Lately, people have been using a set of words to describe me—words like brave, strong, inspiring, and even immense. Each one feels heavy and light all at once, as though they’re meant to lift me up but also anchor me to an idea of who I am or should be.
Brave. When people tell me I’m brave, they don’t know that I often feel like I’m fumbling in the dark, guessing my way forward. Bravery sounds like something certain and deliberate, like a clear path. But for me, bravery has been more like stepping into fog, trusting that the ground is there. It’s waking up each day knowing that this journey with MS doesn’t have a map, yet moving forward anyway. Is that bravery? Maybe. But it’s also survival and the desire to live each day in the best way I can. I take it as bravery, not because I’m unafraid but because I choose to keep going.
Strong. Strength is a funny word. I’ve always thought of it as the opposite of frailty, as something invincible. But MS has taught me that strength isn’t invincibility. Strength is knowing that some days I’ll need help, that some battles might be lost, and that rest doesn’t mean I’m weak. My strength lies in acceptance, in the ability to adapt when my body shifts the rules on me. It’s knowing that strength isn’t defined by what I lift or endure but by how I allow myself to bend without breaking. When people say I’m strong, they may see resilience, but what they don’t see are the moments of surrender that allow me to gather that strength again.
Inspiring. This word has a shine to it, a kind of awe. It feels like people want to see the heroic side of my journey, the side that defies the odds. But truthfully, my life is filled with as many mundane, quiet moments as heroic ones. I struggle, I laugh, I rest, and I get back up. If anything, my hope is to inspire others not by being perfect but by being real. I want to show that even when life brings the unexpected, we can find ways to adapt and thrive in our own, imperfect ways. Inspiring doesn’t mean being fearless or flawless; it’s about showing up in all our humanness.
And then there’s immense. This one feels almost abstract, like it’s trying to capture something larger than I can hold. Immense encompasses the whole of my journey: the highs, the lows, the moments of clarity, and the days of doubt. My life, with all its facets and changes, feels immense because it’s not just about my individual experience but also about the connections I make, the shared understanding with others, and the strength drawn from community. Immensity holds not just my story, but the countless stories that intersect with mine—reminding me that we’re all part of something bigger.
These words feel like gifts and burdens, reflections of what others see in me but also reminders of what I’m capable of seeing in myself. They lift me on days when I feel small and grounded. They encourage me to be the person others see, while also allowing space for the person I am, vulnerabilities and all. In these words, I find pieces of myself I didn’t realize were there, hints of who I am becoming, and a glimpse of who I want to be.
Much love,
E.P.
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