A Year in Mordor: When Burnout, Misdiagnosis, and Nervous System Dysregulation Nearly Broke Me

Burnout, Hypermobility, and Nervous System Dysregulation: When Doctors Can't Find the Answer

By Simona Ilincariu, Founder of Abuelita's

When you spend years not understanding your own body, it can feel like you're living in someone else's skin. For me, the turning point came when I finally understood that my hypermobility (and I have to mention, I am not the very bendy one where it's really clear it's hypermobility; I'm quite low on the spectrum) - but unusual enough flexibility in my joints - wasn't just a physical quirk. It was the key that unlocked decades of unexplained symptoms, mysterious pains, and a body that never seemed to respond to standard fitness advice the way everyone else's did.

I blamed myself for all of it. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't disciplined enough. I wasn't pushing hard enough. I was too sensitive. I was making it up. There was something wrong with me, not with my body - or so I thought.

Looking back now, the pieces were always there. But no one was connecting them. That's why I want to share what I've learned - both from my own experience and from the latest research - because if you're hypermobile, or suspect you might be, understanding it can quite literally change your life.

It wasn't a single doctor's appointment or a eureka moment. It was a slow accumulation of research, frustration, and determination.

I started asking different questions. Why did traditional training make me worse instead of better? Why did yoga help my mind but seem to make my body weaker? Why did certain foods trigger reactions that felt like allergic responses but showed up negative on allergy tests?

The Hypermobility Spectrum: More Common Than You'd Think

Let me start with a simple question: Can you touch your thumbs to your forearms? Can you hyperextend your knees or elbows past a straight line? If you said yes, you might be on the hypermobility spectrum.

Hypermobility describes joints that move beyond the typical range of motion. It sounds benign - even desirable if you're thinking about yoga or gymnastics. But generalized hypermobility (affecting multiple joints throughout the body) is often the surface symptom of something deeper: a connective tissue disorder that can affect almost every system in your body.

The hypermobility spectrum includes a range of conditions, from Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder (HSD) on one end, to the more complex Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS) on the other. You don't need to have EDS to be hypermobile, and research suggests that hypermobility affects far more people than previously thought - estimates range from 10-15% of the general population, though many never receive a diagnosis.

What's the Difference? The 2026 Update

For the first time since 2017, the diagnostic framework for EDS and hypermobility spectrum disorders is being updated. The new criteria will be published December 1, 2026, in the American Journal of Medical Genetics, with clinical guidance following in March 2027.

This update matters. The committee is anticipated to:

• Clarify the distinction between hEDS and HSD, making diagnosis more accessible

• Review and possibly revise the Beighton score (the standard flexibility assessment)

• Add newly identified genes that cause EDS

• Potentially split hEDS into subtypes based on symptom clusters and genetic markers

• Incorporate comorbidities like dysautonomia (POTS) and MCAS directly into diagnostic criteria—recognizing that these aren't separate problems, but interconnected features

For people like me who don't have a genetic EDS diagnosis, this update is particularly significant because it's moving toward a more nuanced, spectrum-based understanding. We're no longer just the "flexible people." We're a recognized spectrum of conditions with real physiological underpinnings.

Assessing Hypermobility: The Beighton Score and Beyond

If you've seen a healthcare provider about hypermobility, you've probably encountered the Beighton score. It's a nine-point screening tool using five simple maneuvers:

1. Thumb to forearm – can you touch your thumb to your inner forearm while keeping your arm straight? (1 point each side)

2. Finger extension – can your fifth fingers bend backward more than 90 degrees? (1 point each side)

3. Elbow hyperextension – do your elbows bend backward past straight? (1 point each side)

4. Knee hyperextension – do your knees bend backward past straight? (1 point each side)

5. Forward bend – can you place your palms flat on the floor without bending your knees? (1 point)

Scoring: A Beighton score of 5 or higher in adults (6 or higher in children, 4 or higher for those over 50) is considered positive for hypermobility. But here's what's important: a high Beighton score alone doesn't diagnose hEDS or HSD. It's a screening tool, not a diagnosis.

The 2026 update may expand these criteria to include areas like shoulder and hip mobility, which many people with hypermobility struggle with, but which aren't currently assessed by the Beighton score.

Who Actually Gets Diagnosed? And By Whom?

One of the most frustrating aspects of hypermobility is that it often goes unrecognized, even by healthcare providers. Many GPs, physiotherapists, and even specialists may not consider it, especially in women, who are diagnosed at higher rates than men - though whether that reflects true prevalence differences or diagnostic bias remains unclear.

Who can diagnose you?

• Rheumatologists are traditionally the specialists trained in connective tissue disorders

• Geneticists can diagnose genetic forms like hEDS through genetic testing

• Physiotherapists and occupational therapists with hypermobility training can assess and manage it

• Sports medicine specialists and some orthopedic surgeons are increasingly trained in recognition

• Specialized EDS/hypermobility clinics (emerging in major medical centers) focus specifically on this

In many areas, waiting lists for specialists are long, and not all healthcare systems recognize HSD. This is part of why so many people - myself included - end up doing extensive research before finding answers. The good news is that awareness is growing. The bad news is that if you're not assertive about advocating for yourself, you may be dismissed. 

