Way back when I wrote my learner’s licence test, things worked differently: you first wrote the exam, and then you did your eye test. I remember sitting down for the eye test, relieved that I had passed, only for the instructor to look at me with a seriousness I didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry… I can’t give you your licence.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Why?”

“Because you cannot see.”

I was seventeen when I learned that I had been walking around in a world I couldn’t see clearly. I still remember putting on my first pair of glasses and staring at the trees outside. I stood there completely still because for the first time in my life, I could make out individual leaves. I had genuinely believed everyone saw trees the way I did: soft green smudges. It never once occurred to me that my “normal” wasn’t actually normal.

Two weeks ago, now at forty-four, I felt that same jolt.

As many of you know, this has been a difficult year with my sleep. This year handed me a gigantic lemon. When I sat with the sleep specialist to work through everything again, she stopped me mid-sentence and asked:

“Do you know that most people can lie down and fall asleep? No tossing. No fighting. They just… sleep.”

I didn’t. I truly didn’t. I’ve watched my husband fall asleep in minutes, but I always assumed he was built differently — blessed, gifted, lucky, something.

Suddenly, I could see all the moments in my life where I thought I was the problem:

When race-day nerves prevented me from sleeping the night before, my coach would tell me that lying down still with my eyes closed was just as good; I should try that. I thought, “That doesn’t work for me.”

All the nights I lay awake thinking I just needed to push harder, be calmer, be better.

And then this specialist looked at me and named something I’ve lived with for years without recognising: restless legs. A quiet, constant condition I had folded into my idea of “normal.” How many times have doctors asked me this year if I have restless legs, and I have confidently responded that I don’t?

Many times.

It reminds me of all the years my sister and I believed that if we just lost weight, life could continue normally, as we were used to it, afterwards. Except our normal wasn’t normal at all.

We’ve only just started down the path of treating RLS, and at this stage, it’s pretty much trial and error (more error, it feels like). Hopefully, I’ll have better news in the new year.

And so, with this final newsletter of 2025, as I prepare for a proper rest, this is what I want to leave you with:

Question everything.
Never assume your normal is the world’s normal.
There might be a clearer view waiting — one you don’t even know you’re missing yet.

Wishing you a gentle Christmas if you’re celebrating, and a new year that brings clarity, rest, and small, surprising miracles.

See you in 2026 — my first year of tackling two marathons in one year. Eeek…

#QuestionEverything #NormalIsRelative #SeeingClearly #SleepJourney #YearEndReflections