Healing Isn’t Linear…

Ed Sheeran concert, US Bank Stadium, Minneapolis

The Concert That Reminded Me I'm Healing... But I'm Not There Yet

Last night, I checked something off my bucket list.

I finally saw Ed Sheeran live on his Loop Tour at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis.

And it was everything I hoped it would be...

...and not quite everything my body was ready for.

That realization was harder than I expected.

For years, my life was dictated by chronic illness. Between mold illness, chronic inflammation, POTS, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, lipedema, concussions, and the long road of rebuilding my mitochondria, there were countless experiences that quietly got pushed onto the "maybe someday" shelf.

Concerts.
Travel.
Long days on my feet.
Crowds.
Late nights.

I missed them.

So when we found ourselves in Minneapolis for functional neurology appointments, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to celebrate. Ed Sheeran has been one of my favorite artists for years, and somehow I'd never seen him perform.

We splurged.

Floor seats.

Row 23.

Right in front of the stage.

Even better? He performs on two stages, and his secondary stage ended up only a few rows away from us.

It felt like the universe had smiled on us.

We Planned It Right

One thing chronic illness teaches you is that spontaneity often has consequences.

So we planned.

Instead of running around Minneapolis all day, we kept it easy. We enjoyed a relaxing trolley tour of the city, then headed back to our Airbnb where I spent most of the afternoon with my legs elevated, conserving every ounce of energy I had.

We even skipped the opening acts.

Old me would have wanted every second.

Healing me knows that sometimes less really is more.

We arrived around 7:30—just in time for Ed.

Then Reality Set In

The music was incredible.

The atmosphere was electric.

Thousands of people singing every word together...

There's something magical about live music.

But about halfway through the show, my body quietly whispered...

"I'm done."

Actually, it wasn't much of a whisper.

My nervous system was on overload.

The floor seats were packed tightly together, so every time someone squeezed past to grab another drink or make another bathroom run, the entire row rocked back and forth.

People around us had clearly been enjoying the beverage vendors a little too enthusiastically.

Every bump.

Every shout.

Every unexpected movement.

My nervous system stayed on high alert.

Then there was the standing.

Lots of standing.

My lipedema legs started protesting.

My Ehlers-Danlos neck reminded me that stability isn't exactly its strongest feature.

Instead of getting lost in the music, I found myself mentally calculating how much longer I could tolerate the stimulation.

The Hardest Part Wasn't Leaving

It was admitting...

I needed to.

There was a younger version of me that would've pushed through.

Stayed until the encore.

Walked out miserable.

Spent the next week paying for it.

But healing has taught me something different.

Listening to your body isn't quitting.

It's wisdom.

So halfway through the concert, Gio looked at me and asked if I wanted to go.

I didn't hesitate.

We left.

And I'm grateful we did.

Because the walk back to the parking garage included what felt like 87 stairs (okay... maybe it wasn't exactly 87, but it certainly felt like it!).

By the time we reached the car, my symptoms had flared enough to remind me that I had absolutely made the right decision.

Healing Isn't Linear

I'll admit...

There was a little sadness.

Not because I didn't enjoy the concert.

I absolutely did.

But because I still occasionally expect my body to perform like someone else's.

Like a perfectly healthy 25-year-old who can stand for four hours, dance, walk miles afterward, and wake up feeling refreshed the next morning.

Then I remember...

That's not my story.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But that's okay.

Because when I compare today to where I was just a few years ago...

There is no comparison.

A few years ago I couldn't have imagined flying to Minneapolis.

Walking around the city.

Completing three days of neurological treatment.

Exploring.

Laughing.

Eating out.

Then attending one of the biggest concerts of the year.

Even if I only made it halfway.

Halfway is still infinitely farther than I used to get.

My Body Isn't Broken. It's Healing.

One of the greatest lessons I've learned is that healing doesn't happen all at once.

It happens in layers.

The mitochondria recover.

The inflammation decreases.

The nervous system settles.

The connective tissue strengthens.

The brain rewires.

Little by little.

I truly believe that once I continue restoring my cellular energy, calming the chronic inflammation, and reducing the burden of lipedema tissue, experiences like concerts won't require so much strategy—or such a quick exit.

I'll stay for the encore.

I'll dance.

I'll walk back to the car without thinking twice.

That day is coming.

I believe it with every fiber of my being.

Don't Stop Living While You're Healing

If you're reading this while navigating your own chronic illness, here's what I hope you'll remember:

Don't wait until you're 100% to start living again.

Maybe you only stay for half the concert.

Maybe you need to elevate your legs afterward.

Maybe you leave before the crowd.

Maybe you rest the next day.

That doesn't mean you failed.

It means you participated in your life.

Healing isn't about pretending limitations don't exist.

It's about refusing to let those limitations define your joy.

So yes...

I left Ed Sheeran early.

And you know what?

I still smiled the entire drive home.

Because this wasn't a story about what I couldn't do.

It was a story about everything I finally could.

And next time...

Maybe I'll make it all the way to the encore. ❤️