“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~Rumi I didn’t know what it meant to grieve a body that was still alive until mine turned on me.
It began like a whisper—fatigue that lingered, strange symptoms that didn’t match, a quiet fear I tried to ignore. Then one night, I collapsed.
I woke up in a hospital room I didn’t recognize, attached to IVs I hadn’t agreed to, surrounded by medical voices that spoke in certainty while I sat in confusion.
It wasn’t just a diagnosis I was given. It was a line in the sand. Before that night, I thought I knew who I was. I had moved across the world for love, leaving behind my home, my language, my work, my identity.
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