Grieving the Old Me

Today I'm taking a moment to grieve the old me.

Maybe you've been grieving the old you too.

Not because I've given up.

Not because I've lost hope.

But because sometimes I think we need to stop pretending we're okay with everything we've lost.

Living with chronic illness isn't just grieving your health.

It's grieving the life you thought you'd have.

The things you used to do without even thinking.

The person you used to be.

Lately I've been thinking about butterflies.

People always talk about the beautiful butterfly, but no one really talks about the cocoon.

Maybe that's because the cocoon isn't the pretty part.

It's quiet.

It's lonely.

It's messy.

And that's exactly where I feel I am right now.

Hidden away in my own little cocoon.

Not because I want to be.

But because my body has needed me to slow down.

To rest.

To listen.

To survive.

Maybe the cocoon isn't where life stops.

Maybe it's where we're learning the lessons we'll need when it's finally time to spread our wings.

Today is my birthday.

I'm turning 44.

Birthdays have a funny way of making you stop and reflect.

I know people often say getting older is a privilege, and I couldn't agree more.

I lost my brother when I was 24.

He was only 31.

He never got the chance to turn 40.

Or 44.

So yes...

Growing older is absolutely something I'm grateful for.

But that doesn't mean it isn't okay to grieve too.

The last four years have felt like a blur.

Adenomyosis.

Fibroids.

A hysterectomy.

Raynaud's.

Sleep apnoea.

Fibromyalgia.

Hashimoto's.

Being tested for POTS.

Being assessed for EDS.

Waiting to rule out MS.

The last four years have been filled with diagnoses, appointments, tests and surgeries.

And in a couple of weeks, I'll be having surgery to remove a skin cancer from my forehead. Sometimes it feels like there's always another appointment waiting.

I've sat in more waiting rooms than I can count.

I've had blood tests, scans, scopes, procedures and appointments with specialists whose names I never imagined I'd know so well.

Somewhere along the way...

I quietly disappeared into my own cocoon.

But the thing I grieve most isn't the diagnoses.

It's the old me.

The woman who could work all day and still come home with enough energy to cook dinner, clean the house and mow the lawns.

The woman who didn't have to think twice before doing the groceries.

The woman who could make plans without wondering if she'd still have the energy tomorrow.

The woman who felt safe in her own body.

Sometimes I wonder what my boys will remember.

Will they remember all the times I couldn't do something because Mum was sick?

Or will they remember that I always kept trying?

That even on the hardest days, I still showed up the best way I could.

I hope they remember that.

Some days I want to scream.

Some days I cry.

Some days I just need to sit quietly and let myself grieve.

And I've realised...

That's okay.

We spend so much time telling ourselves to stay positive that we forget grieving is part of healing too.

You can't keep pretending you haven't lost something.

You have.

I have.

And it's okay to acknowledge that.

But here's the thing.

I don't believe the cocoon is forever.

Maybe today I'm still in the cocoon.

Still learning.

Still healing.

Still grieving.

But I truly believe the day is coming when I'll understand my body better than I do today.

Every appointment...

Every setback...

Every lesson...

Is teaching me something.

Little by little, I'm learning what helps.

Learning what doesn't.

Learning how to be kind to myself.

Learning that life might look different than I imagined...

But different doesn't mean it can't still be beautiful.

The day is coming that I'll learn how to manage my symptoms.

Every day, learning a little more.

Every day, getting a little stronger.

So today I'm allowing myself to grieve the old me.

Not because I want her back exactly as she was.

But because she deserves to be honoured.

She got me here.

And while I don't know exactly what life will look like when I finally step out of this cocoon...

I do know this.

I'll still be me.

Just a little different.

A little wiser.

A little kinder to myself.

Still learning.

Still adapting.

Still discovering what helps and what doesn't.

And maybe that's okay.

Because I don't need to have everything figured out today.

I just need to keep taking one step at a time.

The butterfly was never lost.

She was simply learning how to fly in a different way.

💙

If you're navigating your own health journey and looking for a gentle way to track symptoms, appointments and patterns, I created My Health Companion to support people just like us.

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