My first activation came in 2009, during pregnancy. Hormonal shifts created the conditions for EBV to stir — deep fatigue, odd neurological sensations, immune instability. Nothing that anyone could clearly name. The virus quieted again, but my baseline didn’t fully return.
What followed weren’t crisis years. They were grey-zone years. I showed up. I worked. I created. I pushed through. Underneath, there was a constant undertow — exhaustion that ran deeper than circumstances explained, heightened sensitivity to environments and stimulation, a stress tolerance that kept narrowing.
Over those fifteen years, I burned out twice. During both, I experienced recurring fatigue, brain fog, headaches, and dizziness — symptoms that appeared under pressure, receded partially, and never fully resolved. Each time, I was treated for the burnout. No one looked underneath it. No one connected the pattern to something that had been running in the background since 2009.
Because I never fully recovered between episodes, each cycle left my system with less capacity than the one before.The load was accumulating invisibly.
Then in December 2022, I had COVID. For a body already carrying fifteen years of unresolved viral terrain, it was the trigger that the system could no longer absorb. Throughout 2023, I felt myself worsening progressively — my body slowly withdrawing its cooperation, signals becoming impossible to override. Environmental factors I didn’t yet fully understand were compounding the load further. I wrote about that specific layer separately, because it deserves its own space.
By January 2024, the crash arrived. And with it came the symptoms I hadn’t carried through all fifteen years — but which arrived now with full force: heart palpitations, night sweats, chest tightness, tinnitus in my left ear, sleep disruption so severe it stopped feeling like sleep at all, and a nervous system firing distress signals my body had no capacity left to manage.
This wasn’t a virus suddenly attacking. It was fifteen years of accumulated load finally becoming impossible to carry quietly.
The crash didn’t create the story. It just made it visible.
What Is Epstein-Barr Virus — And Why Haven’t You Heard More About It?
Epstein-Barr virus — known in the Netherlands and Germany as Pfeiffer’s disease — is one of the most common viruses on the planet. Most people encounter it in adolescence or early adulthood, experience it as mononucleosis or a flu-like illness, and are told they’ve recovered.
And for many people, that’s true. The immune system suppresses the virus, it goes dormant, and life continues.
But EBV never fully leaves the body. It integrates into the immune system and remains there — managed, in most cases, without consequence. The question is never whether you carry it. The question is whether your terrain gives it room to stay active.
In bodies carrying significant load — chronic stress, hormonal shifts, mitochondrial strain, nervous system dysregulation, environmental complexity — that dormancy is harder to maintain. The virus doesn’t suddenly attack. It simply finds more room to operate as the body’s capacity to contain it quietly erodes.
This is why Epstein-Barr virus symptoms in long-term cases look so different from the acute infection. It’s not a single illness. It’s a terrain story.
My Epstein-Barr Virus Symptoms — What Fifteen Years Actually Looked Like
My first activation came in 2009, during pregnancy. Hormonal shifts created the conditions for EBV to stir — deep fatigue, odd neurological sensations, immune instability. Nothing that anyone could clearly name. The virus quieted again, but my baseline didn’t fully return.
What followed weren’t crisis years. They were grey-zone years. I showed up. I worked. I created. I pushed through. Underneath, there was a constant undertow — exhaustion that ran deeper than circumstances explained, heightened sensitivity to environments and stimulation, a stress tolerance that kept narrowing.
The symptoms that followed me through those years included persistent fatigue that rest didn’t resolve, recurring brain fog, tinnitus in my left ear, sleep disruption, heart palpitations, chest tightness, headaches, dizziness, and a nervous system that seemed permanently set to high alert.
None of these symptoms pointed clearly to EBV on their own. Individually, they were explainable — stress, burnout, hormones, life. Together, they formed a pattern that conventional medicine rarely assembles into a single picture.
The crash came in January 2024. Fifteen years of accumulated load became visible all at once. My system lost the buffer it had been quietly providing, and what had been manageable tipped into collapse. This wasn’t a virus suddenly attacking. It was a body that had been compensating for too long, finally asking to be met differently.
