Feeling Better, Fear of the Next Flare-Up

July was… lovely. Like, suspiciously lovely.

About a week in, I realized I might actually be feeling better than my usual baseline. And instead of shouting it from the rooftops, I zipped my lips. I didn’t post about it, didn’t mention it in passing—I didn’t even tell my closest people. Why? Because I didn’t want to jinx it. Chronic illness logic, right? If I say it out loud, I’ll summon the flare gods and BAM—back in bed, heating pad on, dreams deferred.

By week three, I finally admitted it to a friend:
“I think I might be feeling… okay?”
And even then, I whispered it like a secret.

When I feel even a little better, my ADHD brain treats it like a green light at a four-way intersection: “GO GO GO!” Suddenly I have 15 new ideas, 7 side quests, a desire to reorganize my whole apartment, and an urgent need to revive my social life like a phoenix rising from the group chat. I text people. I make plans. I believe again.

But then I caught myself. I calm that tiger. I put on my observer lens and ask:
If I have a flare tomorrow, what would I still want to be committed to today?
That question changes everything.

Because here's the thing: I spend a lot of time future-tripping. Waiting for the next window of relief. Then when that window finally opens, I panic—how long will it stay open? How much can I fit in before it slams shut?

I'm still new to this chronic illness life. I know that over time (read: lots of time), with trial and error and some serious nervous system wisdom, it’s possible to find a better balance. But right now? I’m still that baby scorpion. The second I feel good, I shoot all my venom at life—every last drop—and then crash out for days (weeks) in recovery mode.

So yes, I want to feel well. I am feeling better. And I’m scared.
Scared of overdoing it.
Scared it won’t last.
Scared of getting too comfortable in a body that’s been so unpredictable.

But maybe it’s okay to feel good and be scared.
Maybe that’s just part of the chronic life contract—joy and fear sharing a seat at the table.

And maybe—just maybe—I can learn to let the good days be enough…
without trying to earn them, prove them, or race against them.

If you’re in a flare right now, I see you. If you’re in a window of relief, I’m holding that joy (and that fear) right alongside you.

Have you felt this tug-of-war—between rest and momentum, between joy and dread? Drop a comment or send me a message. I’d love to hear how you navigate the in-between.

And if this post resonated, share it with a fellow spoonie who might need a reminder that feeling better doesn’t have to mean doing everything—sometimes, just being is more than enough.