Sometimes, when healing feels overwhelming and progress seems slow, it’s the smallest moments of comfort that keep us going. Before I share the next chapter of my healing journey, I want to pause and talk about these “little islands of comfort” that helped me survive some of my toughest days.
Amidst the constant fight-or-flight mode, I found what I called my “little islands of comfort.” These were seemingly small and insignificant things—like stepping onto my yoga mat for some gentle movement, or sitting still to meditate (which only became possible later in my healing journey). I followed these videos online at home on youtube (yogawithkassandra.com my favourite one for yoga) and on the free insight timer app (Davidji for meditation). Their videos helped me reconnect with my body and calm my mind.
Or my morning ritual: sitting outside on the terrace among the plants and flowers, sipping my cup of chai or matcha tea, watching the birds, and taking in my surroundings. Taking deep breaths and appreciating the lovely aroma of the tea.
Or a good show on Netflix that I could look forward to in the evening—a small escape from the chaos my mind and body were enduring, even if just for a few minutes or an hour or so.
Those little “islands” were basically just things I could look forward to. I had always called them that.
Before my diagnosis, I would think of these islands as weekends away or holidays—things I could look forward to during stressful or hectic times as highlights of the day or month.
But once I was unable to travel or even go on a weekend trip because I was constantly dizzy, the little things I hadn’t really noticed before became my islands of comfort.
A big island of hope was also Spence, the English bulldog I looked after twice a week. I always looked forward to picking him up. He would sleep over, and we’d spend the next day together before I brought him back home. I loved this little chap so much—even just looking at him sleep made my heart melt. ❤️
I would also look forward to my partner coming home after work in the evening. I felt safer when he was around because I had days—sometimes even weeks—when the dizziness was so bad that I felt like I was about to faint constantly. It was terrifying.
I was literally relieved when I made it through another day and could finally fall into bed, drifting off to sleep with a meditation audio playing. Lying down was the only time I didn’t feel dizzy.
On Saturdays, my best friend Sandro would accompany me to buy groceries, and sometimes we’d go to a sushi restaurant to enjoy the Bento Box lunch special—another thing I looked forward to all week.
Even though the dizziness didn’t magically disappear at the restaurant, I still enjoyed those outings.
I know this may all sound trivial, but trust me—I was in such a bad state that I would watch people walking down the street and kind of envy them for being able to just walk without feeling awful dizziness.
(Well, maybe some of them did feel dizzy—who knows—but I imagine the majority were fine.)
I would have given anything to walk down the street like a normal person, to go for a walk in the woods or a hike—simple things most people take for granted.
I was using walking sticks, and I know others with PPPD sometimes need a stroller.
These small comforts weren’t just distractions—they were lifelines during a time when my world felt shaky and uncertain. I hope that by sharing them, you might find your own islands to hold onto in difficult moments.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear from you—what are your little islands of comfort during challenging times? Feel free to share in the comments below.
Next, I’ll continue with the third part of my healing story, the turning point, where I discovered important breakthroughs in my healing.