But here's what I learned: knowing you're hypermobile isn't the same as having answers.

Because hypermobility comes with comorbidities - conditions that often travel alongside it, and these conditions aren't simple. They're interconnected. They overlap. They mimic each other. And distinguishing between them becomes critically important for actually managing them. There is a nervous system dysregulation that is seen alongside the spectrum of hypermobility, and the higher on the spectrum you are, the more symptoms and comorbidities you can have. 

This is where I have to introduce a crucial distinction that took me years to understand:

Nervous System Dysregulation vs. Vagus Nerve Dysregulation: What's Actually Different?

When people talk about "autonomic dysfunction" or "nervous system dysregulation," they're referring to problems with the autonomic nervous system (ANS) - the part of your nervous system that automatically regulates things like heart rate, blood pressure, digestion, temperature, and breathing.

The vagus nerve is one important component of that system. It's involved in regulating heart rate and other functions. But it's not the whole story.

Here's the distinction: nervous system dysregulation is the broader landscape. Vagus nerve dysregulation is one specific feature within it.

When My Heart Started Betraying Me is when I started the real research

At the start of 2025, I developed palpitations, extreme flushing, an inability to exercise, heavy legs, and complete lack of energy. That's when I started to read more, and based on the symptoms, I assumed I had POTS - Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It seemed to fit. Research showed that up to 61% of POTS patients meet criteria for hEDS or HSD, and former PTSD, and I was hypermobile, and recovered from C-PTSD and long term stressful life, so the connection felt logical. From running a 5k on a treadmill, I now couldn't even exercise for 15 minutes lying down. Scary, huh?

But the timeline matters. These symptoms started right after I finished my Personal Training course - a course I'd enrolled in precisely because I was frustrated with how my body responded to exercise. I'd worked with several PTs trying to improve my fitness beforehand, and it actually made me worse. No one could see it. I said to one PT that "When I try to exercise, I feel like I'm training to die", but there was no response to that.

And instead of questioning my body's ability to handle exercise, I questioned myself.

"I must be an idiot. I can't follow instructions. I'm not disciplined enough. I'm not strong enough."

I was comparing myself to my peers - people who run marathons, teach yoga, are personal trainers and Pilates instructors. They worked fine with standard training. Why not me? The answer, I later understood, was that their bodies are built differently. Mine isn't broken; it's just built and carries things differently. But at the time, I didn't know that. So I blamed myself.

That's why I enrolled in the course. I thought: if I understand how to train, if I learn the principles myself, I can fix whatever is wrong with me.

The course ended in late 2024. And that's when everything collapsed.

The end of the course coincided with the beginning of serious medical investigations. But it also coincided with the beginning of a burnout that consumed the entirety of 2025. For those of you who came to see me during that year, you might have noticed I looked thinner. Tired. Barely holding it together.

You were right. But the picture was worse than it looked.

I didn't have the luxury of taking a break. The business had to run, as that is the only income I have; the business was busting. So I kept showing up. I kept performing wellness while my body was in crisis. I managed it as best I could - my team helped enormously on many levels, and booking myself with them as a client kept me together: craniosacral therapy, massage, nutritional therapy - without them I would have definitely closed down and moved to the woods. I cannot image having been in another field of work.

Looking back now, I'm extremely proud of myself. Not because I pushed through (I'm still uncertain about whether that was the right choice). But because I refused to give up. I kept investigating. I kept advocating for myself. I kept showing up even when I genuinely didn't know if I'd make it through the day. And booked the therapies that showed me that what I preach is actually working. 

That took a kind of strength that has nothing to do with fitness.

The "Trifecta" and Beyond: Comorbidities That Change Everything

This is where my story gets specific, because distinguishing between similar-sounding conditions turned out to be crucial to understanding what was actually happening in my body.

Autonomic Dysfunction: The Broader Picture

Autonomic dysfunction is one of the most common comorbidities in hypermobility. Roughly 78% of people with HSD and hEDS show signs of some form of autonomic nervous system dysregulation. But "autonomic dysfunction" isn't a single diagnosis - it's an umbrella covering several distinct conditions that all involve the nervous system's inability to properly regulate heart rate, blood pressure, and bodily functions in response to position changes and stress. This is where my story shifts. Having hypermobility was one thing. But discovering that it explained so much more changed everything.

POTS-Like Symptoms, Vasovagal Syncope and the Tilt Table Test

In July 2026 I had finally a the tilt table test and the reult told a different story. But for more than a year, we thought I had POTS.

The tilt table test is the gold standard for diagnosing autonomic conditions. You lie on a motorized table, and it gradually tilts you upright while monitoring your heart rate and blood pressure. For POTS, doctors are looking for a sustained increase in heart rate (typically a rise of 30+ beats per minute) when upright, without a significant drop in blood pressure. The condition must also be chronic - lasting at least three months, with symptoms that worsen standing and improve lying down.

