Thank you for being vulnerable with us, and your honesty 🫶
I’ve lived with autoimmune illness (Hashimoto’s disease, and now also joint deterioration) for a couple of decades. At first, i threw everything at the illness, drastically modified my diet almost to the point of orthorexia, trained as a nutrition coach and a mental health counsellor, rattled with supplements and hoped for a complete cure because i was working so hard at it, and deserved it, dammit. And shook my fist at the gods when a cure did’t come. Sigh…
Now, finally with the wisdom, experience and relative patience of elderhood, i’ve reached the point you so beautifully describe, of understanding the difference of healing vs cure. My daily meds keep me functioning, a careful diet keeps me well, daily movement keeps me mobile, my gardening and herbwork keep me sane, animism connects me to all that IS. I will never be cured, but i have found significant healing in the process of finding balance and meaning in my life.
I’m still a broken toy, but like you, i’m a little plant leaning into the sun.
Wow, this is such a moving piece. What touched me most is its honesty. You don’t try to turn illness into a lesson or a triumph, and that restraint gives the writing a great deal of power. The distinction between healing and curing is especially beautiful and feels like the heart of the essay.
I also loved the image of the plant leaning toward the light. It captures something resilient without becoming sentimental, which is a difficult balance to strike. There’s a quiet wisdom here that I think will resonate deeply with anyone who has had to grieve a version of their life while still finding reasons to keep reaching toward what sustains them.
Thank you for being vulnerable with us, and your honesty 🫶
I’ve lived with autoimmune illness (Hashimoto’s disease, and now also joint deterioration) for a couple of decades. At first, i threw everything at the illness, drastically modified my diet almost to the point of orthorexia, trained as a nutrition coach and a mental health counsellor, rattled with supplements and hoped for a complete cure because i was working so hard at it, and deserved it, dammit. And shook my fist at the gods when a cure did’t come. Sigh…
Now, finally with the wisdom, experience and relative patience of elderhood, i’ve reached the point you so beautifully describe, of understanding the difference of healing vs cure. My daily meds keep me functioning, a careful diet keeps me well, daily movement keeps me mobile, my gardening and herbwork keep me sane, animism connects me to all that IS. I will never be cured, but i have found significant healing in the process of finding balance and meaning in my life.
I’m still a broken toy, but like you, i’m a little plant leaning into the sun.
Wow, this is such a moving piece. What touched me most is its honesty. You don’t try to turn illness into a lesson or a triumph, and that restraint gives the writing a great deal of power. The distinction between healing and curing is especially beautiful and feels like the heart of the essay.
I also loved the image of the plant leaning toward the light. It captures something resilient without becoming sentimental, which is a difficult balance to strike. There’s a quiet wisdom here that I think will resonate deeply with anyone who has had to grieve a version of their life while still finding reasons to keep reaching toward what sustains them.
Thank you. This post was really vulnerable, and it just makes me happy it touched someone.
Thank you for writing it. 💕