Growing Deeper Roots: My Story of Invisible Illness

Writing about my journey with chronic illness has been both therapeutic and difficult for me. Many times, processing my pain and recovery is more easily done when I start writing about it. Other times, the stage of recovery in which I have found myself is so full of complex emotions and thoughts, that stitching them into words coherent to another person, even one on a similar journey, is just impossible.  So I have been upfront when writing this blog, letting you know that my posts might come more sparingly as the journey's direction changes. When I started going to therapy and working on the grieving component of my illness, I was honest with you, letting you know that I wasn't always going to write about the process, I would have to keep parts of it private. That's the stage I was in most of this spring, sorting my own thoughts out and wondering if I'd ever be able to put them into words. Or if I would ever really want to, if I would want to open that story up to...

When people talk about the "isms" in society, racism and sexism are usually the first that come to mind. Later in the list comes agism. Often forgotten and misunderstood, is ableism.  Ableism: Discrimination in favor of able-bodied people.  In the last 9 months of my life, I have thought a lot about ableism. A year ago, when I whole-heartedly identified myself as "able-bodied," I never even considered the nuanced meanings of "disabled" or "abled." I assumed that, like the other "isms" I've learned about or experienced, the categories were cut and dry. You were either "able-bodied" or you were "disabled." I never imagined that I would one day live in the hell that is the grey area.  On my worst days, I am undeniably disabled. I am in bed or, if I must go out, I'm in the wheelchair. On my best days, I am walking on my own and participating in society like an able-bodied 20 year old. That lasts for about ...