Grace, Growth, and Gratitude: What My Illness Taught Me

“What we were speculating might be true,” said the doctor, calm and unflinching.

For the first time, I felt humbled by the sheer weight of what was happening. I felt suddenly small, almost invisible in the enormity of it all. The feeling of watching life continue on while mine paused - people laughing, children playing while I was breaking into pieces from inside, felt surreal.

Looking back, I can be poetic about it now. But back then, there was no poetry. Only hurt, anger, and confusion, arriving in no particular order.

Somewhere between the tears and the chaos, I needed to breathe. To accept. The diagnosis was here, but so was I. This couldn’t be the end of me. There was still so much left to see.

Fast forward to now. It’s been ten years. I can finally say this was an inflection point — one that moulded me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. It felt, in hindsight, as if life had sent this my way, not to break me, but to shape me.

It took me years to say this with peace, but I’m truly grateful for it. Not because it was easy, but because it taught me things I’d never have learnt otherwise. So what really changed in ten years?

For one, me.

In the beginning, my world shrank. From running marathons to counting steps from bed to bathroom. But somewhere along the way, my world also deepened. I started noticing the quiet details I used to rush past — the taste of my morning chai, the sunlight inching across the wall, the love in my mom’s voice, the sound of heavy raindrops... I started feeling the aliveness of life.

I used to think strength looked like overcoming with endurance. Now I know it looks like patience. Showing up every single day, even with fear, even with anxiety, even with uncertainty.. showing up with grace.

Over the years, I also made peace with asking for help. Oh, that was hard. My inner “I can do it myself” had to take several deep breaths. But I realised that letting someone help you doesn’t make you weak. It's receiving kindness in its gentlest form. And my gratitude for them in return. It is discovering a very beautiful human connection, sometimes with strangers too.

I began to value rest, not as laziness, but as restoration. To say “no” without guilt. To say “yes” to things that truly lift me. To surround myself with people who bring light, not noise.

Gratitude is no longer a word I take lightly. It’s an intentional practice. Because no matter what kind of day I’ve had, there’s always something good. Perhaps a call, a laugh, a song, a memory, a weird coincidence — waiting to be noticed. And even if not, I am grateful that I am still alive to be feeling the hurt and pain. The full 360 of life is such a gift.

People tell me I am brave, and that I am a fighter and a warrior. However, I don't see my illness as a battle I need to win. It is now a very real part of me. It took away many things, yes. But it also gave me a deeper, richer relationship with myself.

If you’re walking through something heavy right now, know that it won’t always feel this way. Some days you’ll still ache, but somewhere along the road, you’ll also laugh again, notice beauty again, and feel life returning in quiet ways.

I’m still learning, still healing, still growing. I'm still here. And in this moment, that is enough.

If you’re curious to know how it all started — the girl I was before, and how this path unfolded — you can visit my About page.