For vasovagal syncope, which is tested in the same way, they look for very different results. The table tilts you upright, and at some point - either minutes or longer - your blood pressure and heart rate suddenly plummet simultaneously. This creates the characteristic prodromal symptoms: lightheadedness, nausea, blurred vision, pallor, and potentially loss of consciousness (fainting).

When I had my tilt table test in July 2026, more than a year after my symptoms started, I encountered an unexpected challenge: as a hypermobile person, standing still on an inclined table was genuinely difficult. Hypermobile bodies constantly compensate for lack of structural stability by tensing muscles, recruiting surrounding tissues, and making constant micro-adjustments. When you're hypermobile and forced to stand still, that compensation mechanism creates tension and discomfort. The very position needed to diagnose me was biomechanically challenging for my body. Did you even wonder why you can’t hold still, and perhaps you also have some ADHD traits?

But the test was definitive: I had vasovagal syncope, not POTS (as the consultant put it: “ It's a less sinister diagnosis”.

What I Actually Have: Vasovagal Syncope

Vasovagal syncope is a reflex syncope where the vagus nerve - which normally helps regulate heart rate and blood pressure - overreacts to specific triggers. The result is a sudden drop in both heart rate and blood pressure, potentially leading to fainting.

The difference matters clinically. POTS requires ongoing management of symptoms across daily life. Vasovagal syncope, by contrast, is episodic - it happens in specific triggering situations (prolonged standing, emotional stress, the sight of blood, certain foods). The treatment approaches are different, and understanding which one you have changes how you manage your life.

For me, vasovagal syncope explains the episodes of near-syncope, the sudden drops in energy, and why my symptoms would come and go rather than being constant. But it doesn't explain everything - why the heart palpitations in the morning even before opening my eyes? And that's where the reactive hypoglycemia piece becomes critical.

Reactive Hypoglycemia: The Hidden Driver

This was the breakthrough: my heart palpitations, tachycardia (rapid heart rate), and flushing weren't primarily coming from POTS or even the vasovagal syncope. They were coming from reactive hypoglycemia.

Reactive hypoglycemia is when your blood sugar drops significantly after eating - typically within a few hours of a meal. It's different from diabetes; it's your own body's glucose regulation going awry. When blood sugar drops, your nervous system triggers the "fight or flight" response, releasing adrenaline. That adrenaline surge causes your heart to race as it tries to mobilize glucose and get blood sugar back up. 

The effects are real and measurable:

• Tachycardia – your heart rate accelerates to push glucose around your body more quickly

• Palpitations – you feel your heart pounding, sometimes irregularly

• Flushing – the adrenaline response causes blood vessel dilation

• Trembling, anxiety, and a sense of impending doom – classic fight-or-flight symptoms (I literally felt I was in Mordor)

• Heavy legs and fatigue – as your body shunts resources to managing the glucose emergency, other systems deprioritize

For months, I thought these were POTS symptoms. They're not. They're the physiological cascade of reactive hypoglycemia, compounded by the stress of managing a business, training to become a PT, processing heartbreaks from friendships I thought were solid, and relentlessly pushing myself to be better, do better, accomplish more - all while pointing fingers at myself for not helping enough people.

My nervous system was already sensitized and depleted.

The palpitations that terrified me - the ones that made me feel like I was having a heart attack - weren't about food. They were about stress. About cortisol.

I actually ate well. Aside from occasional chocolate indulgences (a bit of a binge eater, but not extreme), my nutrition was solid. But then I purchased a continuous glucose monitor and wore it for two weeks, monitoring everything. The data revealed something unexpected: my blood sugar remained stable even when I ate sugar and cake during that period. The symptoms came when I was emotionally triggered or under stress.

It was the cortisol, not the sugar.

My eating was rushed, yes. I acknowledge that. I was wired to be in survival mode, with no days off. Years of therapy had helped me process my C-PTSD, but the patterns were still there. I was aware of them, but I was also addicted to stress. By overworking, I was keeping that part of myself alive - the part that had learned, long ago, that my worth came from what I produced.

I have a strong ego, forged by a life that taught me to rely mostly on myself. And that ego became obsessed with understanding the full puzzle of how I operated. I knew from past experiences that until I identified every piece - and more importantly, until I took action to remove the triggers keeping me stuck in those patterns - I wouldn't break through.I wouldn't leave Mordor.

I love that analogy. In The Lord of the Rings, Frodo carries the ring through Mordor, and it defines him. Who would he be without it? And when he finally destroys it, he loses a finger in the process. When I read the Hero's Journey stories (including The Hero with a thousand faces - Joseph Campbell) - I realized we all lose something along the way, and the stronger the ego, the more we lose. A finger. A piece of ourselves. But what remains is wisdom. The rest of your life can be lived very well without what you lost, while in Mordor. 

But when you're in Mordor at your lowest point, you don't think about wisdom. You wonder if you'll survive. You wonder if your life as it was is over. That's terrifying.

Months after my first symptoms started, as exercise became impossible and my health continued to decline, my stress about my health deepened, and that was such a vicious cycle. And then, as if on cue, another symptom emerged.

It doubled the trouble.

