My mother was adamant. “You’ve started to wrap your whole identity up in, ‘I’m sick. I can’t do that.’ That’s not healthy!” Her words shocked me: because they were true. I was sick. There were many things I couldn’t do. But it had become my identity. It’s not as if I wasn’t actually ill. This week I had spent more time in bed than out, unable to convince my exhausted body to simply shower. It had...
