I used to think that strength meant putting on a brave face, holding back tears, and saying “I’m OK” or “hanging in there” when I wasn’t.
As my relationship with my chronic illness has developed, my definition of strength has evolved too. There are many seemingly endless nights that I lie awake willing the pain to go away, quiet tears streaming down my cheeks.
I listen to my husband’s snoring and observe my dog spilling out of his bed, envious of their ability to end the day of their own accord and go to sleep.
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