Dear friends and family,
“I have Hashimoto’s.” I’ve used this phrase many times over the last five years. Sometimes it’s a bold statement. A testament to what I overcome every day. Sometimes it’s an angry shout, said with every part of me that rails against this being my defining factor. Sometimes it’s a whispered admission, not something I want to share, but it’s beaten me for now and I need you to know this is not my fault.
“I have Hashimoto’s.” Stated as simple fact, I live with it, and life goes on.
I’ve cursed, and screamed, and cried, and mourned. I’ve thought I was improving, only to backslide. I’ve thought I’d moved to acceptance, only to return to denial and furiously fighting against my disease. “My body is broken,” I’ve lamented, only to receive blank stares and questions of “What do you mean?” “My best day will only ever be 80 percent of what I once had,” I’ve stated, only to be told, “I couldn’t live like that.” “I’ll never get better,” I’ve said. “This will be up and down, and I just have to live with it.”
Every decision I make has to take my health into consideration; a miscalculation throws everything off for weeks. When I get sick, it will be for a lot longer than others. “I’ll never be able to work a full-time job.” I’m OK with this as well; I still have the ability to work. I can choose something I enjoy.