A Birthday Full of Light | Finding Joy Through Chronic Illness

For my 44th birthday, I celebrated with my Mum and my two teenage boys at Eclipse in Bloom.

The night before, I'd mentioned that I'd love to go. It probably wasn't how two teenage boys would choose to spend a Monday night, but they came anyway because it was what I wanted to do for my birthday.

The air was crisp, everyone rugged up in jackets and beanies, and it was one of those beautiful clear winter evenings that somehow makes everything feel a little more magical.

We'd barely walked through the entrance when I stopped.

Right in front of us was the most beautiful display of soft blue light. It shimmered across the ground like gentle waves, almost as though moonlight was dancing on water.

It completely stopped me in my tracks.

I honestly could have stood there watching it for ages.

Before I had the chance, I heard...

"Come on Mum!"

"Don't just stop in the entrance, there's people behind us!"

😂

They clearly had a different pace planned for the evening than I did.

As we wandered further into the gardens, every corner revealed something different.

There were giant glowing flowers that looked like something out of a fairytale.

Beautiful projections drifted across huge hanging pieces of fabric that gently swayed as people walked through them.

Trees glowed with shades of purple, pink and blue, while tiny lights sparkled through the branches.

Everywhere I looked there was something new to admire.

I found myself smiling the whole way through.

Then we came across another display.

It was made up of large cylinders with delicate leaf and flower patterns cut into them.

As people gently spun the cylinders, beautiful leaf and flower projections danced across the trees and the ground around us.

At first, I thought it was beautiful.

I stood there just watching the patterns move.

Then there was another cylinder.

And another.

Before long there were five or six of them all projecting moving patterns around us.

That's when my head started feeling funny.

I can't really explain it.

I just suddenly felt like I needed to keep moving.

At the time, I didn't think much of it.

Looking back now, I think my body had already started quietly telling me it was reaching its limit.

As we continued walking, the crowds became thicker.

People slowed down.

Then they stopped altogether.

The pathway became packed and there wasn't really anywhere to go.

That's when we entered the laser section.

Bright blue laser beams swept through the trees in every direction.

They moved constantly through the fog, across the path and overhead.

At the beginning, I started feeling strange.

My heart began racing.

My body became hot even though the night air was cold.

My feet felt funny.

My lips felt strange.

My eyes became sore.

I felt like I couldn't quite catch a proper breath.

Around halfway through, I looked at Mum.

Her back had been sore all day, and I could tell she was struggling too.

So I grabbed her hand and said,

"Come on, let's pretend we're in a nightclub and head to the bar."

Neither of us even drink anymore, but somehow it made us both laugh.

We politely squeezed our way through the crowd.

"Excuse me."

"Sorry."

"We just need to get through."

One lady looked at me a little strangely until I smiled and said,

"Sorry... we just have to get out."

Straight away she understood.

By the time we reached the end of the display, I honestly thought I was going to faint.

The moment we were out, I phoned my eldest son to make sure he was okay.

He answered straight away.

Completely calm.

He was still slowly making his way through the crowd and wasn't worried in the slightest.

My youngest and I found Mum somewhere to sit while we waited for him to catch up.

Within a few minutes my breathing settled.

My heart slowed down.

That awful feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived.

On the drive home, I found myself replaying the evening in my mind.

Not the few minutes where everything became too much.

But the glowing blue water that stopped me in my tracks.

The giant flowers.

The magical gardens.

The beautiful projections dancing through the trees.

My boys telling me to hurry up because apparently I was taking too long.

Mum and I pretending we were making our way to the bar in a nightclub.

That's when I realised something.

I wasn't thinking about the panic anymore.

I was thinking about the memories.

Living with chronic illness has changed the way I experience life.

I walk a little slower these days.

I have to listen when my body tells me it's had enough.

Sometimes I have to leave a little earlier than everyone else.

And that's okay.

Because I was proud that we'd had an outing.

Proud that we'd laughed.

Proud that we'd seen something so beautiful together.

Proud that we'd made another memory.

Chronic illness didn't make my birthday perfect.

But it certainly didn't stop it from being wonderful.

When I think back on turning 44, I won't remember the few overwhelming minutes.

I'll remember the crisp winter air.

The jackets and beanies.

The glowing blue water.

The giant flowers.

The beautiful gardens.

The laughter.

The slower pace.

And most of all...

I'll remember spending my birthday with the people I love.

For me, that's what turning 44 was really about.

A birthday... full of light. 💙

If you're living with a chronic illness and looking for a gentle way to keep track of appointments, symptoms, medications and everyday life, I created My Health Companion – Calm Beneath the Storm to help make that journey a little easier.

💙 You can learn more here: Choose Your Companion – Mind Ripple