When people think about recovery from Long COVID or other chronic post-infection conditions, they often picture the “big” things. Getting back to work full time. Running again. Traveling. Having enough energy to make it through the day without crashing.

Those things matter and are huge milestones to celebrate when they are accomplished. That said, sometimes the shifts that end up changing how you feel the most are linked to “smaller” things. The kinds of changes that, from the outside, barely look like anything at all – but inside your own life, they transform everything.

For me, one of those things was being able to plan little family adventures again. Not major expeditions. Just ordinary things. A short hike to a favorite swimming hole. A cross-country ski to a lean-to with tea and hot chocolate. Small outings like the ones that were woven into my childhood and that I always imagined would naturally become part of my daughter’s life too.

Before Long COVID, planning those kinds of days came easily to me. In families, everyone tends to fall into certain roles over time based on the things they are naturally good at, the things their brain just quietly takes care of in the background. For me, that role was always coming up with and coordinating fun things to do.

I could think through a hundred details at once without much effort, almost like I had a personal assistant doing the work in my brain and the plans would emerge. I would seamlessly account for weather, traffic, the group's ability levels and pull together all that we needed to have a great day - snacks, extra clothing, backup plans. My brain loved it, and the whole family enjoyed fantastic days out. Then suddenly, my ability to do this was gone.

For about two and a half years, trying to plan even a simple outing felt strangely impossible. I would sit down to think and instead of ideas appearing, there was just… nothing. A blank page. Even when options did come to mind, I didn’t trust myself to follow through. I struggled to think through packing lists and would forget things that were important. I had well founded doubts about whether I would have the energy needed for the day. I struggled to be the driving force for activities, and the whole family felt the impact. 

This led to outings without a water bottle or the extra layers or the right snacks. Or sometimes it led to no outings at all because I wasn’t able to plan them. These were the details that normally make a day feel fun, smooth and easy but suddenly became overwhelming to manage.

People sometimes talk about the “mental load” that families carry, and I understood that phrase in a completely different way once I became ill. My husband stepped up enormously during that period, but it was hard on both of us. On top of the day-to-day logistical and practical challenges, we grieved for our old life, felt frustration about the current circumstance and feared what the future would look like.

At the same time, we were adjusting to life in a very different environment. We had moved from the pastoral hills of England, where you are rarely far from a warm pub and civilization, to the Adirondack mountains of New York State, where outdoor adventures often mean real preparation and self-reliance. My husband hadn’t grown up doing outings to remote places, it wasn’t second nature to him - which meant, suddenly we were both struggling.

When I started feeling better, using my new tools, approach, and principles, gradually, things started to shift. As my symptoms eased, my energy began returning. The brain fog lifted. And honestly, it felt a little magical. Not dramatic in a movie-scene kind of way; it was more like suddenly getting pieces of myself back. I could think clearly again. I could plan again. I could imagine possibilities again.

With that came something much bigger than a packing list - the balance in our family started to return. We began doing more adventures together again. I was able to think creatively about outings, account for everyone’s abilities and needs, and add the little thoughtful touches that make experiences memorable.

From the outside, this probably looked like a very small change. But for me, it was transformative. It gave me confidence, it gave me joy, and it made me feel capable again. It helped me see a path forward instead of just focusing on getting through the day. Perhaps most importantly, it let me give more back to my family.

Since then, we’ve had countless wonderful adventures together. My daughter has become confident outdoors and is even starting to do her own packing, learning skills that will stay with her for life. Gaining the confidence to explore, to test herself and trust her judgment, and to feel at home in nature.

What strikes me now is how much these small shifts have real and wide-reaching impacts. Reducing symptoms is not just about reducing fatigue scores or increasing step counts. It is about what becomes possible again in ordinary daily life. It’s a million small things that add up – the conversations you can participate in, the traditions you can restart, the responsibilities you can carry, and the moments you can create for people you love.

Sometimes recovery looks like getting your personality back. Sometimes it looks like being able to organize a day trip without feeling overwhelmed. Sometimes it looks like laughing more because your brain has enough bandwidth to process things at a higher level vs just getting by with the basics. 

At ThriveNinety, this is something we think about often. Recovery is not only about symptom reduction in isolation. It is about function, capacity, confidence and participation in life. Because when people begin to feel even a little better, the effects are rarely contained to one area. Small changes can begin to compound. More energy supports clearer thinking. Clearer thinking supports better pacing and decision making. Better system regulation supports more consistent energy and activity levels. It means your life starts opening back up again.

We know that often the most meaningful shifts are not the big headline milestones. Instead, it is about the moments of realization that something ordinary has become possible again.

Warmly,
Katie 

Related Blog posts: 

Living With Someone Who Has Long COVID   

The Ripple Effect of Small Steps  

What If the Right Moment for Your New Year’s Resolution Is Today?  

How to Choose What Truly Helps with Long COVID Recovery