Dear 2017, you were tough…

Dear 2017,

You sent me such an interesting challenge this year. I got a bilateral dissection in my carotid arteries (i.e. a tear in the two arteries that supply the majority of the brain with blood), and it resulted in me having a temporary stroke.

I was lucky… All I lost was sensation in the right side of my face, and most of it has come back. At the same time, this was a really difficult time for me.


What happened?

For the past 4 years, I’ve really struggled with my health. I had to drastically change my lifestyle because I got to a point where I was in agony in every part of my body all day long. Finally, almost 2 years ago, a doctor diagnosed me with fibromyalgia and guided me through a treatment plan. I got so much better. My life became not just liveable but enjoyable again. So, in May, this year, I got off the medication that had been supporting me through the treatment process. And it was really tough. I mean, really really hard work. A lot of the pain came back, I had massive anxiety, couldn’t sleep… it was a nightmare.

2 months on, the pain wasn’t so intense and I was coping better – making space for the pain again, and experiencing less anxiety. In July, Pete and I went to a music festival in Madrid. We had a blast: 2 days, band after band, jumping, singing, dancing. It felt great… until, I could barely walk. I was in agony, I didn’t feel well at all, but I was so used to being in pain that I shrugged it off and blamed it on the fibromyalgia.

When we got back from the festival, I had an intense migraine that lasted for about 2 and a half weeks. For two days, I kept seeing big black patches where people’s faces or cups of tea should be, but a doctor told me it was because I had low blood pressure. A couple of days later, the migraine went away, but I woke up with half of my face, mouth and throat completely numb.

My doctor advised I go to a neurologist who suggested I do an MRI. I did this dreaded MRI, and it revealed that two of my arteries had swelled inwards (causing the passageway to severely narrow), because there was a tear in them.


What did this mean?

It was explained to me that this was very serious. The impaired vision, the migraine, the low blood pressure, were all signs that my brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. My face being numb was a sign that I was moments away from a full-on stroke. I was told to rest for the next four months. Rest, rest, rest: no exercise, no lifting, no driving, no stress, no nothing, for four months.

I reluctantly followed the rules. I sat and I read. I sat and I ate. I sat and I talked to friends. I sat and wrote blog posts.

During this time, I experienced a lot of different emotions. From the simple: irritation at not being able to move much, to the complex: feeling useless and worried that I’m burdening people, to the downright unpleasant: anxiety at being confronted by the reality that I’m going to die someday.


Talking & making space…

This experience really got me in touch with my mortality. I kept wondering if my body was trying to tell me that it just wasn’t made for life on earth at this time. I had been struggling with my health for so long, and just as I felt I was getting better, this happened. I felt so disappointed with myself. While everyone else seemed so alive – almost all my friends have had kids the past two years – I was struggling just to exist.

I went to some dark places, some very morbid places. Anxious thoughts, fear, confusion, loneliness. It was tough. I also received some really insensitive feedback from people who aren’t comfortable with acknowledging our mortality and the fear that can bring. I was told to “not make a fuss”, to “fight it”, or simply “not to worry”. These responses were meant to be helpful, but they completely missed what I was going through, so they weren’t supportive.

I really needed to take care of myself during this time, and one of the ways I needed to do this was by reaching out to people around me. I had a really difficult time with thoughts about death, or about being trapped in a body that was in agony… I felt fragile and vulnerable, and though, I have quite good self-care skills, they weren’t enough. I needed to reach out. I needed to tell people where I was with this experience. So, I chose people who wouldn’t shrug my fear off. I selected listeners who would hold the vastness of my anxiety and allow it to be there. I couldn’t hear another, “There’s no need to feel this way” when all I do is feel this way.

I spoke to Pete. I spoke to my mum and dad. I spoke to some friends, to my therapist. I even painted the fear with my therapist. None of it was a quick fix. No one could take away my fear for me, no matter how much they wanted to. But slowly, over about 2 months, the fear began to subside. The thoughts still pop into my head every so often, but they remain thoughts – they don’t become the visceral experience of panic and anxiety like they used to.



I’m so relieved and grateful to say that two weeks ago I did another MRI scan that showed my arteries have healed 100%.

I’m really grateful for this experience this year. It could have been so much worse, and I’m so lucky I got through this with no permanent damage.

I also feel blessed. I feel like this experience woke me up. I had been thinking about hosting the first A Life I Choose event, and when this happened, I embraced the fear that I might mess it up, planned it and did it (when I was strong enough to do so). I’m finding that the best way I can counteract this massive death anxiety is to live fully by taking risks and doing what is meaningful to me.

2017, there was more to you than this, and I will look at the rest of you on Saturday, with some other A-Life-I-Choosers at our New Year’s event. Thank you for pushing me out of my comfort zone. Thank you for the support, thank you for life. 2018, I’m ready for you and am excited to live fully with you.

With love,


Mindfully close 2017 and set intentions to become who you want to be in 2018: join me at my New Year’s event this Saturday.

Watch my MRI experience when I was diagnosed with the bilateral dissection.

Watch the first A Life I Choose event, “On Choicefulness”, which I hosted a month ago.

Published by

Emma Hogg, Founder of A Life I Choose

Hi! I'm Emma. I’m a psychotherapist who lives, breathes and eats the science of joyfulness, wellness and achievement. All the work I do is fuelled by my deep wish to belong to a world where people actively choose their lives! A person without choice is an unhappy individual. A person who passionately and resiliently lives their purpose experiences joy and fulfilment daily. If you’re like me and you see that the more people are consciously engaging in life, the happier our world will be, then we need you to be a beacon of this message by living it! My blog is one of my ways of creating dialogue with you, so that together, we can have a greater impact on our world. x

5 thoughts on “Dear 2017, you were tough…

  1. Dear Emma, you don’t know me, but I know your mother in law, AnneMarie.
    How well you explained what you’ve been through. I can understand you perfectly as I too am going through severe fibro myalgia, besides other painful conditions. Sometimes I too feel so frustrated at not being able to do anything, but with the help of God I’m finding peace and accepting all He has in store for me. I have a disadvantage over you. You’re still young, while I’m 77 and for the past 23 years various doctors have told me that with my conditions I shouldn’t be able to stand or walk, and yet up to now I’m still walking without aid, sometimes with excruciating pain, but so far I’ve managed.
    I wish you the very best for 2018 and I promise to pray for you, as you still have your life ahead of you.
    God bless you,


    1. Hi Marilyn, thank you for your message. It saddens me to hear about the pain you’ve been coping with for so long. At the same time, I am moved by your perseverance. Thank you for your prayers. You will be in mine too. Happy New Year x


  2. This is the first time I ever found anyone else who experiences this severe anxiety when it comes to death. I’ve been going through this myself, and having terrible panic attacks because of it, though I’ve been managing to keep it under control for the most part. As ridiculous as it sounds, I was really starting to think that I was the only one who was feeling this.

    I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had such a tough time, and I’m glad you’re doing better.
    Take care of yourself.


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