It’s fascinating how something that once brought you immense joy can suddenly feel overwhelming and unattainable. This shift can often stem from the fear of perceived failure or a longing for how things used to be.
The time before everything changed.
When life throws unexpected obstacles your way, it can feel as if everything is unraveling, and you’re on the brink of chaos. You try to convince yourself that you’re resilient enough to handle it. With newfound determination, you tell yourself, “Today is the day I reclaim my life.” But then, at 1:30 AM, you find yourself lying awake in bed, reassuring yourself that everything will be okay. Each morning, you wake up reinvigorated, repeating that mantra: “Today is the day.” The day everything returns to normal.
Yet, as night falls, that familiar sense of failure creeps back in. Even as you whisper “It will be okay,” deep down, doubt lingers. It feels like a lie you’ve told yourself repeatedly, each day a cycle of hope and despair.
People often advise that when facing major health issues, it’s important to allow yourself to grieve. I’ve resisted this notion for a long time. I refuse to grieve because I can’t accept having lost something. I hold on to the belief that life can revert to the way it was, and I am determined not to let that slip away.
This post comes out of a desire to express what’s been on my mind, especially as my recent blog activity has been inconsistent. My passion for this blog, writing, and photography remains intact. Still, the frustration of not being able to devote as much energy as I wish weighs heavily on me. The memories of how effortlessly I once engaged with my passion can be painful. However, when I manage to immerse myself in blogging, that spark of inspiration reignites, providing solace amidst the turmoil.
It’s significant to address how often I feel I’ve repeated these sentiments over the past year and a half. I’ve discussed feeling lost, overcoming fear, and staying resilient in tough times. But at this moment, my strength feels diminished, and it’s essential to acknowledge that vulnerability.
Feeling strong is a literal experience for me.
Most days greet me with physical pain from the moment I wake up. Balancing becomes a challenge, and standing even for a brief period can become an ordeal. The most frustrating aspect of dealing with a rare condition is the uncertainty surrounding it. After nearly two years, fourteen procedures, and a multitude of tests, I find myself still undergoing further examinations to eliminate other possibilities. The cysts on my spine are rare in their symptoms, leaving my doctors perplexed about their connection to my back pain and leg weakness. I often hear, “the symptoms don’t align with the diagnostic imaging; we’re unsure of the issue, but don’t worry, you’re young—you’ll heal.” It’s difficult to perceive this as encouragement when the reality is that I’m progressively worsening without answers. Focusing on recovery becomes daunting when the cause of my struggles is still unknown. I hope that once I have clarity, I can share more details, but patience is wearing thin.
Honestly, discussing this continues to be one of my least favorite topics. I dislike drawing attention to negative experiences, yet I cannot alter my reality. No matter how hard I try, these thoughts occupy my mind day and night. I’ve always believed that it’s alright to feel sorry for yourself during tough times, but I struggle with feelings of inadequacy. I dread the uncertainty of how I will respond when someone asks, “How are you feeling today?”
I’ve attempted to write this post multiple times, even deleting it. Tears flowed when I first began, overwhelmed by the physical agony I felt. As I conclude this, I find myself in a better moment, questioning whether I should even share it. Reiterating my struggles feels redundant, but perhaps it’s worth expressing nonetheless.
Articulating these thoughts makes me feel vulnerable, an experience I resist embracing.
Yet, through writing, I rediscover the simple joy of expression. It’s a different experience than journaling; this is something I can share with those I care about. It conveys, “This is what I’m experiencing.” When I decline invitations to go out, it’s not an indication that I’m rejecting anyone’s company. A good day doesn’t mean I’m healed, nor does it imply that I’m exaggerating when I endure a bad day. When I lose my temper or crave solitude, it doesn’t signal a desire to distance myself; rather, it highlights my frustration and feeling of loneliness, even amidst those who love me. My quiet moments don’t equate to disinterest in your life; they often stem from grappling with my internal struggles. However, I’m still the same person—my essence remains unchanged.
I’m still here.
By expressing these thoughts, I remind myself that experiencing vulnerability is a shared human experience—there’s no shame in it. While some of us face greater challenges, it’s essential to recognize that it’s part of being human. I continuously practice gratitude, cherishing the beautiful people and experiences in my life. On many occasions, I wish I could escape everything (although, at present, crawling away is more realistic than running, haha). Yet gratitude helps me appreciate the beauty in life, even amid discomfort and challenges.
This is why I felt compelled to share this before resuming my usual postings. I want to affirm to you and myself that this space holds significant value. My passion for beauty, makeup, photography, and personal growth remains. However, balancing these interests with a body that doesn’t cooperate with my mind is a daunting challenge. This isn’t merely about “needing a break” or focusing solely on health; keeping my mind engaged is crucial to my healing journey—whether through spine surgery or alternative treatments. I refuse to abandon the activities that bring me joy, and blogging is one of those passions. I won’t succumb to grief, nor allow this to deter me from truly living.
This post may appear scattered, but it accurately reflects my thoughts at this moment. Life is a little messy right now, and that’s entirely okay. 🙂 Even on days when I feel weak and disheartened, I remain committed to not giving up on myself.
