Mingo.Life

Someone said something to me last week that I haven’t quite been able to shake.

“Every upwards trend has a dip.”

He wasn’t talking about the stock market.
He was talking about life.

Which is interesting, because I’ve spent the last year feeling less like I’m on an “upwards trend” and more like I’ve fallen off the graph entirely and landed in a separate spreadsheet labelled Miscellaneous Suffering.

This blog isn’t just about me, by the way. This is for anyone recovering from something – an illness, a breakup, burnout, grief, loss, addiction, depression, PTSD, an eating disorder, pain, or a bad year that quietly rewrote your life.

The Year That Looked Fine (But Wasn’t)

Twelve months ago, on paper, I was doing okay. I feel like a lot of people reading this might be able to say this about themselves maybe. A sort of “how did I get here?” moment.

I was around six months post dental surgery, which in my head meant: recovered.
Ticked. Boxed. Filed under “That’s Over Now”.

In reality, I was in daily pain, but it was still at the stage where you tell yourself:

“This is probably normal.”
“It’ll settle.”
“Bodies are weird.”

This is classic early-stage optimism. The kind that later gets quoted back to you by doctors with a somewhat sympathetic facial expression.

What I didn’t realise was that I wasn’t past anything.

I was in the opening credits.

The problem wasn’t ending.
It was warming up.

The Slow Creep of Becoming Someone Else

For me, the worst part wasn’t the chronic pain itself.

It was the way it quietly started rewriting my life without asking my permission, as many of the aforementioned debilitating conditions oft do to good people.

First it changes your days.
Then your routines.
Then your energy.
Then your mood.
Then, your identity.

Not dramatically. Not in a movie-worthy breakdown way.
Just slowly. Subtly. In the way that’s much harder to notice until one day you look up and think:

“When did I become this tired version of myself?”

Rock Bottom Isn’t a Single Moment

People often talk about “rock bottom” as if it’s a dramatic event.
(I mean, if you’re Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson it is).

It is more of a slow crash. A crisis. A cinematic low point with rain and sad music.
“Mad World” plays gently in the background as you take the bins out.

In reality though, mine was more like a prolonged admin task.

It was:

• sitting in waiting rooms
• filling in forms about pain on a scale of 1–10
• realising my diary was now structured around symptoms
• and thinking, “When did this become my entire personality?”

At one point, I realised I’d spent more time colour-coding medical appointments in Google Calendar than actual social events, which feels like a quiet but damning statistic.

The Lie About Recovery

Here’s the lie we’re sold about recovery:

That it’s a straight line.
It’s not.

That once you “decide to get better”, things improve in a neat, Instagram-friendly arc involving gym sessions, gratitude journals, and the sudden return of your personality.

In reality, recovery looks more like:

• two good days
• one awful day
• a week of progress
• a random setback for no obvious reason
• feeling hopeful in the morning
• Googling symptoms at 2am

It’s not an upwards line.
It’s messy. It loops back on itself. It occasionally disappears altogether.

And again, this could be for anyone, dealing with anything.

Starting From the Bottom Up

So this year, I’ve just kind of stopped trying to “fix everything”.

No grand reinventions.
No heroic five-year plans.
No toxic optimism.

Just the basics.

Sleep.
Eat properly.
Move a bit.
Tell the truth about how I’m actually feeling.
Do one small thing per day that future-me will thank me for.

That’s it. That’s the system.

Not “become my best self”.
Just: “be slightly less broken than yesterday.”

Which, it turns out, is a surprisingly powerful strategy.

The Dip Is Part of the Graph

That comment stuck with me because it reframes the whole thing.

Every upwards trend has a dip.

Not:

• “You failed.”
• “You peaked.”
• “This is who you are now.”

Just:

• You’re in the dip.

The uncomfortable, unglamorous middle bit.
The bit that success stories skip over.
The bit where nothing is impressive yet, but something is quietly rebuilding underneath.

I’m Not Back. But I’m Not Gone Either.

I’m not “back to my old self”.

That guy had different assumptions about his body, his energy, his future.
(Although he was an absolute legend for carrying me this far).

But I’m also not who I was at my worst.

I’m somewhere in between.
Relearning the rules of the game.
Redefining my baseline.
Building a new version that actually fits the life I now have.

If you’re reading this, and you’re struggling, and I’ve managed to somehow strike a chord with you, just know that recovery is not about returning to who you were — but constructing someone new from the rubble.
With better foundations, and a much lower tolerance for nonsense.

The Quiet Truth

Here’s the part no one puts on those cheesy motivational posters:

Sometimes progress feels like nothing is happening.

Sometimes healing feels boring.
Sometimes growth feels invisible.
Sometimes the only evidence you’re improving is that you didn’t give up today.

But, zoom out far enough and even the mess starts to form a shape.

Not a straight line.
Not a miracle.
Just a trend… With a dip.

And if that’s where I am right now?

Fine.

Because at least I know which direction the graph is pointing again.

And this time, I’m not pretending the pain is “probably normal”.
I’m actually rebuilding.
From the bottom up.

Which, inconveniently, is the only direction that ever really works.