“All my life I had to fight.” — Sofia, The Color Purple
Recently, I was talking with my best friend of nearly 40 years, Margot.
As we reflected on our upbringing and the experiences that shaped us, we found ourselves talking about how differently people respond to adversity.
At some point in the conversation, we both arrived at the same realization.
For as long as she has known me, I have been fighting.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I had to.
Life always seemed to require me to be strong.
To keep going.
To figure things out.
To push through whatever obstacle was standing in my way.
As we talked, I began to realize just how much of my life has been spent in survival mode.
Always fighting.
Always adapting.
Always overcoming.
And immediately, Sofia’s famous words from The Color Purple came to mind:
“All my life I had to fight.”
There is something special about talking to someone who has known you for nearly your entire life.
Margot has witnessed chapters of my story that existed long before Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis. She remembers the battles, the setbacks, the disappointments, the victories, and the moments that helped shape the woman I would become.
Sometimes it takes someone who has walked beside you for decades to help you see your own story more clearly.
The more I reflected on our conversation, the more I realized how accurately those words describe much of my life.
Long before Crohn’s Disease.
Long before Myasthenia Gravis.
Long before I ever sat in a doctor’s office searching for answers.
I was already fighting.
Fighting through challenges.
Fighting through disappointments.
Fighting through responsibilities.
Fighting to build a career.
Fighting to create stability.
Fighting to protect the people I love.
Fighting to keep moving forward no matter what life placed in front of me.
For years, I thought strength was simply who I was.
But now I realize strength was often a requirement, not a choice.
When adversity showed up, I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart.
I learned how to survive.
I learned how to endure.
I learned how to keep moving forward, even when I was exhausted.
Somewhere along the way, fighting became second nature.
Survival became a lifestyle.
Strength became my identity.
I learned early that quitting wasn’t an option.
I learned how to carry burdens quietly.
I learned how to keep moving forward, even when life felt unfair.
Those lessons helped me survive.
But they also taught me to ignore my own needs.
To suppress my feelings.
To keep pushing when I should have been resting.
To carry more than any one person should have to carry alone.
When Crohn’s Disease entered my life, I fought.
I fought through surgeries.
I fought through medications.
I fought through procedures, hospitalizations, and the uncertainty that comes with living with an invisible illness.
I fought through the days when my body felt like it was betraying me.
Then came Myasthenia Gravis.
I fought for answers when no one seemed to understand why I couldn’t breathe.
I fought through specialist appointments, testing, and months of uncertainty.
I fought through fear.
I fought through exhaustion.
I fought through moments when walking across a room felt like running a marathon.
I fought when my respiratory muscles weakened.
I fought when eating and drinking became difficult.
I fought when my future felt uncertain.
And through it all, I continued to show up.
For my family.
For my friends.
For my career.
For everyone who depended on me.
Looking back now, maybe that’s where my strength comes from.
Maybe the resilience that has carried me through Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis wasn’t created by those diagnoses.
Maybe it was forged through every battle that came before them.
Maybe every hardship prepared me for the next one.
Maybe survival became such a familiar place because it was all I ever knew.
When life teaches you early that you have to fight for peace, stability, and security, survival becomes second nature.
You learn how to endure.
You learn how to keep moving.
You learn how to carry burdens that were never meant to be carried alone.
But during that conversation with Margot, another realization surfaced.
Just because I’ve spent my life fighting doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of my life in survival mode.
For years, I believed strength meant carrying everything alone.
It meant pushing through.
It meant never letting people see me struggle.
It meant bottling up my feelings.
It meant showing up for everyone else while quietly carrying my own burdens.
It meant being the protector.
The confidant.
The problem-solver.
The dependable one.
The strong one.
I became so accustomed to being strong that I never stopped to ask myself who was being strong for me.
Who was checking on me?
Who was carrying my burdens?
Who was making sure I was okay?
The truth is, I rarely allowed anyone the opportunity.
Strength became my armor.
But armor is heavy.
And after years of wearing it, I am finally beginning to understand just how exhausted I have become.
One of the most difficult lessons I am learning is that healing requires a different kind of strength.
Not the strength to push through.
Not the strength to carry everyone else.
But the strength to be honest.
The strength to be vulnerable.
The strength to admit when I need help.
The strength to allow others to show up for me.
Lately, I have been learning something different.
Healing requires more than survival.
Healing requires rest.
Healing requires vulnerability.
Healing requires honesty.
Healing requires allowing others to show up for me the same way I have spent my life showing up for them.
These days, I am learning to prioritize myself.
I am learning to take the mental health day.
To schedule the vacation.
To enjoy the staycation.
To rest without guilt.
To cry when I need to cry.
To allow myself to feel instead of suppressing every emotion.
To extend myself the same grace I so freely give to others.
To understand that asking for help is not weakness.
It is human.
I am learning that tears are therapy too.
I am learning that rest is productive.
I am learning that my worth is not measured by how much I can endure.
I am learning that healing deserves just as much attention as surviving.
I am still a work in progress.
Some days I get it right.
Some days I don’t.
But I am trying.
Because while Sofia’s words tell the story of where I’ve been, they don’t have to define where I’m going.
Yes, all my life I had to fight.
But maybe this next chapter is about something different.
Maybe this chapter is about healing.
Maybe this chapter is about living.
Maybe this chapter is about discovering who I am when I’m no longer operating in survival mode.
Maybe this chapter is about experiencing joy without feeling guilty for it.
Maybe this chapter is about finally giving myself permission to receive the same love, support, and compassion that I have spent a lifetime giving to others.
And maybe, after all these years, I’ve finally earned that opportunity.
Before I close, I want to take a moment to thank Margot.
Forty years of friendship is a blessing that not everyone gets to experience.
She has witnessed so many chapters of my life—the good, the bad, the victories, the heartbreaks, and everything in between.
She has seen me fight battles that many people never knew existed.
And during our recent conversation, she helped me see something that I had overlooked for a very long time.
She reminded me that while strength has carried me through much of my life, I don’t always have to be strong.
I don’t always have to carry everything alone.
I don’t always have to be the one holding everyone else up.
Sometimes it’s okay to rest.
Sometimes it’s okay to lean on the people who love you.
Sometimes it’s okay to admit that you’re tired.
Margot, thank you for your friendship, your honesty, your love, and for walking beside me through so many seasons of life.
Thank you for reminding me that healing is not something we have to do alone.
Most importantly, thank you for reminding me that even the strongest people deserve support too.
I am grateful for you.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve spent your life fighting, this is your reminder:
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to ask for help.
You are allowed to be vulnerable.
You are allowed to put down some of the weight you’ve been carrying.
You are allowed to choose yourself.
You are allowed to choose joy.
And you are allowed to choose healing over survival.
Because surviving got us here.
But healing is what helps us move forward.
“For most of my life, I survived. Now I am learning how to heal.”
And thanks to friends like Margot, I’m learning that I don’t have to do it alone.
💚 Kia Lorice
Living with one autoimmune disease is challenging. Living with two requires resilience. Welcome to The Dual Diagnosis Diaries, where I share the realities of navigating life with Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis—one day, one treatment, and one lesson at a time.
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries | Kia’s Journey 💜 
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