I won’t sugar-coat it: every single part of my body hurts today.
The kind of hurt where even going to pee feels like an Olympic sport I did not train for. My legs? Furious. My back? Betrayed. My hands? Personally offended by balloons.

Hosting the Christmas party yesterday was joyful, magical… and physically brutal.

There were balloons to blow up (why are there so many balloons?), food to organise, last-minute fixes, smiling through fatigue, bending, lifting, standing, sitting, standing again, and pretending my body wasn’t loudly protesting every decision I made. Chronic illness doesn’t take holidays—even at Christmas 🎄

And yet.

The children loved it.
The parents were smiling.
The room was full of laughter, excitement, and that sparkling Christmas energy you can’t fake.

Watching the kids enjoy their Christmas holiday—seeing their faces light up, hearing their laughter, feeling that pure, uncomplicated joy—made every ache worth it. Truly. I didn’t just host the day, I felt it. Deeply.

Yes, I paid for it afterwards (and today… and probably tomorrow 😅).
But I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Because sometimes joy costs spoons.
Sometimes it costs rest.
Sometimes it costs an awkward, painful walk to the bathroom afterward.

But some moments are bigger than pain.

This one was.

If my body is going to hurt anyway, I’m glad it hurt for something meaningful—for children feeling happy, families feeling supported, and Christmas feeling just a little bit brighter.

Pain and joy can exist together.
Friday proved that.

Now excuse me while I rest like it’s a competitive sport 🤍🎄