MCAS and Histamine Intolerance: The Invisible Allergies

Then came another discovery: Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and histamine intolerance. During the burnout period, I started reacting to almost everything I ate. Foods I'd never had problems with suddenly triggered reactions - flushing, GI upset, and sometimes the feeling that anaphylaxis was imminent.

Based on what I'd researched online, following advice from health influencers and scientific literature, I ate pretty healthily: lots of vegetables, chicken, fish, yoghurt, oats with seeds and nuts for breakfast, kefir for gut health, avocado, tomatoes, pulses, and plenty of fibre. So why wouldn't I be healthy? Yet I was unbelievably bloated most of the time.

But when I went to see GPs and an endocrinologist at Homerton Hospital, I got a different response: "It's in your head. You're being melodramatic. Perhaps you need talking therapy."

A year before, when I'd seen a gastrointestinal doctor in 2023, for the bloating, I'd received much the same response. My stool and blood tests were normal. My history was IBS. So follow the FODMAP diet—which I was already doing - with no improvement and no follow-up appointment to check how I was managing. But I understand the system is overwhelmed. I wasn't dying. I get that.

Maybe I did need talking therapy as the GP suggested. Was that really the only answer? Was no one going to investigate what was actually happening in my body?

I left those appointments frustrated and terrified. In May 2025 I saw an endocrinologist who didn't even look at me during the consultation. She looked at her screen the whole time, asking the same questions I'd answered countless times before (family history). She never made eye contact. It was mind-blowing.

I even ended up in A&E at one point, convinced I was having a cardiac event. My heart had been racing for several days, and I was really flushed. I was told I have "the heart of a healthy woman, but a woman’s heart before Christmas"—as if my stress invalidated what I was experiencing. Yes, I was stressed. But the lack of empathy was terrifying.

I also understand A&E is busy. I understand people aren't there looking for attention - or are they? Maybe on some unconscious level, I was. Maybe the only way I could truly see myself was to stop the stress and give myself what I needed, but I was looking for it externally. Of course I was. That's how we're wired. 

But understanding this doesn't make my symptoms less real. It just shows me how vicious the cycle is - how many of us are caught in it, how we overwhelm the system, and how the system overwhelms us in return.

We need community, and many of us don't have it in the way we truly need it. Yet we exist in groups and relationships where we're not seen. We people-please. Then we suffer. And long-term suffering in toxic environments eventually translates into pain, aches, symptoms that should make us pause and ask: what is actually wrong? We forget what we are worth and the pay off is huge.

We blame ourselves. For the wrong reasons. And many stop there, looking for a diagnosis rather than understanding the cause of the problem. I fell into the trap yet again. 

My colleagues noticed I was getting worse. Our nutritional therapist on my team suggested we investigate MCAS and histamine intolerance. It was the first time someone had actually listened and named something I'd never heard of before.

I got the blood test results, including DAO enzyme levels. The answer was there: histamine intolerance. Finally, we could actually address it.

Some answers are deeper than what the NHS currently addresses. But I know they're becoming more aware. Based on the new diagnostic guidance coming in 2027, perhaps histamine intolerance will be considered as a possibility from the start for everyone experiencing what I did. I've heard many similar stories from Lucia and Livia, both experienced nutritionists on my team. They've seen this pattern repeatedly.

When I started to get better was when I began working with the nutritionist, booking craniosacral therapy for myself, having restorative massages and breathwork sessions. How ironic that I'd created a business based on these practices to help everyone else, and then became the client myself.

But there was more to it than just the therapies. Because I started looking at my environment. I left behind what was no longer suitable for me, including very dear people. I lowered the number of tasks on my list. Not everything was urgent. Not everything was necessary. Not everyone around me needed my help.

That last part was the hardest to accept.

I know how to hold myself together. I have the resilience to navigate dismissal and keep searching for answers. But what about those who don't?

Those people won't go back to their doctors. They won't risk being treated that way again. They would rather suffer alone at home than endure that experience a second time. Until they get even worse.

And that's not a reflection on them. It's a reflection on a healthcare system stretched so thin that it fails to see people as people - that mistakes complexity for hysteria, that equates stress with invalidity, that forgets the person in front of them is frightened and deserves to be heard.

But isn't that because the medical team is also stressed? Unable to stop and see through their own stress, buried anger and frustration? They're as overwhelmed as we are, but they carry more responsibility. And where could they go to complain? And there are more people behind the door waiting, begging for their attention and answers too. And some have life threatening desises. So there is no time to complain, is it? 

That's what terrifies me most about my experience: not what happened to me, but what it means for everyone else.

Mast cells are immune cells that store histamine. When they activate improperly, they release histamine and other chemicals, causing widespread symptoms. MCAS isn't the same as histamine intolerance (where the body can't break down histamine efficiently due to enzyme deficiencies), but they share many symptoms and often occur together in people with hypermobility.

Why does this happen in hypermobility? Several mechanisms:

• Loose connective tissue in the GI tract and surrounding blood vessels may affect mast cell regulation

• Autonomic dysfunction can trigger mast cell activation - and my dysregulated autonomic nervous system certainly did

• Chronic stress and nervous system sensitization prime mast cells to react; the C-PTSD and high-stress state made my immune system more reactive (even though I addressed it and I was now well psychologically, there were so many traces left in the deepest layers of the body). I was wired to function mostly when cortisol and adrenaline were high up in my system. That was the main fuel I was responding to, but the wrong one. 

