stop. Everything feels different and it seems impossible that the world could keep going as if nothing happened. Yet it does. And sometimes in full force, almost rubbing it in your face.
It can be confronting when you’re feeling such extreme emotions, that life doesn’t pause for you to catch up. The dishes still pile up in the sink. Emails still flood your inbox. People still expect things from you. And no matter how much you want to freeze time and just be for a while, you have to keep moving, even when you feel like a stranger to yourself.
The Aftermath of Survival
Recovering from a brain tumour was supposed to feel like relief. The tumour was benign. The surgery was successful. I was lucky.
But instead of clarity, the period after the surgery, I felt disoriented—physically, mentally, emotionally. The body that had carried me through life suddenly felt unfamiliar. The energy I once took for granted had disappeared. My brain, once sharp, now felt sluggish. I felt like I was in an alternate reality version of my previous self.
And yet, the world didn’t wait for me to figure it out. Bills still needed to be paid. Family still needed me. Conversations still moved at full speed while my mind lagged behind.
I wanted a moment to just process—to overcome the shock and to come to terms with my new self. But life isn’t kind like that. It doesn’t grant you timeouts.
The Quiet Struggle of Moving Forward
People assume that once the surgery is over, the recovery is linear. That you just “get better.” What they don’t tell you is that healing is not just physical—it’s mental, emotional, existential.
You look fine, so people assume you are fine. But inside, you feel disconnected from yourself. You’re exhausted in ways you can’t explain.
You’re expected to “move on.” But how do you move on when you don’t feel like the same person who got sick in the first place?
You feel guilty for struggling. Because technically, everything went well. Because you should feel grateful. Because other people have it worse.
The hardest part wasn’t the surgery. It wasn’t even the physical recovery. It was learning how to operate again in a world that didn’t stop to acknowledge what I had just been through.
The Only Way Out is Through
So what do you do when life keeps moving, even when you don’t feel ready?
You move with it. Slowly. Imperfectly.
You find small moments of normalcy—a morning coffee, a short walk, a laugh that feels real. Eventually these moments stretch out.
You remind yourself that just because life doesn’t pause, it doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re doing your best and surviving.
