I've started writing this post in my head a hundred different times, but every time I try to put it into words, I don't even know where to begin.
The truth is, I'm struggling. And not just a little.
For a while now, I've been going from doctor to doctor, appointment to appointment, trying to figure out why my body feels like it's slowly shutting down. Trying to understand why I feel so exhausted all the time, why my brain feels like it's constantly in a fog, and why the things that used to come so naturally to me now feel almost impossible.
After so many appointments, conversations, tests, and unanswered questions, I've been told it's lupus. And with that comes the possibility of more autoimmune diseases and more things we may have to figure out along the way.
Honestly, it's terrifying.
I don't think I was prepared for what it would feel like to hear that something is happening inside my own body that I can't just fix. I can't sleep it off. I can't push through it. I can't will myself to feel better.
And if you know me, you know how hard that is for me.
I've always been someone who shows up. I'm the instructor who wants to give her students everything she has. I'm the mom who wants to run around, play, laugh, and keep up with her son. I'm the sister, the friend, the person people can count on. I've always loved being someone who is there for everyone else.
But lately, I feel like I'm failing at all of it.
Not because I don't care. Not because I don't want to. But because some days I physically and mentally don't have anything left to give.
There are days when the brain fog is so bad that I struggle to think clearly. Days when I'm constantly tired no matter how much I rest. Days when even the simplest things feel overwhelming. And then there are days when getting out of bed feels like an accomplishment in itself.
I hate that.
I hate that there are days I can't run around with my son. I hate that I have to think twice about whether I have enough energy to do something that should be so simple. I hate that I sometimes have to sit things out when all I want to do is be there.
I want to be the mom who runs with her little boy without thinking about what it will cost her afterward. I want to be the instructor who walks into work feeling energized, confident, and completely present for her students. I want to be the sister and friend who answers the phone, makes the plans, shows up, and doesn't have to cancel because her body has other plans.
I want to be ME.
And I think that's what hurts the most.
I'm grieving a version of myself that I didn't realize I could lose.
There is a very lonely side to being sick that I don't think people talk about enough. Especially when your illness isn't always visible.
I think people see me going to work, smiling, talking, and trying to carry on with life, and maybe they assume I'm doing okay. But what they don't see is how much effort it takes to keep that version of myself going.
Sometimes I push myself to act like the girl I was before I got sick because I'm afraid that if I don't, people won't believe how much I'm actually struggling.
I don't want to be seen as unreliable. I don't want people to think I'm making excuses. I don't want to constantly explain why I don't feel good or why I can't do something.
So I push. I smile. I show up when I can. I pretend I'm okay when I'm not.
And then I go home and feel completely defeated.
I feel like I'm living two different lives. The person everyone sees and the person who is quietly trying to figure out how to get through each day.
And sometimes, I feel so incredibly alone.
I'm scared that the doctors won't find the right answers. I'm scared that we won't figure out how to manage this. I'm scared that my body will continue to get sicker and that this will become my new normal.
I'm scared of missing out on moments with my son. I'm scared of not being able to give my students the instructor they deserve. I'm scared of disappointing the people I love. I'm scared of waking up one day and feeling even further away from the person I used to be.
And I hate admitting that because I've always wanted to be strong.
But I'm starting to realize that being strong doesn't mean pretending you're not scared.
It doesn't mean pushing your body until you have absolutely nothing left. It doesn't mean saying yes to everything or making sure everyone else is okay while you're falling apart inside.
Maybe strength is finally admitting that I'm not okay.
Maybe it's advocating for myself when I feel like I'm not getting the answers I need. Maybe it's allowing myself to rest without feeling guilty. Maybe it's accepting help instead of feeling like I have to do everything myself.
Maybe it's learning that I am still worthy of love, friendship, respect, and happiness even when I can't show up the way I used to.
I've spent so much of my life taking care of others, and now I'm being forced to learn how to take care of myself.
And honestly, I don't really know how to do that yet.
I want to learn. I want to understand my body. I want to figure out what helps me feel better, how to manage my health, and how to create a life where I'm not constantly running on empty. I want to prioritize my physical and mental health without feeling selfish for doing so.
I want to stop measuring my worth by how much I accomplish in a day.
I want to be present with my son, even if that means our adventures look a little different right now. I want to show up for my students in ways that are sustainable for me. I want to be a good friend, sister, and family member without completely sacrificing myself in the process.
And most importantly, I want to learn to give myself the same compassion I would give anyone else going through this.
I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if there will be more diagnoses, more appointments, more hard days, or more questions. I wish I could say I have a positive outlook every single day, but that wouldn't be honest.
Some days I'm angry. Some days I'm sad. Some days I'm scared. Some days I just want to cry because I'm so tired of feeling tired.
And some days I just miss myself.
But I don't want to lose myself completely in this diagnosis. I don't want lupus to become the only thing people see when they look at me, and I don't want it to take away the dreams, the happiness, and the life I still want to live.
I am still a mom who wants to make memories with her son. I'm still an instructor who loves teaching. I'm still a sister, a friend, and a woman who has so much love to give.
I'm just a woman trying to figure out how to do all of those things while navigating a body that doesn't always cooperate.
So I'm choosing to start somewhere.
I'm choosing to listen to my body. To ask questions. To keep advocating for myself. To make my health a priority. To rest when I need to. To stop apologizing for things I cannot control.
I'm choosing to let people see the real version of me, even when that version is struggling.
Because maybe someone else is feeling exactly how I feel. Maybe someone else is sitting in their car after an appointment, crying because they still don't have answers. Maybe someone else is canceling plans, feeling guilty, wondering why their body won't cooperate, or questioning who they are anymore.
If that's you, I want you to know that I see you.
You aren't lazy. You aren't unreliable. You aren't making it up. And you aren't any less valuable because your body needs more from you right now.
I don't know what this chapter will look like, and I'm not going to pretend it's easy.
But I am going to keep fighting for answers, fighting for my health, and learning how to show up for myself.
I might not be the exact girl I was before all of this, and maybe I won't ever be in exactly the same way.
But I hope I can become a version of myself who is even more compassionate, more patient, and stronger in ways I never knew I needed to be.
For now, I'm taking it one day at a time.
And if all I do some days is get out of bed, love my son, and make it through the day, I'm going to start learning that that's enough.
I'm still here. I'm still me. I'm still fighting. And I'm not giving up on the life I want to live. ❤️