• Upper cervical instability common in hypermobility - can affect vagus nerve function, which normally helps regulate immune responses (working with a chiropractor really helps me, personally)

• Reactive hypoglycemia itself triggers adrenaline surges that can activate mast cells

• Genetic factors may predispose hypermobile individuals to mast cell dysfunction (I am not the only one in my family with hypermobility). 

The symptoms can be severe and span multiple systems: skin reactions, GI distress, cardiovascular symptoms, respiratory issues, and neurological symptoms. For me, identifying MCAS/histamine intolerance was important because it explained the food reactions and helped me understand which dietary changes would actually support my recovery. The research suggests that comorbid MCAS may soon be included directly in the diagnostic criteria for hEDS and HSD, recognizing that this isn't coincidental - it's part of the interconnected syndrome.

The Neurodiversity Connection: Why Hypermobility and Neurodivergence Travel Together

This was perhaps the most profound realization: my hypermobility wasn't just connected to my physical symptoms. It was connected to my neurodivergence.

Over 50% of people diagnosed with autism or ADHD have elevated levels of joint hypermobility, compared to about 20% in the general population. A 2025 survey of nearly 3,400 people with hEDS found that 49% self-reported at least one neurodivergent diagnosis. The genetic correlations are significant—people with EDS are 7.4 times more likely to be autistic than controls, and people with ADHD are 7 times more likely to have symptomatic joint hypermobility.

For me, understanding my hypermobility suddenly explained traits I'd always carried: my sensory sensitivities, my difficulty with certain types of movement, my struggle with interoception (the sense of what's happening inside your body), and patterns of attention and regulation that had always felt slightly different.

The mechanisms appear to involve:

• Proprioceptive and interoceptive differences – both hypermobility and neurodivergence involve differences in how we sense our bodies and process internal signals

• Dysautonomia – autonomic nervous system differences sit under both conditions, with POTS present in roughly 70% of people with hEDS

• Nervous system regulation – the stretched, dysregulated connective tissue in hypermobility may literally create a "stretched nervous system," similar to the neurological differences in neurodivergence

This connection also meant something else: I wasn't crazy. The anxieties I’ve had throught my life, the autistic traits that always made me function differently than my peers, the ADHD that allows me to work on 5 tasks at the same time (and made me a great emplyee in previous jobs) - they now had an explanation. They were the manifestation of a dysregulated autonomic nervous system, not a psychological problem.

Understanding and validating that there is nothing wrong with me, I just function differently, made a huge difference in the way I operate today after I understood how my brain works. And I trust it. Fully, regardless of how many failures we’ve had!

The Nervous System as a "Stretched System": PTSD, High-Achiever Mentality, and Chronic Stress

Before I talk about the burnout, I need to address something that's rarely discussed: how personality patterns and unprocessed stress literally stretch your nervous system.

I've always been a high achiever. The type of person who sets ambitious goals and makes them happen (if I would have only used all this to help myself throught life rather than work for others in the first decades of my life…). But that drive also served me well in many ways, but it also meant I never learned to recognize my limits. I didn't listen when my body signaled fatigue. I interpreted exhaustion as weakness. I pushed through because stopping felt like failure. I’ve always been there for everyone else when they needed me.

What I didn't understand was that this pattern - this relentless pushing, this refusal to rest, this internalized belief that I should be able to handle anything - was creating a chronically sensitized nervous system.

Add to that unprocessed trauma (C-PTSD, which I carry from earlier life experiences), and you have a nervous system that's not just stretched from hypermobility, but stretched further by psychological patterns, environmental factors, and unhealed stress.

Research on PTSD shows that trauma creates a hyperactive sympathetic nervous system - the "fight or flight" branch stays partially activated even when there's no present danger. This results in hypervigilance, exaggerated startle responses, and sensory hyperactivity. When you overlay that onto a hypermobile body - which already has a dysregulated nervous system due to connective tissue laxity - you create a compounding effect. And as a people-pleaser, I was wired to believe that everyone else is in danger too. Looking back at my thoughts before addressing this with years of talking therapy before the somatic work began, I cannot understand how I have been able to hold everything together. 

My high-achiever mentality meant I pushed through these warning signs. When my body said slow down, I said faster. When I felt the creeping anxiety and tension, I attributed it to "just needing to be disciplined." I didn't recognize that my nervous system was literally becoming more sensitized, more reactive, more fragile.

For most hypermobile people, this matters a lot. Our nervous systems are already stretched. Adding psychological patterns that keep us in sympathetic activation - the chronic stress response - stretches them further. We're not just dealing with loose connective tissue; we're dealing with an autonomic nervous system that's been trained to stay in high alert.

The Burnout Year: When Everything Crashes

Launching Abuelita's was exhilarating and terrifying, but so easy in so many ways. I was a solo entrepreneur and a massage therapist building a business from scratch, seeing clients in Hackney, managing all the admin, marketing, and logistics myself. 

