You know the phrase, “the straw that broke the camel’s back”? It’s that one small, final thing that causes a sudden collapse after a long period of strain. Well, I’ve been thinking about that phrase a lot lately, but not for the reason you might expect.
First, a quick note on the helper I used for this text: an AI. As someone who writes in a non-native language, I find tools like this incredible for catching the typos and grammar hiccups that can muddy a good idea. For me, it’s not about replacing the thought, but about polishing the vessel it travels in.
This has been on my mind because AI has become my go-to digital assistant for everything from fixing gadgets to fact-checking. I get the fear that it creates—the anxiety of being replaced. But then I remember: we still crave a human voice on the other end of a customer support line. With eight billion of us on the planet, human problems and the need for human connection aren’t going anywhere. This isn’t a dystopian takeover; it’s a new tool, and we are the masters of adaptation. We’ll figure it out by working with it, not against it.
Especially in writing. My creative process thrives on mind maps, lists, and that wonderful “flow state” where ideas pour out faster than my fingers can type. The downside? That state is a breeding ground for typos. Rereading and editing can become so tedious that you sometimes end up hating your own work. If a tool can help me clean up those “brain farts” and elevate the reader’s experience, I find that incredibly powerful.
But this brings me back to the camel. What finally broke my back wasn’t stress or work—it was, quite literally, my back.
I’m currently part of a massive global club that nobody wants to join: the 60-80% of people who experience significant lower back pain at some point in their lives. It’s one of the world’s leading causes of disability. Yay.
As someone who has always been active and taken a functional body for granted, this has been a brutal shock. Life shifts dramatically when you suddenly spend a lot of time in a horizontal position. I’ve had to cancel vacations, decline dinners with friends, and restructure my entire day. I’ve realized that chronic physical pain and mental pain have a lot in common: they both build walls around your life.
It started mildly, and my biggest mistake was trying to “push through it”—a truly terrible idea. That mentality led to a point where I could barely walk. I had to slowly rehabilitate my body and, just as importantly, my confidence.
The experience has been a frustrating lesson in patience. As a tall person, I’m now re-learning everything about the sports I play and how I move. The muscle I worked hard to build? Now I might need to lengthen it. You try to do the right things, and the result is pain. The most confusing part is the ocean of conflicting advice; what heals one person can injure another. There is no single solution.
So, how is a society built so heavily around sitting when so many of us are built to break in chairs?
Yet, I’m trying to focus on the positive. This is something I can fix. I’m lucky to be in Spain, where the healthcare is excellent. What keeps me going is writing, crocheting, losing myself in audiobooks and podcasts, and visualizing a future version of myself who is stronger and wiser for having gone through this.
The lesson, above all, is to listen to your body. Pushing through pain is not bravery; it’s a shortcut to a broken camel’s back.
So, if your summer hasn’t been the best, or if you’re stuck in a difficult moment, know that you’re not alone. Our time will come. We have to take care of these vessels we live in—we are the only ones who truly can.
As a certain wise Jedi master might say, “Patience, my Padawan, you must have.” I’ve had time to watch shows, and that line reminds me of the surprisingly mature and brilliant Andor (it’s not for kids, despite the Star Wars logo!).
I’ll leave you with a question: should I stop writing and let the AI do the work? Or did this mildly chaotic, human, slightly AI-assisted reflection actually make sense?
Heippa! / Bye