Dispatch from the edge of meaning.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Who is the bravest of them all?

The Inconvenient Version (obviously...)

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the bravest of them all?

The clean truth is: I don’t know.

But I know what bravery isn't. It isn't the filtered version. It isn't the "this illness is my greatest teacher" version. It is the unseasoned, slightly feral truth.

When you become chronically ill, your life doesn’t simply shift. It just quietly implodes.

Outside, everyone else is still going to brunch. They are still arguing about oat milk. They are still complaining about the weather as if it will make any difference.

Meanwhile, your work disappears.

Your social life flatlines.

Your finances file a formal complaint.

And your identity? That cracks like cheap porcelain.

And yes... Instagram still suggests you should give “more energy, more footwork.”

All the while, I am in a high-stakes negotiations with my own body like: “Okay, but can we at least shower today without needing a nap after?”

"My body is a temple, but it’s one of those ancient ruins where the roof has caved in and tourists are forbidden for safety reasons."

The Demolition

Chronic illness isn’t just pain. It is a full-scale identity eviction.

You lose the version of yourself who could power through anything with enough willpower and caffeine. You learn, violently, that "pushing through" has a limit. Apparently, the body does not care about your work ethic. A bit rude if you ask me.

And you lose the luxury of pretending. Because there is no five-step plan for “Everything you built is no longer sustainable.” There is just you. And that glorious, feral truth.

The only thing that has moved me remotely toward healing is brutal honesty. The one where you look at your energy budget and admit: “This is it. Overspend it and see what happens. Spoiler alert: the interest rates are violent.”

The one where you look at your bank account and think: “Well… shit. That wasn't on the vision board.”

The one where you realize some relationships were only functional when you were over-functioning. Because there simply is no energy left to keep up appearances.

None.

No strength for the “I’m fines.”

No tolerance for fake positivity.

And absolutely no stamina for packaging my reality so it’s easier for other people to digest.

The Karen Problem

Oh, and then there’s the social recalibration.

This one is spicy.

While you are negotiating with your body like it’s a hostage situation, wondering if folding laundry qualifies as an endurance sport, someone tells you their life is falling apart.

Why? Because a colleague was passive-aggressive. Or because their weekend getaway got rescheduled.

And that tiny, unfiltered voice inside you pipes up: Is that all? That’s the apocalypse? Crikey.

I know I’m supposed to say that pain is relative. I’m supposed to be the bigger person.

But when you’ve been awake at 3:00 a.m. with pain ricocheting through your skeleton, wondering if you have a future, your tolerance for surface-level drama evaporates. Not because you’re superior. But because you’ve recalibrated.

Your nervous system has been to war. You don't come back from that interested in gossip about Karen’s tone in last Thursday’s email.

Karen will survive.

"Resilience is not a personality trait; it’s a lack of options."

The Dragon

Inevitably, your circle changes. Because you changed.

You cannot unknow what you know. You cannot untouch the edge you’ve stood on.

It becomes a new layer of skin. You become someone who knows exactly how much energy she has, and you guard it like a dragon sitting on the last gold coin.

And so, my beautiful mirror… who is the bravest of them all?

I don’t think it’s the one who powers through until collapse. It’s the one who stops.

The one who admits, humbled: “I can’t live like I used to.” The one who lets the life she built fall away, even when it costs status, comfort, income, and friendships.

Because bravery isn’t loud.

It’s just really, deeply inconvenient, and from time to time quite lonely.

It’s choosing truth over image. Reality over performance. Preservation over applause.

Every. Single. Day.

So no, this has nothing to do with being inspirational. It’s just honest. And in my opinion, that’s braver than pretending everything is fine.