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The weight of acceptance

 For  14 years, I refused to accept my diagnosis as chronic because I was running from feelings of defeat. Accepting that I would struggle for life felt wrong to me. I believed it was my responsibility to seek an alternative way to experience life. It was as if I heard the doctors say, "You have rheumatoid arthritis, which may be a chronic illness." For years, I lived in a state of denial, desperately wishing for the diagnosis to offer me a choice: to accept it or not.


Now, after all this time, acceptance brings a flood of tears, leaving my face wet and my heart heavy. I feel as though I have exhausted all my solutions. Perhaps I was naive, as being young and new to this made it impossible to fully accept my experience.


I feel broken, and for so long, I’ve wanted to fix myself, yet I struggle to see my own success. I’ve been hoping for a miracle, but that hope can also be painful. What if I am reaching for a miracle, but it’s not reaching back? What if we are truly not meant to find each other? Yet, I hope I am not giving up on my call to have faith. If we are meant to connect, I pray that it honors my lifelong dream by soothing my mind, healing my heart, and restoring my entire being.


Right now, I sit in this broken body, in a chair of uncertainty. This is the choice I believe I truly have, and I am embracing it. I choose to face life as it comes, experiencing each moment fully. This is me allowing my body; my love to just be and it be enough. Finally accepting her as she is—scars, inflammation, bruises, disfigurement, and all.




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