From Fog to Clarity: A Woman’s Quiet Path Back to Self-Love

Have you ever woken up in a fog so thick you couldn’t see the next hour, let alone the next day?  

Nine months ago, that was me. My husband’s diagnosis—neurological degeneration—landed like a sudden storm. Within three months he needed full-time care. Overnight, I became a medic, chef, scheduler, and emotional anchor. Friends kept asking, “What’s the plan?” I had none. Just the daily rhythm: pills at 7, breakfast at 8, coaxing water into his hands, searching for ways to ease his anxiety while my own chest tightened with the doctor’s words: non-curable.  

In the quiet of our dining room, I’d run my thumb over a photo from last year’s football match—his grin wide, the crowd roaring. That joy felt like yesterday. Would it ever feel like tomorrow?  

Then something small stirred. At ten, I’d helped in Dad’s shop and learned a kid’s game: picture the till ringing $50 in an hour, and somehow it did. I didn’t understand how—I just knew the mind could nudge reality. Could it nudge this?  

I started planting tiny seeds in the fog.  

- His ideal weight by the end of August (he’d dropped dangerously low).  

- A steady support team so every new face didn’t feel like a stranger.  

- Stable blood pressure, stronger immune system.  

I wrote them on paper, read them aloud each morning, no room for doubt. I’d seen the universe deliver before; I trusted it would again.  

By mid-September, the scale tipped upward. A regular crew of carers rotated in—familiar smiles, shared jokes. Questions had answers. The maze opened a narrow path.  

But the real gift?

I learned to love the woman walking that path. Caring for him left no space for me—and that was okay. I started filling my own cup:  

- Two glasses of warm water first thing.  

- Five minutes of breath, five of journaling, fifteen of walking.  

- A self-care team: beautician, osteopath, acupuncturist, kinesiologist—booked like sacred appointments.  

You’ve heard it before: If your cup is empty, how can you give?  

For me it’s simpler: If you don’t feel love, how can you love without resentment?  

Self-love isn’t selfish; it’s the quiet fuel that keeps the giving gentle and unconditional.  

Try this right now:  

Write one thing you love about yourself. Say it out loud. Notice the tiny spark?  

If you’re a woman lost in caregiving, parenting, or plain overwhelm—if your body carries grief you haven’t named—kinesiology can be your gentle map.

It releases what’s stuck, clears the fog, and reminds you you’re whole.  

You’re not behind.

You’re exactly where your heart is learning to hold both him (your loved one) and you. 💛