Notes from the Edge: Hiking with Lupus and RA

I still love to go hard. That part of me hasn't gone anywhere.
It's still there, fueled by the rush, the challenge, the burn.
It feels like me, like a core piece of who I am. But these days,
I carry that fire a little differently.

One reckless moment. Chasing that dopamine hit.
It can burn everything down if I'm not careful.
Thinking just one more push will make me feel alive,
but that can cost me weeks of recovery.

One trail too far, and suddenly,
I'm crawling back into survival mode.
My body screaming for the rest I refused to give it.

So now, I pause more. I've learned to slow down and listen.
To leave room to stop without guilt, without shame.
Because every future trail, every next step,
depends on the choices I make right now.

I see that pushing beyond the limit isn't strength, it's a gamble.
One I'm less willing to take, at least not without due consideration.
I'm not here for one perfect push, one fleeting moment of triumph.
I'm here for the long roll forward, the progression that keeps me moving -
without burning out, without losing myself in the process.

The fire's still there, but I'm learning how to let it burn,
without letting it consuming me in the process.

This doesn't mean I never push.
Sometimes I still choose the steep trail,
knowing full well I'll pay for it.
But now, it's a choice — not a compulsion.
Not survival mode disguised as strength.
A conscious gamble, not reckless momentum.

* * *

→ Related: Grind-Induced Zero Day
→ Also: The Paradox of Necessary Grief

If this landed:

Start with Layer One when building from ground zero
Try a micro-ritual for a 2-5 minute reset
Explore Field Notes for trail reflections

*Peer reflection, not therapy or medical advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*