I’m so proud of us.

I don’t think I say that enough. I spend so much time thinking about what still hurts, what still needs answers, what my body still can’t do, and what the next appointment, test, medication, or diagnosis might bring that sometimes I forget to turn around and look at the road behind us.

And we have come so far.

There was a time when I thought being strong meant pushing through everything. Get up. Keep going. Take care of everyone else. Ignore the pain. Smile when someone asks how you’re doing because explaining the truth takes too long anyway. Pretend you aren’t exhausted when your bones feel heavy. Pretend the pain isn’t that bad because you’ve learned how to function at a level that would send someone else straight to bed.

We became very good at surviving our own body.

Then somewhere along the way, we started learning how to live in it instead.

That has been one of the hardest things we’ve ever done.

Chronic illness changed us in ways I don’t think anyone who hasn’t lived inside a sick body can completely understand. It changed our relationship with food, movement, sleep, plans, work, friendships, independence, and even time. It taught us that something as ordinary as taking a shower can sometimes require strategy. That standing up can become an event. That a good day doesn’t necessarily mean a painless day. Sometimes a good day simply means the symptoms stayed quiet enough for us to participate in our own life.

We learned that bodies don’t always follow the rules written in medical textbooks.

We learned what it feels like to know something is wrong before anyone can give it a name.

We learned how exhausting it is to keep explaining the same symptoms, answering the same questions, undergoing another test, trying another medication, and hoping that this time someone might finally connect another piece of the puzzle.

But somewhere in all of that, we learned something else.

We learned to advocate for ourselves.

We learned to pay attention.

We learned the language of our own body.

We learned the difference between discomfort we can work around and our body screaming stop. We learned that resting isn’t laziness. Changing plans isn’t failure. Using accommodations isn’t giving up. Eating whatever our body will tolerate is better than punishing ourselves because it wasn’t the meal we thought we should eat. Hydration, medication, braces, doctors, tests, safe foods, quiet rooms, sitting down, asking for help, and saying I can’t today are not weaknesses.

They are tools.

And look at us now.

We still have chronic illness. There wasn’t some magical morning when we woke up cured and skipped into the sunrise while inspirational music played in the background. Our story is much messier than that.

There are still bad days.

There are still days when our body scares us.

There are still symptoms we don’t completely understand and questions we want answered. There are still moments when we grieve the body we wish we had and the things that would be so much easier if our body simply cooperated.

But we understand ourselves better now.

We listen sooner.

We recover differently.

We have learned how to build a life around our body instead of constantly declaring war against it.

And maybe that is what I’m proudest of.

Because through all of this, chronic illness did not take us away.

We are still creating.

Still writing.

Still dreaming ridiculous, beautiful, enormous dreams.

Still loving with our whole heart.

Still laughing.

Still making plans.

Still finding new things to become obsessed with.

Still building worlds when the real one becomes too heavy.

Still finding tiny pockets of joy tucked between appointments, medications, exhaustion, pain, responsibilities, and uncertainty.

There were versions of us who desperately wanted the answers we have now. Versions of us who wondered whether anyone would ever understand what was happening. Versions who were frightened by symptoms they couldn’t explain. Versions who wondered if they were simply supposed to keep pushing forever.

I wish I could sit beside every one of them.

I would tell her:

You are going to learn your body.

You are going to find your voice.

You are going to stop measuring your worth by how much pain you can endure without inconveniencing anyone.

You are going to learn that survival and living are two different things.

And eventually, sweetheart, you are going to choose living.

Not perfectly.

Not fearlessly.

Not without bad days.

But deliberately.

You will learn that progress with chronic illness isn’t always measured by symptoms disappearing. Sometimes progress is recognizing them sooner. Sometimes it is knowing what helps. Sometimes it is having the courage to cancel something. Sometimes it is getting out of bed. Sometimes it is accepting that today is a bed day and refusing to hate yourself for it.

And sometimes progress is simply looking into the mirror and realizing that after everything your body has carried you through, you no longer see it as the enemy.

So, dear self…

Thank you.

Thank you to the version of us who kept asking questions.

Thank you to the version who cried after appointments and still scheduled the next one.

Thank you to the version who kept trying.

Thank you to the version who finally learned to rest.

Thank you to the body that has frustrated us, frightened us, hurt us, surprised us, and somehow continued carrying us through every single chapter.

We aren’t finished.

There are still answers to find, adjustments to make, and probably more days when we’ll be angry that this is part of our story.

But today, I don’t want to look at how far we still have to go.

Today, I want to look backward.

At every impossible day.

Every appointment.

Every medication.

Every unanswered question.

Every tiny victory nobody else knew was a victory.

Every time we fell apart and somehow gathered ourselves back together differently.

Look at her.

Look at all those versions of us standing behind the woman we are now.

They got us here.

And I hope somehow they know…

We made it farther than they thought we could.

We’re still here.

We’re still becoming.

And dear self,

I’m so incredibly proud of us. 💖

Love,
Me