Chronic illness stole my identity. And maybe that’s just what I needed. For most of my adult life, I identified myself by my profession.
The companies I worked for, the positions I held, the quality of work I produced and, above all, the recognition I got from doing it.
If I was busy and with a “title,” I was fulfilled. If I wasn’t, I was failing. Busy and “titled” tricked me into thinking I was important.
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