Then, in the midst of that, I decided the right next step was to enroll in a six-month Personal Training course (how difficult can be?). I wanted to understand my own body better - to learn how to train myself properly given everything I was dealing with. I could not build muscle, and the more yoga I did, the less fit I felt. I thought I could manage both simultaneously, improving my body, knowledge, and building a business. 

Heartbreak from the people closest to me came as the final blow.

I realised that the friendships I was most deeply involved in had become meaningful to me only when I made space for their issues, helped them, and showed up for them. I had created that pattern, and over time, I had also created an expectation around it. But I was changing. My energy was running low, and I no longer had the capacity to keep holding everything and everyone together.

When I stopped having as much time for them because I had another purpose - to improve myself and my life - they became upset. What was hardest to swallow was that there wasn’t the same reciprocal understanding or sympathy for my own needs.

I read through some Japanese scientific papers when I was told, after my first ECG, that I'd experienced an episode of myocardial dysfunction. In medicine, there's a term for this: Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. Stress-induced cardiomyopathy.

The syndrome of a broken heart.

That's what doctors call it. My heart had literally responded to emotional pain by changing its shape. But the ECG also showed something else: structurally, my heart was healthy. The tissue was fine. The damage was temporary and reversible.

That was the good news.

But I'd broken my heart by not caring for myself for so long. And I'd allowed others to do the same.

Thankfully, my heart was otherwise healthy, and I had to consider changes if I'd want to avoid more damage.

But the experience made me think about how I had been treating my heart long before that diagnosis.

I had broken my heart by not caring for myself. And, in allowing others to rely on me without making space for my own needs, I had allowed others to contribute to that pattern too.

Maybe healing my heart was never just about what happened to it physically. Maybe it was also about finally learning to care for it.

The combination of launching a business, intensive professional training, and the collapse in my personal life while my nervous system was already sensitized and depleted was unsustainable. I was living in a state of chronic stress: financial uncertainty, the pressure to make the business work, the intensity of the coursework, and the high-achiever mentality that refused to admit I was struggling. With no support whatsoever. And then everything hit at once.

The burnout created a cascade of symptoms. The tension in my muscles - which had always been present, managed through massage and stretching - became pervasive. My body felt locked. Food sensitivities that had been mild suddenly became severe reactions. My GI system, which had always been a bit unpredictable (IBS now was actually not the issue, but the histamine problem was always the cause, which explained why the FODMAP did not work for me), became a source of constant distress. And then came the cardiac symptoms: palpitations, flushing, a racing heart that felt like it would never settle. 

The reactive hypoglycemia, which I didn't even know I had, became more pronounced as my cortisol levels stayed elevated from chronic stress. Every time I was stressed, my blood sugar would spike and crash, triggering adrenaline surges, palpitations, and that terrifying sense of my heart being out of control. Seeing that live, while on the Continuous Glucose Monitor I ordered privately (NHS refused to provide one), was mind-blowing. Seeing what happens in my body while I felt it so present. 

For more than a year, I could barely exercise. Fifteen minutes of any activity - even a gentle walk - would trigger flushing, heart palpitations, and a feeling of anaphylactic shock looming. I'd have to lie down. My body would shake. I was genuinely frightened. 

The NHS's response was to send me home and suggest it was all psychological. "Start therapy," they said. "You are melodramatic.”  Even after I told them that I have done years of talking therapy privately. 

But it wasn't in my head. It was in my nervous system. It was in my dysregulated blood sugar. It was in the connective tissue that couldn't support the demands I'd placed on it. It was in the stress hormones that had been running at maximum capacity for months.

It took months of advocacy - changing GP practices, extensive research, writing detailed letters that documented my symptoms with clinical precision, and multiple private and hospital appointments - before anyone took me seriously. And even then, my hypermobility wasn't always factored into the diagnostic process - no one even asked; I had to mention it myself at every appointment. Doctors would focus on one symptom (the cardiac symptoms) without seeing the interconnected picture, or the result of the blood tests: hormones, etc… - they looked fine. 

Perimenopause and the Perfect Storm

Somewhere in the midst of this - likely triggered by the stress itself -  I suspect that perimenopause began. The hormonal shifts of perimenopause can dysregulate blood sugar, exacerbate autonomic symptoms, and intensify every existing sensitivity in your body. I know, sounds all very dramatic. And it was. 

I was now dealing with:

• Chronic nervous system sensitization from PTSD and stress

• A stretched nervous system from hypermobility

• Reactive hypoglycemia triggered by stress hormones and hormonal shifts

• Vasovagal syncope episodes (which were recently diagnosed as such - although the pile-up of symptoms was suggesting POTS)

• MCAS/histamine intolerance

• Perimenopause-related hormonal dysregulation

• Complete exercise intolerance

The heaviness in my legs - that awful, weighted-down feeling - wasn't a separate symptom. It was part of the vasovagal syncope and the nervous system's inability to mobilize energy. The lack of energy that made a 15-20 minute walk feel impossible, even on my good days, was my exhausted nervous system saying: "I have nothing left."

