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What Chronic Illness Taught Me About the Body I Spent Years Criticizing

Chronic illness stripped away the routines and appearance-based achievements I relied on, forcing me to rethink what actually makes me worthy.

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For as long as I can remember—and as much as I hate to admit it—I’ve placed more value in my appearance than I have in my health. I believed that I must “earn” most of my human needs: rest, food, pleasure, love.

And, as if it were responding to my inner critic’s constant bullying, my body rebelled. Or rather, it started to reject itself the same way I rejected it, developing an autoimmune disease, a rare allergy to its own hormones, and a host of other health conditions that I’m still sorting through.

This year has been one of the most challenging years for me health-wise. Not only am I grieving the rites of passage my illness has stolen from me, but I am also unable to do the things I love the most. At least, not to the same extent.

Leisurely morning walks feel more like trekking up a mountain carrying sandbags. Slow strength training sessions have my heart rate spiking dangerously high. Writing my fiction book has been nearly impossible with the disorienting brain fog. Spending time with friends is accompanied by flu-like body aches and profound exhaustion. Reading in bed feels more like a chore than a cozy hobby. 

Suddenly, all the things that once brought me joy feel more inaccessible by the day.

But amidst all of this, I........

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