My path is not linear (and why I need to share this today)

[Alouqua47]

My path is not linear (and why I need to share this today)
This post will be a bit long because I have a lot to say, and I apologize for that. I had not posted in a while and only planned to do so if it was strictly necessary, but yesterday something happened to me and, obviously, I need you guys; who else could truly understand what I am going through?
The beginning of my recovery
In the beginning, my recovery process was very difficult, as my symptoms worsened and spread through my arms towards my back, jumping from one place to another until they established themselves. I tried to be patient, but I reached my lowest point, where I was about to give up. That was when my mother came to help me with the children and the home, and thanks to that I started to experience some recovery. It was literally half a year of suffering to get to that point and start seeing that small improvement. Little by little I felt that something was changing; it was like stepping down a stair: unexpectedly, the days were no longer that bad, the flare-ups stopped being maddening, and they started to happen less frequently.
The truth is that this change was real; I felt much better, both physically and emotionally, and I gained a new level of confidence. I went back to using my arms more normally than months ago and, although I remained expectant of what might happen, I managed to decondition several behaviors. My symptoms almost never worsened due to physical effort anymore. As I was telling you, the pain remained constant from the moment I woke up until I went to bed at night, and its intensity could vary, but it no longer reached the extremes of before. Even this week I did a lot of things, including dancing and moving my arms, somehow challenging what my brain believed, and I stayed waiting to see what would happen.
It had been some time since I experienced an intense flare-up. The last time only lasted two days and mainly affected my shoulders and upper back. I believe my brain was beginning to focus more on that area, so the pain from elbows to hands was a bit milder; perhaps something was loosening up while something else worsened. Despite this I felt good, because the important thing was that something was improving. In reality, I have many more symptoms, but they take a back seat because they are less intense.
The visit to my father and memories of the past
In the midst of this improvement, yesterday I went on a casual visit to my father. He lives in the same building where I used to live before, but in the first apartment, while I used to occupy the fourth. I found him putting together one of those large jigsaw puzzles; now he has more free time and enjoys it very much with his new family. While we were there, we started talking about neuroplasticity and how my recovery is going; I was explaining to him that this path is not linear, but at least now the pain allows me to sit down and chat, something that was impossible before because of how extreme everything would get. We talked a bit about why my brain could have become so sensitized over time or if maybe it was the result of constant stress.
During the conversation we touched on a passing topic and I only mentioned very briefly that as a child I worried a lot about him when he was drunk. However, inside I kept thinking about what that situation really meant to me: at my tender seven or eight years old, I took on a huge burden on my shoulders that logically did not belong to me. I lived with the constant anxiety that something bad would happen to him on the street while he was drunk, and I felt the huge pressure of having to wait for him awake to prevent him from fighting with my mother or assaulting her. It was up to me to guide him to his bedroom so he would lie down and thus ensure that the night ended in peace. This atmosphere of fear, stress, and alertness was very frequent in my childhood and shaped my mind from very early on. Over the years I became independent and he formed a new family, managing to change his life for the better. However, I do not know if having stirred up these memories yesterday at his house had a direct impact on what happened to me in the afternoon.
The return home and the activation of the alarm
After that conversation with my father, I returned home. Since now I take my time without so many worries, I bought something to eat, went to pick up my little girl from school, and took care of her. In the afternoon I got a bit sleepy, so I decided to rest and take a nap. I must have slept for about an hour; it was approximately 5:30 in the afternoon when I woke up and began to feel my symptoms becoming more present. Within minutes, I realized that the pain had reached a level I had not experienced in a very long time. I literally felt like I was being electrocuted.
At first I did not feel that much fear, but the pain was such that I started crying while walking from one place to another. I tried to encourage myself by repeating that this was temporary, but I could not help but remain thoughtful. I did not think my brain could simply do something like this again; I thought it had already understood that it did not need to activate the alarm to its maximum level.
During the first half hour I kept trying to calm my crying; I know it was not fear, it was just pure physical pain and that is why I was crying. However, I was overcome by a deep mixture of surprise and sadness at what was happening to me again, a strangeness from seeing that my brain was acting like this once more. To somehow manage it, I went out for a walk for about an hour and a half. Quickly, twenty or thirty minutes into the walk, the pain in my right arm went back down to leaving me basically symptom-free, since that is how I have been feeling that side lately. However, the left one is the arm that bothers me the most and the area that my brain focuses most of the pain on; although it decreased a bit, it remained at a somewhat high pain level and with my hand swollen.
A night of confusion and my current feelings
After eating, I went to rest in my bed. I woke up at 4 in the morning and from that moment on I could no longer go back to sleep. I was constantly thinking about why this had happened and why the pain had returned to an extreme that I had not felt in months. I kept turning this situation over in my mind because I did not understand it.
Today I woke up sad and with less confidence. My hand is still swollen and my left arm hurts from the shoulder down; although it is logically not as bad as yesterday afternoon, it is hard for me not to break down and wonder if this will ever end. I know I have to try to talk to my dad again when I feel prepared, just to find out what will happen next and see if my brain is responding to that. There is a part of me that has to do it because it knows I must train my brain to understand that it is a safe environment, and that whatever happened in childhood is already part of the past and should not affect me currently. Yes, maybe some resentment will come up when reliving it, but I love my dad. In general, I never lacked anything material by his side; well, maybe just his time. I do not want to think that my progress is lost, but in this moment of confusion I do not know what to think either. The truth is that I feel sad.