During the 2025 summer (and a few of my regular clients noticed, though I tried hard to hold myself together), I was unable to walk for more than 15 minutes because of the heat and my body's inability to thermoregulate. Hackney's studio heat combined with a nervous system in crisis was brutal. But the business had to run. Business was depending on me. And I was as present as ever; it was an absolute pleasure to have the clients coming in. I was forgetting about my symptoms while I was with them, which was really good on many other levels. I still had a purpose that made me wake up every morning. But I had to slow down; that was all I had to do. And I did; I let go of control for once.

Should I be proud of myself for continuing to show up? Should I have taken a break? I'm still processing that question. What I know now is that in trying to prove I was "strong enough," I may have deepened the nervous system dysregulation. I was pushing when I needed to rest. I was performing wellness while experiencing a genuine health crisis.

But then, while going through all these, most of the practitioners on the team started to show up when I mentioned I needed help.  And that is when everything started to change for me. 

The only thing that kept me together during this period was my team.They held space for my nervous system to begin to downregulate. They reminded me that rest isn't failure; it's medicine. Some even helped with admin.

That support - that recognition that I needed help, combined with modalities that actually addressed nervous system healing - was what began to turn things around.

The Management Approach: A Layered, Coordinated System

My own recovery came through a combination of approaches - not just one single treatment - the management of hypermobility works best as a coordinated, multidisciplinary system.

Craniosacral Therapy and Nervous System Work

Craniosacral therapy was profoundly helpful for me. By gently working with the fascial system and nervous system, it helped my body downregulate - to move out of the stress response I'd been stuck in. This isn't just about feeling better temporarily; it's about giving the nervous system permission to relax, which has cascading effects throughout the body.

Massage and Myofascial Release

Therapeutic massage, especially when combined with myofascial release techniques, helps address the muscle tension and fascial restrictions that build up when you have hypermobility. The goal isn't to make you more flexible (which would be counterproductive), but to release excessive tension and improve tissue quality. Not a lot of pressure, but more into the restorative side. 

Movement: The Right Kind Matters

This is where I had to completely shift my approach. Traditional yoga and high-intensity training were making me worse. My body needs:

• Controlled, supported movement rather than maximal range of motion

• Strength and stability work – proprioceptive training, controlled resistance, and core stability are essential

• Low-impact options when autonomic symptoms are flaring

• Reformer Pilates – it's been transformative because it provides external support, resistance against rather than through range of motion, and proprioceptive feedback.

I'm currently pursuing specialist training in PT for special populations, specifically hoping to specialise in working with people like me - those with connective tissue disorders, dysautonomia, and the complex web of interconnected symptoms.

Nutrition and Histamine Management

If you have MCAS or histamine intolerance, standard nutritional advice doesn't apply. High-histamine foods, fermented foods, and certain additives can trigger reactions. Working with someone who understands these conditions is crucial.

Medical Management

Depending on your specific presentation, medical support might include medications that stabilize mast cells, manage autonomic symptoms, or address blood sugar dysregulation. This isn't about over-medicating - it's about finding the right support when your body genuinely needs it. I was lucky to address all this in time and apart of supplements that supported me along the way, I did not need any medication. The earlier you address it, the better for your system. I am now off most of the supplements, except electrolytes and Vit D. With an ocasional strong antihistamine if it's the mosquito's season.That is such an achievement in itself. 

The Threshold: How Close I Came (And How I Didn't Cross It)

Looking back at that period when my symptoms were converging - the vasovagal episodes, the reactive hypoglycemia, the MCAS reactions, the cardiac symptoms - I was standing at a threshold. The medical language for it was "autonomic dysfunction," but what it really meant was: I was one step away from chronic illness. One step away from becoming a "patient," permanently, with a syndrome that would require lifelong management and limitation.

I could have crossed that threshold. Many people do. The trajectory was clear: continue pushing, continue ignoring the signs, continue living in chronic stress, and the body's compensatory systems eventually fail. The diagnosis becomes permanent.

And not everyone needs the same amount of external stress as I experienced for this to happen. For some, it all happens through racing thoughts, anxiety spirals, internal experiences—without running a business or going through heartbreaks. My example is extreme and perhaps rare, but how we process experiences and situations is unique to everyone.

That's why when I see someone dysregulated, I don't ask what they're achieving. I ask how they're coping.

Something shifted for me and it started with assertiveness - with demanding the right tests at the right time while I was actually in flare-ups, not waiting until symptoms had faded (which is often when doctors dismiss you). It started with changing my lifestyle first, changing GP practices, writing detailed letters, moving house, refusing to accept "it's in your head." That medical advocacy was crucial. But here's what's rarely talked about: the medical diagnosis was only part of what saved me. What do we do alongside medical support? 

The real work happened elsewhere.

It started when my team at Abuelita's - colleagues trained in body and nervous system work - began helping me understand what I was actually experiencing. Craniosacral therapy, myofascial release, massage: these weren't just treatments. They were communication. They were my body learning, for perhaps the first time, what safety felt like. What it meant to not be in fight-or-flight. What relaxation actually was.

