Life is like living on a Constant Boat

Navigating Neurological Issues, Balance, and the Journey Back to Myself

When people ask what it feels like to live with neurological issues, it’s hard to explain in a way that captures the reality. The closest comparison I’ve found is this: imagine standing on a boat that never stops moving. The ground sways even when you’re still, your body struggles to find its centre, and your brain is constantly working overtime just to keep you upright. That’s my everyday baseline.

Some mornings I wake up already fighting for balance. Some nights I lie down and feel like the world is still rocking. The only true relief I get is when my eyes are closed when I disconnect from the visual chaos and let my body rest. For a long time, it felt like I was living in survival mode, just trying to get through each day without falling apart.

The Hidden Cost: A Social Life on Pause

One of the hardest parts of all this has been watching my social life shrink. Not because I don’t care or because I’m not trying but because my energy is limited, my symptoms are unpredictable, and the world doesn’t slow down to match my pace.

There’s a guilt that comes with cancelling plans, needing to sit down more often, or leaving early because the dizziness hits out of nowhere. There’s a loneliness too not from lack of love, but from a reality people simply can’t see.

This year, I had to accept that my body sets the schedule, not me.

Learning to Show Up Slowly

But here’s the part I’m holding onto: I’m finding my way back, slowly.

I’m learning to show up in smaller ways choosing environments that feel safe, moments that feel meaningful, and people who don’t drain what little I have left. Every outing this year has been a step, every coffee, every conversation, every moment I let myself be seen again.

It’s not about going back to who I was…
It’s about honouring who I am now.

The Importance of Supportive People

When you’re living in a body that feels unpredictable, you learn quickly who your real support system is. You need friends who understand without you having to explain. Friends who pay attention to your cues the way you start leaning on walls, the way your eyes shift, the subtle signs that you’re struggling. Friends who tell you it’s okay to sit down, to rest, to leave early. Friends who don’t take your boundaries personally.

Supportive people make the journey softer. They remind you that you’re not a burden. They help you feel human again.

Letting Go of Guilt

One of the biggest lessons I’ve had to learn.
Letting go of guilt.

Guilt for resting.
Guilt for canceling.
Guilt for needing help.
Guilt for not being the version of myself I used to be.

But guilt doesn’t heal you grace does.

These days, I’m practising listening to my body instead of fighting it. Allowing myself to move slower. Allowing myself to say “no” without apology. Allowing myself to exist without constantly justifying my limits.

Moving Forward, One Steady Step at a Time

This chapter of my life is unsteady, but it’s also transformative. I’m learning resilience, patience, self-compassion, and strength in ways I never expected. Every time I put myself back out there even for a short moment it’s a win.

I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m moving.
Tiny steps.
Soft returns.
Gentle progress.

And that’s enough for now.