 

[BloodMoon]

I’m so sorry you had such a frightening flare after things had been improving. Please try to hold onto this: you have not lost your progress. One severe flare does not erase the new pathways you have built through all those months of gently challenging fear, moving more freely, and teaching your brain that your body is safe.

I’d suggest trying to see this not as going backwards, but as an old alarm briefly sounding very loudly. The fact that your right arm settled during your walk suggests those new pathways are still there. A flare can feel devastating, but it does not undo the evidence you have already given your brain that movement, activity, and everyday life can be safe.

I also think that what happened after talking about your father’s drinking may actually be a breakthrough, even though it felt terrible. You touched something very old: the fear, responsibility, and constant alertness you carried as a little girl. Your nervous system reacted strongly because that part of your story still carries emotional charge—not because you have failed, and not because your recovery is over.

For now, I’d suggest being very gentle with yourself and focusing on self-soothing rather than trying to work everything out. You might try slow breathing, grounding, gentle movement, warmth, or quietly reassuring yourself: “This is an old alarm. I am safe now. I do not have to solve everything tonight.” Try not to demand that the pain disappear immediately; your only task right now is to help yourself feel a little safer.

When you feel steadier, you might consider writing a compassionate letter to your younger self—the little girl who waited up, frightened, trying to protect her mum and keep the night peaceful. You could tell her that her fear was completely understandable, that she should never have had to carry so much alone, and that she is safe now. You do not need to make the feelings vanish; simply allowing her to be heard may be enough for now.

Later, if and when it feels right, you could write an unsent letter to your father. In it, you might tell him how his drinking affected you as a child, how the fear and responsibility stayed with you, and how you are now choosing to acknowledge and release that old burden. You do not need to send it, and you do not need to speak to him until you truly feel ready. The letter can be for you—a way of giving your younger self the words, validation, and safety she did not have then.

Please try not to interpret this flare as proof that your progress is gone. You are still moving forward. Be as kind to yourself as you would be to a dear friend going through something this frightening.

 

[Alouqua47]

I’m so sorry you had such a frightening flare after things had been improving. Please try to hold onto this: you have not lost your progress. One severe flare does not erase the new pathways you have built through all those months of gently challenging fear, moving more freely, and teaching your brain that your body is safe.

I’d suggest trying to see this not as going backwards, but as an old alarm briefly sounding very loudly. The fact that your right arm settled during your walk suggests those new pathways are still there. A flare can feel devastating, but it does not undo the evidence you have already given your brain that movement, activity, and everyday life can be safe.

I also think that what happened after talking about your father’s drinking may actually be a breakthrough, even though it felt terrible. You touched something very old: the fear, responsibility, and constant alertness you carried as a little girl. Your nervous system reacted strongly because that part of your story still carries emotional charge—not because you have failed, and not because your recovery is over.