Then came the nutrition work. I got a CGM and started tracking everything. And that's when it hit me: it wasn't the food. It wasn't the carbs or the sugar. It was stress. It was being in the wrong room with the wrong people. It was saying yes when every part of me was screaming no.

My body wasn't reacting to what I ate. It was reacting to who I was with.

I'd already spent years in therapy dealing with my trauma, processing all the stress that had settled into my nervous system from childhood. That work mattered. It taught me I deserved better. But I was surrounded by the people I attracted before I did the work. And I stayed in relationships that were draining me. And my body kept telling me: this isn't working.

So I listened.

I left the friendships that didn't serve me anymore. People I'd loved, people with history - but the dynamic wasn't changing. They couldn't meet me where I was. And staying, performing, making myself smaller? It was literally making me sick. My blood sugar would spike thinking about certain people. My heart would race before certain calls.

My body was done. I was done. So I made radical decisions.

That sounds harsh, I know. And it was painful. But it was also necessary.

Slowly - and this is important: slowly, not all at once - I made other changes. I reduced my work hours. I stepped back from projects that didn't align with my values. I stopped trying to be everything to everyone. I allowed myself to grieve the parts of my old life that I was leaving behind.

And a year later - a year since I walked through what I call "Mordor," the peak of the flare-up, that terrifying landscape of my own body in crisis - everything is different. And I am writting this article.

I walk straight now. Not just metaphorically, though that's true too. My posture has improved. The heaviness in my legs is gone. I can walk for hours if I want to, though I choose not to overdo it. I eat better - not restrictively, but with awareness. I understand my body's language now. When I get a craving for processed carbs, I ask: am I hungry, or am I stressed? Am I looking for comfort, or do I need fuel?

And most importantly: I feel proud of myself.

Not in the high - achiever way I used to - that relentless, exhausting drive to prove something. But in a deeper way. I'm proud that I listened to my body even when doctors dismissed me. I'm proud that I did the research, pursued the tests, and refused to accept the narrative that it was all psychological. I'm proud that I also did the harder work: the internal work of examining my life, my relationships, my choices, and having the courage to change them.

And I want you to understand: the NHS helped. The doctors helped. The diagnosis I recently got helped to validate a whole year of being dismissed - because knowing I have vasovagal syncope and reactive hypoglycemia means I knew what I was dealing with then, and what would cost me if I do that again, and I am lucky to not need medication, just compression socks, dietary awareness, and lifestyle adjustments.

What saved me was deciding to ask for help and to help myself. To do my own work alongside the medical system.

The Question That Matters

This is what I ask my clients now, and what I ask you: NHS and doctors can help. Tests can reveal. But how do you help yourself?

What patterns are you willing to break, even if they cost you?

What relationships are worth keeping, and which ones are slowly poisoning you?

What does your nervous system actually need - and are you brave enough to give it?

Where have you been taught to push through, and where do you actually need to rest?

These aren't rhetorical questions. They're the questions I asked myself in Mordor. And answering them - really, honestly answering them and taking action - was what brought me back out.

The medical investigation was necessary. The diagnosis is helpful. The compression socks and dietary changes are real tools.

But the real medicine? The real turning point?

That was deciding to get to know my body. Not as a patient. Not as a problem to fix. But as a home I actually wanted to live in. As a system worthy of respect and protection. As something that had been trying to tell me the truth all along - if I would just listen.

My Diagnoses and Current Status

Confirmed Diagnoses:

• Vasovagal syncope (diagnosed via tilt table test)

• Reactive hypoglycemia (in check and no episods for months now)

• Histamine intolerance (careful with what I eat, but I can mostly eat everything if it's in small quantities and thinking of the whole weeks meal plan carefully)

• Hypermobility (spectrum disorder - not hEDS)

• History of cPTSD (recovered)

What This Means: My diagnoses don't require chronic medication - they require lifestyle management, nervous system regulation, and protective boundaries. Understanding my relational and environmental triggers has been far more effective than any pharmaceutical intervention. 

About Abuelita's Approach to Hypermobility and Chronic Conditions

At Abuelita's, we work with hypermobility through a coordinated, nervous-system-aware approach. Our team - including specialists in sports massage, craniosacral therapy, myofascial release, and movement - understands that hypermobility isn't just about joints. It's about the entire system: connective tissue, the nervous system, the immune system, and how they all communicate.

We also understand that many of us arrive at chronic conditions, burnout, hypermobility care carrying other things: unprocessed trauma, high-achiever patterns that taught us to ignore our limits, perimenopause, reactive hypoglycemia, and autonomic dysregulation. We don't treat these in isolation. We treat the whole person - the stretched nervous system, the sensitized immune system, and the person inside who needs permission to rest.

We meet you where you are, not where fitness culture thinks you should be. Because recovery is about listening to our bodies - not pushing past them.

I'm currently specializing in Personal Training for special populations, with on what I have experienced, to help those with burnout, chronic illnesses, connective tissue disorders, dysautonomia, and complex comorbidities. Because I've lived this. Because I know what it's like to be told to "just exercise" when exercise feels like it's killing you. Because I understand that healing requires a completely different approach and. alot of emphaty.