Healing is changing how I see ordinary moments…..
There are pieces of my story from the last few years I have held quietly, because some things felt too heavy to put into words while I was still walking through them.
During these last three years, my body truly felt like it was dying at times.
There were these “episodes” (I still do not fully know what to call them, and no doctor could really explain what I was experiencing) that felt very calming…a calm I had never felt before.
Along with them came extreme fatigue (the only other time I remember feeling that level of exhaustion was when I had cancer) paired with an almost unearthly peacefulness in my body, soul, and mind.
Sometimes it would last 24 hours. Sometimes a few days. And every time, I wondered if that deep relaxed state meant my body was preparing to die.
Some nights when I fell asleep, I truly did not know if I would wake up. And truthfully, some mornings I woke up in complete shock that my body was still alive.
During those episodes, I worried my body might simply doze off one day and that a child or my husband would be the one to find me. The thought of that stayed with me more than I ever let on.
I talked in depth with my husband about what and how I wanted my funeral, just in case something happened to me.
We talked about what he would do, how his life would look if I was gone. I shared what I hoped for our family and for him as a father and grandfather.
I did not share these parts publicly because my children read my posts, and I never wanted to scare them. So I became very selective about what I shared and how I shared it.
I am okay talking about it now because those episodes have not happened in a few months, and my body truly feels like it’s healing.
Sometimes now, I even wonder if those moments were a form of healing my body so desperately needed 🤷🏻♀️
But experiences like this change you at a soul level.
My husband and kids did not and still do not always know the thoughts I carried quietly when I looked at them.
They did not know that some hugs and snuggles were soaked in a silent question of whether it might be my last.
Some days my soul ached for what I wasn’t sure I might lose.
I didn’t want to leave a beautiful marriage with a man who honors and adores me and treats me like the most precious thing in his life.
I didn’t want to miss watching my children’s lives unfold. I didn’t want to miss my grandbabies growing up or the chance to meet the ones who might come after me.
I didn’t want to miss two of my children’s weddings. I thought about how unfair it would feel to never meet my other two children’s spouses, to not know their names or faces, to not witness the joy they bring into my child’s life, to never understand for myself why my child fell in love with them.
That was the season I slipped into what I quietly called the “unfair zone”…a place I didn’t even touch when I was walking through cancer. It wasn’t just fear anymore… it was grieving moments that hadn’t even happened yet.
There was even a song I played over and over during that time. It reminded me of my relationship with my son and what it might feel like if I were gone and never got to meet his future wife. It pierced my soul every time.
I didn’t want to become just a memory to them.
So I started taking more photos and videos. If I was going to become a memory, I wanted to leave moments behind.
And sometimes I still get upset if I miss a sweet smile or an important moment. I want to capture it all, for me and for them.
I do not capture moments because life is perfect. I capture them because I learned how fragile life can feel when your body does not cooperate with your spirit.
This season changed the way I see ordinary things, a laugh around the table, a grandbaby’s hand reaching for mine, my husband quietly walking by and gently brushing his hand across my back.
Moments that once felt small now feel sacred.
I do not live in fear anymore. But I do live with a deeper awareness that nothing is promised…and somehow that has made my love softer, my faith steadier, and my presence more intentional.
Healing isn’t just giving me pieces of myself back. It is teaching me how to live inside the moments I once rushed past….while I’m still here, still healing, and still becoming.
And maybe that’s why I hold my camera a little tighter these days.
Every ordinary moment feels like a quiet miracle I get to witness. Every ordinary moment now feels like a gift my soul has learned how to recognize.
#awakening #seeingclearly #healingoutloud #chronicillnessrebel #reflectivejournal
Throughout my experience with these mysterious episodes, I found that healing is often a nonlinear and complex process that reaches beyond just physical improvement. For many of us living with chronic or unexplained illness, the journey involves a profound mental and emotional shift. I learned to cherish simple interactions—like a gentle touch or a shared smile—not because life felt flawless, but because I became intimately aware of its fragility and the unpredictable nature of health. Capturing these moments with photos or videos became more than a hobby; it was a way to hold on to memories that might otherwise feel fleeting. In many ways, this practice helped me stay present and grounded amid uncertainty. It’s like saying to myself, "Here I am, alive in this imperfect moment, and that is enough." What’s more, discussing end-of-life wishes openly with loved ones, although difficult, brought unexpected comfort. It allowed me to confront fears and shift priorities toward deeper connection and presence. This kind of honesty, while painful at times, nurtures healing of the soul even when the body struggles. I also discovered that healing can bring a surprising peace that coexists with fear. The ‘calm’ I experienced wasn’t always easy to understand, but it taught me that peace can be present even amid hardship. Recognizing this helped soften my perspective and made my faith steadier. Ultimately, I learned that healing isn’t just about regaining what was lost; it is about transforming how we live each day, truly noticing the love around us, and accepting that every ordinary moment can carry profound meaning if we allow ourselves to see it. This journey shaped me into someone more compassionate and present—not only for myself, but for the family and moments I treasure most.