The Misdiagnosis — And What It Missed
In the aftermath of the crash, I was diagnosed with Long COVID. The overlap in symptoms made it a reasonable assumption — but it didn’t sit right. Something underneath remained unaddressed.
A positive EBV test confirmed a past infection. My doctor acknowledged it and moved on. No follow-up. No framework for what long-term EBV activity actually means in a body like mine.
The only concrete support offered was occupational therapy — genuinely useful for pacing and energy management, but not designed to address the underlying viral and nervous system picture.
I understood then that the map I needed didn’t exist within conventional medicine. Not because the doctors were wrong, but because Epstein-Barr’s long-term effects span immunity, neurology, endocrinology, and autonomic regulation simultaneously — falling between specialties, invisible to systems built around single-organ diagnosis.
I would have to build the map myself.
The EHS Layer — When the Environment Became Part of the Story
What I discovered through bioresonance therapy reframed everything I thought I understood about my sensitivity.
My nervous system wasn’t just responding to the virus. It was also responding to the electromagnetic environment I was living in. My bioresonance practitioner had to run her equipment on child settings just to keep my system stable during sessions — my sensitivity to electromagnetic complexity was that significant.
This is what electromagnetic hypersensitivity — EHS — actually means in biological terms. Not a dramatic reaction to technology, but a nervous system registering environmental complexity at a level that creates continuous, invisible load. In a body already depleted by viral activity and mitochondrial strain, that additional cost matters enormously.
Three solar panel transformers near my bedroom had been generating a low-frequency electromagnetic field my system was processing around the clock. I was sleeping inside an environment that was quietly working against every attempt my body made to stabilize.
EBV did not act alone. It acted in terrain that environmental complexity kept permeable.
Addressing that layer — through Aires technology that introduces structural coherence into the electromagnetic environment rather than blocking signals — was the point at which my recovery finally started to hold. The therapy could land. The rest could repair. The environment had stopped undoing the work.
What Finally Brought Clarity
Recovery didn’t come from a single treatment or a single moment of understanding. It came from assembling a picture that conventional medicine hadn’t assembled for me.
Bioresonance therapy to address viral load and immune terrain directly. Shiatsu to support nervous system balance and organ flow. Breathwork to invite the vagal system back into regulation. Rigorous pacing and honest energy-envelope awareness. Mitochondrial support. Environmental restructuring.
And underneath all of it — a shift in how I understood what my body had been doing all along.
The symptoms weren’t random. The sensitivity wasn’t weakness. The crashes weren’t failure. They were a precise, intelligent system doing exactly what it was designed to do — registering load, signaling overload, and demanding to be met with honesty rather than override.
Epstein-Barr virus didn’t write my story. It brought the existing story into focus.
Where This Journey Has Taken Me
The virus is now in remission — confirmed through bioresonance testing across multiple sessions. My skin has cleared. My energy, while still rebuilding, moves differently now. Not borrowed from tomorrow. Slowly, genuinely generated.
The tinnitus in my left ear — EBV’s reach into the nerve pathways of the inner ear — has quieted. The brain fog that followed me through airports, offices, and difficult seasons has lifted in a way it never fully did before.
I’m not chasing my old baseline. I’m building a new one — constructed around biological honesty, nervous system literacy, and an environment that finally supports the system I actually have.
If you’re reading this because your own symptoms don’t make sense — because you’ve been told you’re fine while knowing something isn’t — I want you to know that the pattern you’re sensing is real. Your body is telling the truth.
The language for it might just take a little longer to arrive.
And when it does, everything starts to connect.
Join the Vibe!
I’m Tani — writer, educator, and someone who has spent fifteen years learning to read her own body like a map. Based in Amsterdam, I navigate the crossroads of EMF awareness, post-viral healing, and nervous system regulation. Not from theory — from lived experience. This space exists for the ones who feel things deeply, who sense what others miss, and who are done being told it’s all in their head. If that’s you — come find your people. Follow me on Instagram @tanistates, tag me when something here lands, and let’s build something real together. Your story might just be the one someone else needed to hear.
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