A Quiet Resolve

Now In Session | The Art of Adjusting Series | Part 2

I remember sitting in the hospital bed immediately after my diagnosis, completely devastated, wondering what in the world I was going to do. The entire left side of my body had gone numb and walking without assistance had become unreliable. I had three children, two of whom were underage and one who was of age but still financially dependent on me. I had no idea how I was going to take care of them if my limitations kept me from working. But in the midst of that fear was a quiet resolve to figure it out. Every day that I got closer to healing was also a day I got more determined to set myself up in such a way that we would be okay regardless.

I hadn't thought about the quiet intention of it all in a while, until a client who was struggling to accept that she needed mobility aids asked me to take her further into my story because she wanted to understand how I had navigated my own health challenges. So I shared more about the life I had quietly built around my limitations and the small daily adjustments that kept me functional on the hard days.

Shortly after my diagnosis I went on long term disability as I waited to get better. I was grateful for the partial income but never fully at ease because I still did not know how long my limitations would last or what would become of us if they outlasted what I had been given. After almost a year I regained my mobility and returned to work as a school based counselor, but the weight of having been that vulnerable, combined with the uncertainty and unpredictable nature of multiple sclerosis, kept me from ever feeling fully secure in my ability to provide. I was always looking for ways to protect myself should something like that happen again.

A few years passed without a significant flare, and life settled into a manageable rhythm. I had relocated and moved into a new position as a mental health therapist, and then COVID happened and almost everything transitioned to remote, including the agency I worked for, which began providing therapy online. When the world reopened and everyone returned to the office, I had concerns about my compromised immune system, which eventually led me to take advantage of my newly acquired counseling license and practice independently. Working remotely had become the unexpected answer to the dilemma of how I would provide for myself and my children if I was ever unable to walk again. I built my own private practice and started offering telehealth sessions to those who benefited from a more flexible way to access care. It also allowed me to work on days flare ups would have otherwise kept me home.

Building around what my body could and couldn't do became a quiet practice of making decisions both professionally and personally. The decisions ranged from upgrading my compact sedan to a small SUV because getting in and out had become increasingly difficult, to putting a dorm refrigerator in my bedroom for the days when the kitchen felt too far. Having water and snacks within reach meant I could get through those days without having to negotiate with my own body over something as basic as eating. Each decision was a quiet act of intention. Living well with a body that kept changing the terms required creativity, resourcefulness, and a willingness to adjust without apology.

When I finished sharing, she was quiet for a moment and then said she hadn't even thought about any of that. She had been carrying the fear of what might happen without ever moving toward a plan. By the end of our conversation, she had moved from carrying the fear to thinking through what she could actually do about it. Sometimes the most useful thing you can offer someone is the story of how you navigated the same hard thing.

Looking back, each quiet, practical choice was driven by the resolve I had made in that hospital bed years ago to figure it out. That resolve only deepened with each hard season I lived through, and I had lived through enough of them to know another one was coming. When it does, I am ready.

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