12/18/2024
This is one I posted on my personal Facebook account and people seemed to like it so here you go. đ
Listen, I have this friend. Sheâs the kind of friend who makes you believe in things like grit and resilience and the power of duct tape. You know, the one who keeps going when most of us would throw our hands in the air, give up, and eat a family-sized bag of potato chips in bed. (Not that she wouldnât do that too, but sheâd probably multitask and use the salt from the chips to replenish her electrolytes.)
This friend? Sheâs a force. A tornado in a pair of ethically sourced sneakers. The sort of person who can juggle catastrophe and comedy in the same sentence, which is a skill when your life is less Eat Pray Love and more Survive, Sweat, Laugh.
Meet My Friend: A Professional Survivor
Hereâs the highlight reel:
She lives with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), which means her body is basically made out of knock-off Legos and sheer willpower. Add in POTS (the charming condition where her heart throws a tantrum every time she stands up) and Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (which is like being allergic to existence), and youâve got a recipe for a fascinating biology experiment.
And yet, sheâs thrivingânot in a glossy, Instagram-filtered way, but in the messy, real, âone step forward, sometimes two steps backâ kind of way.
The Slow Dance of Progress
See, hereâs the thing: she didnât just wake up one day with a body that decided to protest against the laws of nature. She was born with it. These conditions were woven into her DNA, quiet at first, then louder, until they eventually started throwing elbows and demanding attention.
Getting sick wasnât a single, dramatic event. It was a gradual shiftâa slow unraveling of things she thought she could count on. And getting better? Itâs been the same: a process. Progress doesnât come in fireworks and confetti; it comes in small victories and consistent care.
Sheâs recently spent time in world-class hospitals, surrounded by people who listened, believed her, and worked tirelessly to help her piece her life back together. Her doctors? Incredible. Her care team? Top-notch. These are the people who didnât just see a complicated patientâthey saw her. And because of them, sheâs getting better, day by day.
Advocating for Herself, With Help
That doesnât mean itâs been easy. Sheâs still had to be her own advocateâbecause even with the best care, no one knows her body better than she does. Sheâs learned to walk into appointments armed with questions, research, and an unwavering determination to collaborate with her care team.
But this isnât a story about a broken system. Itâs a story about what happens when the right people come together at the right time. Itâs about teamwork, trust, and the kind of healthcare that makes you believe in humanity again.
Trauma, Healing, and the Weirdness of Recovery
And healing? Oh, itâs a wild ride. Because when youâve lived for so long in survival mode, learning to trust that your body can improve feels⌠almost suspicious. Sheâs unlearning the habits of constant vigilance, letting herself believe that better isnât just possibleâitâs happening.
Progress looks like this: fewer fainting spells, more energy to tackle the day, and moments where she catches herself laughingânot out of defiance, but because things are genuinely good.
Wait. This Friend Sounds FamiliarâŚ
And as I sit here, typing this, I realize something: this isnât just any friend Iâm talking about. This isnât some abstract hero I conjured up to inspire you.
No.
This friend? Sheâs me.
Yup. Itâs Me. Maleah.
Yeah, I am the friend. The one whoâs been through it, whoâs still going through it, and whoâs finally starting to see the light at the end of this absurdly long tunnel.
Iâve spent years fighting for my lifeânot in the dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet, grueling, day-after-day way. The kind of fight that doesnât come with applause or recognition, just exhaustion and a deep gratitude for every tiny step forward.
And yet, here I am. Still fighting. Still laughing. Still caffeinating. Still me.
Why Iâm Telling You This
Because maybe you need to hear it. Maybe youâre out there, struggling with your own version of this story. Maybe youâve been sitting in a dark room, wondering if itâs just you, if youâre the only one fighting battles that no one else can see.
Youâre not. Youâre not alone, and youâre not broken, and youâre definitely not weak. And if you ever doubt that, just remember this: Iâm out here too, duct-taping my life together and figuring it out one impossible day at a time.
So hereâs to usâthe survivors, the fighters, the ones who keep showing up even when everything in us is screaming to quit.
Hereâs to the grit, the mess, the chaos, and the ridiculous, beautiful, relentless hope that keeps us going.
Hereâs to the half-empty water bottles scattered like breadcrumbs across every room because hydration is a battlefield.
Hereâs to the Google search history that could make a med student blush: âWhy do my fingers hurt when I breathe?â âCan you be allergic to standing up?â and âAm I dying or is this just a Tuesday?â
Hereâs to the journals filled with half-written thoughts, the Post-Its of forgotten ideas, and the to-do lists that prove progress isnât linear, but itâs still progress.
Hereâs to the slow dance of healingâmessy, weird, and entirely worth it.
And hereâs to you. Beautiful, complicated, raw, unstoppable you. Keep going. Youâre the hero of this story, and every chaotic, gritty, not-so-glamorous step you take is proof that youâre doing something extraordinary.
Weâre the heroes of this story, whether anyone else sees it or not. And if no one else will say it, let me be the first: youâre doing amazing.
Keep going. Keep shining. Unless youâre not feeling like shining. Take a lie down. âWatch tv with your eyes closedâ as my dad was fond of saying and doing.
If youâre lucky enough to have good health, or just less sh*tty health, congrats. And be mindful that youâre not always looking at people whose insides match their outsides.
Maleah
