Eventually I worked up the courage and went to see my doctor.
After some tests, a referral, and an MRI, the specialist finally gave it a name: spinal stenosis in my lower back.
Part of me was relieved to finally have a word for what I was feeling.
The other part of me was terrified.
The specialist explained that with spinal stenosis, the spinal canal, the tunnel inside your spine where the nerves and blood vessels run, has gotten too narrow in places.
That narrowing squeezes the nerves, which is what causes the strong back pain and the pain that shoots into your hips and legs.
At last I understood where the tingling and the numbness were coming from.
It was not in my head. There was a real, physical cause, right there on the scan.
With that report in my hand, a long journey through waiting rooms and treatments began.
First came physical therapy.
I did my exercises like a good student, worked to strengthen my core, tried to keep good posture, all the things you are supposed to do.
But after weeks of it, the real relief never came.
The pain might ease a little for an hour, and then it came right back.
At the same time they kept giving me stronger and stronger painkillers.
I swallowed pills just to make it through the day.
They made me foggy and tired, and over time they started to bother my stomach.
But what was I supposed to do? Without them I could barely function, and with them I felt like a shell of myself.
My specialist also tried injections straight into my spine.
At first I had hope, because right after the shot I did feel a little better.
But they also never lasted. After a few days the pain was back in full force. So the months went by, stuck in a cycle of trying and failing.
I no longer felt like I was living my life. I was just arranging my day around the pain.
Again and again I had to stop halfway, because my legs simply gave out.
My doctors just kept saying to me:
"You will just have to live with it."
Or: "At your age, back pain is normal."
Those words felt like a slap in the face.
In my darkest moments, I even started to fear I might lose my mobility for good, and end up in a wheelchair.
What hit me hardest was when my specialist finally brought up surgery.
"A decompression procedure, where we remove some of the bone and tissue pressing on your nerves, could be an option," he said, plainly.
My hands went cold.
A major back surgery, where they cut away part of my spine, sounded like a last resort that I was terrified of.
What if something went wrong?
The thought of going under the knife and being laid up for weeks or months kept me awake at night.
But deep down, I refused to accept that the rest of my life was going to be about pain.
There had to be another way. And then something unexpected happened that changed everything for me.