The Walk - What January Taught Me About Recovery

I had a clear plan for January. It was going to be my month to get away, take a writing retreat, change my surroundings, and recharge after the intense December production sprint. Instead, I stayed home. And I worked. Hard.

The new daily podcast about saints has been very well received, which I’m truly grateful for. But each episode takes a lot of effort—researching, writing, recording, and editing. I’ve set myself the goal of always staying a full month ahead, so there’s a buffer in case I get sick or life throws a curveball. That’s why I pushed so hard to finish all the episodes for February this past week.

The Saint of the Day podcast demanded everything I had. Twenty episodes, fully written and produced. That’s the length of a short novel in just a few weeks. And while I managed to get it all done, it came at a price. I gave up my daily walks, most of my rest, and ended up sitting at my desk for 10- to 12-hour days. Unsurprisingly, I crashed. Twice.

But this time something was different. I didn’t panic. I didn’t beat myself up. I didn’t immediately try to “get back on track.” I let myself crash. I listened to what my body and brain were telling me. And I learned a few things along the way.

First, recovery isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s part of the creative rhythm. When I push past that, I don’t win—I just delay the consequences. I’ve done that too many times. This time I stepped back and said, not again.

Second, I’ve realized that I often try to regain control of my life too quickly. The moment the pressure lifts, I want to fill the silence with something new: a fresh project, a new idea, a podcast revival. Anything to regain a sense of structure. But I’m learning that when I’m tired, that urge doesn’t come from creativity—it comes from stress.

The biggest shift has been learning to sit with that discomfort. To admit, even out loud, that I can’t do it all. That I don’t have the energy right now. That it’s okay to let a few things stay unresolved.

And when people ask for my time, even for good things, I’ve started to pause instead of jumping in. I used to say yes out of habit, out of guilt, out of fear of disappointing someone. Now I give myself time to see whether it’s truly right for me in that moment.

So no, I didn’t get my retreat this month. But I got something else: clarity. A clearer understanding of how I work, where my limits are, and what I need in order to create sustainably. I’m not making any big decisions right now. I’m still in recovery mode. But I do feel a quiet desire surfacing—a desire to write something small, fun, and manageable. Maybe a short novella. Something I can share with readers who follow my email newsletter. A little time-traveling mystery with monks, maybe.

Whatever it ends up being, it feels light. Playful. And that’s a good sign.

So no, this January didn’t go to plan. But it still taught me what I needed to learn.