We just got back from our Missouri vacation. I’m so glad we went and I truly enjoyed the time with my family. But here’s the part you won’t see in most travel posts: the recovery days.

The first night home, I was asleep by 8 p.m. Yesterday, the day after we got back, I didn’t do much of anything. My biggest “outing” was going to dinner with my family. Today’s accomplishment was a quick trip to the pharmacy to pick up medications, and then I spent the rest of the day in my room, mostly in bed. If I’m honest, tomorrow will probably look a lot like today.

For me, traveling with chronic illness and chronic pain means pushing through during the vacation itself because I want to make those memories. I want to swim in the river with my kids. I want to watch Channing try the rope swing and Raeleigh chase after lizards. I want to see Royce’s face light up at every new adventure. But all of that joy comes with a physical cost.

Swimming at the river was the highlight of the trip for me. I miss swimming in a natural swimming hole like that. It felt like home. The cool water wrapping around me, the sound of the current rushing over rocks, the sunlight dancing on the surface, and the green reflection from the trees overhead made it the best part of the entire trip. Even though it wore me out and I ended up with too much sun both times we went, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Vacations for me are not simply about visiting a new place; they’re about being fully present with my family despite the limitations my body puts on me. That means planning days where I rest more, pacing myself during activities, and sometimes sitting on the sidelines while I watch everyone else jump in. But it also means saying “yes” to moments I know I’ll treasure, even if I know the recovery will be hard.

And recovery is hard. It’s not just physical rest—it’s navigating the fatigue that feels like my limbs are weighted down, managing the pain flare-ups that inevitably come from overdoing it, and giving myself permission not to feel guilty for slowing down once we’re home. These aren’t “lazy” days. They’re necessary days.

Now that we are back, my body needs to catch up. My mind is still playing the highlight reel of our trip—the lush green trees reflected in the river, the laughter of my kids making new friends, the sparkle of sunlight on the water—but my body is firmly reminding me that it is time to rest.

I have learned not to see these recovery days as a failure or as “wasted” time. They are the quiet, necessary counterbalance to the busy, joy-filled days we just had. Without them, I would not be able to keep making these memories.

So for now, I will be in my bed with my heating pad and my water bottle, scrolling through the photos from our trip, reliving the moments we worked so hard to create. Probably by day 4 or 5 home from vacation, I will be back to my normal at-home pace, but until then, I am giving myself the grace to recover.

Because the truth is, making the most of life with chronic illness means understanding that joy and rest are partners, not opposites. And one matters just as much as the other.