Showing Up
There’s a quiet kind of courage that no one really talks about. It’s not loud or flashy. It doesn’t come with applause or recognition. It’s the kind of courage that comes when you get up, get dressed, and walk into yet another day — not because you want to, but because you have to.
That’s what the last few years of life has looked like for me.
I’m not yet 50, and for the past couple of years, I’ve felt a shift. Not a sudden, dramatic kind — but a slow unraveling. Little things at first: forgetting words, feeling unsteady, fighting through bone-deep fatigue. And then more — dizziness that wouldn’t go away, numbness, heaviness, and that gut-deep feeling that something wasn’t right. But for a long time, I did what so many of us do: I pushed through it.
After all, I’m a wife. A mom. A business owner. A real estate agent. A friend. A daughter. A woman who keeps things moving.
But behind the smiles and open house signs, I was unraveling. There were days I couldn’t show up for myself — and yet I still tried to show up for everyone else...and didn’t do it well.
I told myself I was tired. Stressed. Hormonal. Maybe just aging. But the truth was louder — something wasn’t just right.
The Hardest Kind of Appointment
“Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Maybe I’m overreacting.”
“Maybe I’m making it up.”
These were the thoughts I carried with me every day.
There were times when I walked out of appointments frustrated and confused — not because I had answers, but because I still didn’t. There’s a unique kind of grief that comes with knowing something’s wrong in your body, and not being able to name it.
And still, I showed up.
For the bloodwork.
For the MRIs.
For the specialists.
For the early morning drives to Chapel Hill, hoping maybe this time I’d leave with something concrete.
And finally, I did. A diagnosis: Multiple Sclerosis.
Showing Up When It’s Hard to Be Seen
Not only did a diagnosis bring a bit of closure — it brought another shift. A new way of living, of working, of thinking. But it also brought permission. Permission to rest. To ask for help. To believe myself.
There were long, quiet stretches where depression crept in — not the loud, obvious kind, but the low hum of sadness that comes from feeling like your own body is working against you. From wondering how you’ll keep showing up for your family, your clients, your future — when just brushing your teeth feels like a small victory.
But even on the hardest days, I kept one small promise to myself: Just show up. In whatever way I could.
Sometimes, that looked like closing on a house.
Sometimes, it looked like going to another neurologist.
And sometimes, it just looked like getting out of bed.
Why I’m Still Showing Up
I’m writing this now because I know I’m not the only one. I know what it feels like to smile through symptoms. To hide brain fog with a good to-do list. To quietly mourn a body that doesn’t feel like yours anymore.
But I also know what it feels like to be believed. To be supported. To find a diagnosis. To start fresh — not because you want to, but because you must.
If you’re walking through the unknown, if you’re fighting to be heard, if you’re barely keeping your head above water — Keep showing up.
For your appointments.
For your answers.
For your healing.
For your peace.
For yourself.