For now, I’d suggest being very gentle with yourself and focusing on self-soothing rather than trying to work everything out. You might try slow breathing, grounding, gentle movement, warmth, or quietly reassuring yourself: “This is an old alarm. I am safe now. I do not have to solve everything tonight.” Try not to demand that the pain disappear immediately; your only task right now is to help yourself feel a little safer.

When you feel steadier, you might consider writing a compassionate letter to your younger self—the little girl who waited up, frightened, trying to protect her mum and keep the night peaceful. You could tell her that her fear was completely understandable, that she should never have had to carry so much alone, and that she is safe now. You do not need to make the feelings vanish; simply allowing her to be heard may be enough for now.

Later, if and when it feels right, you could write an unsent letter to your father. In it, you might tell him how his drinking affected you as a child, how the fear and responsibility stayed with you, and how you are now choosing to acknowledge and release that old burden. You do not need to send it, and you do not need to speak to him until you truly feel ready. The letter can be for you—a way of giving your younger self the words, validation, and safety she did not have then.

Please try not to interpret this flare as proof that your progress is gone. You are still moving forward. Be as kind to yourself as you would be to a dear friend going through something this frightening.

@BloodMoon Thank you for your thoughtful words, you truly always say just what I need to hear and it comforts my soul. Honestly, I have spent the entire morning crying. It is not even because of the symptoms right now, because physically I am already doing better, nor is it because of my father. I just feel so vulnerable... It makes me a bit sad to see how my brain has been behaving, although I try to be compassionate with myself. Yesterday I felt almost no fear, but rather a total bewilderment about what was happening to me again; it is just that I felt so secure, I believed my progress was invulnerable and it hurt to see that I was wrong. I suppose there are many things that my brain still perceives as dangerous, and it is up to me to fill myself with patience to teach it that they no longer are; wounds that perhaps I did not even remember and that have nothing to do with my life today. I think what hurts the most is that sense of security that I feel I lost again. I know that progress is not linear and a little voice deep inside tells me that I have not lost my way, but I need to be reminded of it when the day gets so gray and difficult. I know that all of this is not just about making my brain feel that my body is safe; it encompasses so much more. My brain is so sensitive that it might have categorized many past experiences as dangerous, and those memories feel like active alarms in the present today, even though they no longer correspond to my reality.
In the end, I spoke with my father by phone today because he was not home. I gathered my courage and explained to him that my brain had opened a file from the past and that it activated danger alarms with great intensity. What happened surprises me a lot, because yesterday we only talked about neuroplasticity and how to retrain the subconscious to help him, not me. Even so, I felt the need to ask him to meet so we could talk in person; I know it will not be as painful as yesterday.
Thank you again for your words of encouragement. I appreciate you very much even though we do not know each other in person. You are a very valuable member of this forum.

 

[BloodMoon]

And thank you for your kind words

. I can understand how upsetting it must feel to have that sense of security shaken, especially when you'd come to feel so confident in your progress. But look at how you're thinking about and responding to this flare. You didn't immediately think, "What did I physically do to cause the increase in symptoms?" You recognised that it as being connected to a reminder of the past. That in itself shows how much your understanding has changed.

And look at how you're handling it, too. You've found the courage to speak to your father about something that clearly touches a vulnerable part of you, and you're willing to meet with him in person to talk about it further. That's a big step.

Progress isn't about reaching a point where nothing ever unsettles us again; it's about gradually learning that we can navigate these difficult moments without losing everything we've gained. You haven't necessarily lost that sense of safety you've worked so hard to build, even if it feels shaken right now.

There may be other things from the past that come up along this non-linear path to recovery, or there may not be. You don't need to go looking for them or figure everything out at once. You can simply meet whatever comes with the understanding and compassion you're already learning to give yourself. And as that understanding grows, the day-to-day challenges of life can become easier to navigate, too.

Be gentle with yourself.

 

[Adam Coloretti (coach)]

I do not want to think that my progress is lost, but in this moment of confusion I do not know what to think either.

It's definitely not lost, and most people's recoveries (myself included) aren't linear - in fact this experience only serves to highlight the emotional undertones of this and shows itself as TMS. I appreciate how difficult this is, but this is great data for your recovery