The Night I Realised I Needed a Reset

My first day in a wheelchair.

It took me almost two hours to get to the Co-op.
A three-minute walk.

I was determined - as always - to do it myself.
I wasn't going to let this beat me. I'd find a way to push through.

I refused to let The Void come with me.
I needed to know I could do this.

And if he was there, he'd feel compelled to help me. I didn't want him pushing me around in this thing.
I didn't want to give up.

Let me rewind.

12 months earlier, I'd pulled myself out of the fog of burnout.

Built my cleaning business, while I recovered 'properly'.

Then when I felt like I was healed I found a job working in a factory clean room making medical equipment - well, running the machine that made them, actually.

Twelve-hour night shifts.
An hour commute each way.

The wages were fantastic.

The toll on my body was high.

I was exhausted. In constant pain.

I've had back pain since my late teens.

Joint problems my whole life - prone to dislocating because I'm hypermobile.

But I was working. I was earning. I was functional.

And more than anything else, I was missing making things.

Most of my businesses over the last 26 years have been physical product-based.

I'm a crafter. My ability to run CNC machines (Cricut, embroidery, etc.) is how I landed this factory position in the first place.

So I decided to resurrect one of my favourite businesses: making harnesses for assistance dogs.

I bought a new sewing machine.

Ordered materials.

Made examples for the website.

End of April 2025, I was visiting my son at his residential placement.

We were playing a game.

I stepped up a curb.

Sharp pain in my left knee.

I'd had this before.

Knew it would be painful for a few days.

Knew it was going to make going to work Monday night even more uncomfortable than usual.

By the time I'd gotten the train back to my hotel in Birmingham that evening, I could barely stand up.

I was hobbling down the street on the phone with The Void, tears streaming down my face.

After a sleepless night, I managed to get myself on the train home.

By the time I made it back, it was getting late.

I took some pain relief and spent the night worrying about how I was going to manage 13 hours on my feet in steel-toe shoes tomorrow.

Monday morning, my knee was so swollen I couldn't bend it.

The Void insisted I go to A&E.

Five hours of waiting later, I was told I had "probably" sprained my knee.

Maybe stretched the ligament.

I was given crutches and sent home to rest.

"You should be back to normal within six weeks. You can return to work in two to four."

I rang work and told them.
Crutches weren't allowed in the clean room, so I'd have to actually take time off.

I used some of the holidays I had banked so we wouldn't lose too much money.

Six months later

My mobility had gone downhill.

I was still in constant pain.

Now struggling to walk even on crutches.

My position at work had been filled. I'd had my P45.

And I finally submitted to my body and started using a wheelchair.

I was still running my harness business & had re-open my cleaning business while on crutches (yeah I really am not good at resting!),

but it was getting difficult to attend events.
Few outdoor markets are wheelchair-friendly.

I could feel my mental health starting to spiral.

And I knew I had to do something.

I was determined to go to the Co-op.
Alone.

The Void offered to come with me.
I refused.

I needed to prove I could do this myself.

Halfway there, trying to propel myself up the hill backwards, I started talking to myself.

Actually out loud.

"Come on. You can do this. You used to throw hay bales around and build fences. You are stronger than you look."

I started thinking about all the things I'd overcome.
All the life events I'd survived that everyone always said, "I don't know how you do it."

And I saw the pattern.

Every one of those things - I got through it because I reinvented myself.

I pivoted.
I walked away and started fresh.
I reset my life.

That's how I survived.

Not by pushing through.
By resetting.

The truth I didn't want to see

After making it around the shop (wheeling home was much easier going down the hill), I asked myself:

"How did it get to this?"

The warning signs had been there.

The exhaustion that sleep didn't help while working 12-hour shifts.
The pain I ignored.

My body tried to make me slow down.

But I refused to listen.

I was cleaning guest houses and attending markets while on crutches, for fuck's sake.

And people were applauding me for being so strong.

Telling me how "inspiring" it was that I refused to give up. That I refused help.

Even that day - I insisted on going to the shop alone.

It had taken so long it had gotten dark.
My hands were shaking from the physical effort.
Every muscle in my arms and shoulders was screaming.

All because I wouldn't accept the situation.
Wouldn't allow The Void to push me to the shop.

Here's what nobody tells you:

You can be applauded for breaking yourself.

Women especially.

We're rewarded for ignoring our struggles and powering through.
Encouraged to keep going. Keep showing up.

Until we can't anymore.

And then we're told we're inspiring.
Brave.
Strong.

When really, we're just destroying ourselves while the world cheers.

The reset decision:

Sitting in that wheelchair, hands still shaking, I realized:

It was time to reset.

I needed a way to make money without breaking my body any further.

I needed to bring back The Basics Bitch.

Not the version where I hustle harder, perform for the algorithms and smile while I burn out.

A version that worked with my body, not against it.

A version built on my actual capacity - not the one I wished I had.

Here's what a reset actually looks like:

It's not pretty.

It's not a pivot with a vision board and a motivational quote.

It's admitting you can't keep doing it the old way.

It's recognizing that your body has been screaming at you to stop, and you've been calling it "being strong" instead of listening.

It's letting go of the version of yourself that could push through anything - because that version is what got you here.

It's asking for help.

Accepting support.

Building something that fits your actual life instead of the one you think you should have.

It's choosing survival over performance.

When do you need a reset?

Here's how to know:

Your body is telling you to slow down

• Chronic pain that doesn't improve with rest

• Injuries that keep coming back or getting worse

• Exhaustion that sleep doesn't fix

• Getting sick frequently

• Physical symptoms with no clear medical cause

Your pride or programming is calling the shots

• You refuse help even when you need it

• You're being applauded for "pushing through" while you're falling apart

• You feel like stopping = giving up

• You equate rest with weakness

• You're doing things the hard way to prove you can

You're being rewarded for breaking yourself

• People call you "inspiring" for ignoring your limits

• You get praise for working through pain/exhaustion

• Your value feels tied to how much you can endure

• Saying "I need help" feels like failure

• You're the "strong one" who never complains

The old way isn't working anymore

• What used to work feels impossible now

• You're doing the same things but getting worse results

• Your capacity has changed but your expectations haven't

• You keep trying harder instead of trying differently

1) Ask yourself: What is my body trying to tell me?

Not what you think you should be able to do.
What is your body actually saying it needs right now?

2) Spot the "strength" that's actually self-destruction

Where are you being applauded for ignoring warning signs?
What are you doing to prove you're strong that's actually breaking you?

3) Name the pattern

Look back at the times you've survived hard things.
Did you survive by pushing through, or by resetting?

For me, every single time - it was reset, not push-through.

4) Give yourself permission to accept help

One thing this week: let someone help you.

Even if you can do it yourself.
Even if it feels weak.
Even if you "should" be able to handle it.

Let. Someone. Help.

5) Build for your actual capacity (not the one you wish you had)

What would your business/life/work look like if you designed it for your body as it is right now?

Not as it was five years ago.
Not as you hope it will be six months from now.

Right now.

Next post in the series

Recovery: The Pattern starts early

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop. And sometimes your body makes that decision for you.