Seasons and Symptoms

This time of year is always a favorite. The mornings are cool, the air carries the scent of change, and the trees begin their slow change into golds and reds. Fall has a rhythm all its own—steady, quiet, and transformative.

As I’ve learned to live with MS, I’ve noticed that my own life seems to follow similar rhythms. There are moments of energy and movement, and others where my body asks for stillness and quiet. Like fall, MS comes with change—some expected, some not—but all reminding me that there’s beauty even in the letting go.

And through it all, I keep learning the quiet strength of simply showing up—for myself, for my health, for each new day as it comes.

The Season of Change

Fall doesn’t fight the inevitable; it embraces it. The trees let their leaves fly—they release them in a colorful celebration. I’ve come to realize that living with MS is, in many ways, the same lesson.

There are things I’ve had to release—old expectations, the idea of “pushing through,” and sometimes, control itself. But just as the trees reveal a different kind of beauty when they let go, I am beginning to find peace and even grace in the process.

Showing up in these moments doesn’t always look like doing more. Sometimes it means pausing, breathing, and acknowledging that I’m still here, still adapting, still finding joy in the small things—much like the change of seasons.

Unpredictability

If you’ve lived in North Carolina for any length of time, you know that fall doesn’t always behave. One day it’s 80 degrees, and the next, you’re reaching for a sweater. MS can feel much the same—unpredictable and inconsistent.

There are days when I wake up feeling strong and capable, and others when fatigue, numbness, or pain take over without warning. I’ve learned that the only constant is change. It’s invisible, sometimes not to be believed. It’s frustrating, but it’s the way it is.

Showing up on those unpredictable days looks different—it might mean keeping plans simple, resting without guilt, or celebrating small wins like a walk around the block. It’s learning that presence matters more than perfection.

Shorter Days, Cooler Weather

As the daylight fades earlier and the mornings stay darker longer, I can feel my own energy mirror that rhythm. Fatigue is a familiar companion in MS, and fall seems to magnify it. Shorter days and cooler weather often remind me to listen to my body more closely. 

Instead of pushing against the slowdown, I try to flow with it. I make time for gentle walks, stretching, and rest without guilt. I soak up sunshine when it’s available and lean into cozy evenings when it’s not.

Showing up here means knowing my limits, choosing balance over burnout, and trusting that rest is productive in its own way.

Finding Balance

In fall, we reach for layers—soft sweaters, scarves, and blankets. Living with MS feels a lot like layering too. Not with clothing, but with self care.

My days are balanced: nutrition, movement, medication, and mindfulness. And just like with fall weather, those layers change depending on what the day brings.

Every morning is a choice to show up and adjust—to add a layer, remove one, and keep moving forward with compassion for myself.

Letting Go

There’s something beautiful about how nature lets go in fall. The trees don’t mourn their leaves—they simply trust the process. While not there yet, I’ve been learning to do the same. 

MS has forced me to release certain versions of myself—who I thought I’d always be, what I assumed I could always do. It’s certainly not easy, but letting go has created room for something softer, something real.

Showing up here means accepting the unknown with courage. It means understanding that strength isn’t always loud; sometimes it’s found in the quiet act of continuing, even when things look different than they used to.

Grace &

Fall and MS both remind me that change is inevitable—but growth is optional. We can resist it, or we can move with it. I’m choosing, as best I can, to move with it. 

Right now there are more days where I feel as though I’d rather resist the change, but I am learning to trust the process. Each season brings its own challenges and gifts. And even in the midst of the unpredictable, there’s something steady and grounding in knowing that every fall eventually gives way to light again.

So, as the leaves drift down and the air cools, I’ll wrap myself in the comfort of both acceptance and hope. Because showing up—day by day, season by season—isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about continuing to grow, change, and find grace in the process.

Two Weeks In: What I’ve Learned Since My First Infusion

Two weeks after my first infusion, I keep thinking about a question the nurse asked me before treatment:

“What would you like this medication to do?”

Such a loaded question. My first thought? I want this to end.

Of course, she quickly reminded me that this isn’t a cure—because right now, there isn’t one. Fair enough.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to set expectations or give myself false hope. So I simply said, “Less joint pain would be ideal. That would make starting the day easier.” Beyond that, I figured it would take time to understand what “progress” would really look like.

Rethinking Progress

Over these last few months, I’ve started to realize that progress with PPMS isn’t what I used to imagine. My hope is that symptoms can be managed, even though the disease will inevitably progress.

Now, I focus on patience and trust. If the medication slows things down, even just a little, that’s something.

Interestingly, I was the first patient at my infusion center to receive this treatment in its newer form. Normally, being “first” fuels my competitive side—but this wasn’t exactly the kind of podium I wanted to stand on.

Showing Up, Together

When I talk about “showing up,” it’s not just about me showing up for myself—it’s also about the people who show up with me.

My family, my friends, my doctors, and the team at the infusion center have surrounded me with support. They’ve answered questions, offered encouragement, and reminded me I’m not in this alone.

That kind of support changes everything.

I’ve also realized how invisible MS can be. Someone recently told me, “You don’t look sick. I’d never have known.”

The truth? You can’t always see it—but I sure as hell can feel it. It makes you question your sanity when you’re perfectly sane. It makes you feel 10 years older than you are. It impacts not just you, but everyone around you.

Staying Busy, Staying Me

I’ve always thrived in a work environment. Helping others—whether it was once as a teacher or now as a realtor—has always given my days meaning.

So I decided: no matter how I feel, I will keep showing up.

• I go to work every day (some days from home, most days at the office).

• I walk two miles daily and hit my step goal (a smaller goal than before, but still a win).

• I plan to get back on the golf course with my husband and boys as the weather cools.

• And I continue showing property—which, thankfully, has really picked up this fall.

Fall has always been my favorite season, and this year it feels like an opportunity to keep moving forward.

Celebrating the Small Wins

If there’s one lesson these past two weeks have taught me, it’s that the small wins matter most.

• Less joint pain.

• Holding a cup without worrying I’ll drop it.

• Picking something up off the floor without wincing.

• Walking my dog for the first time in months without fear of losing the leash.

All of these things—wins.

Sometimes it isn’t about dramatic results. Sometimes it’s just about moving in the right direction.

Where I Am Now

Right now, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Whether it’s in health, work, or personal life, small wins add up. They look different for everyone, but by sharing them, we not only show up for ourselves—we show up for each other.

Just because you can’t see what someone is going through doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

So, keep showing up. Keep sharing your experience. And keep the conversation going.