Dear Diary,
Today, I am not writing about everything chronic illness has taken from me.
I am writing to the woman who existed before she understood how quickly a body could change—before unexplained symptoms, specialists, treatments, medical equipment, and two demanding roommates became part of her everyday life.
This is for her.
💌 Dear Me Before the Diagnoses,
You had no idea how free you were.
That does not mean your life was perfect. You had responsibilities, worries, disappointments, and difficult seasons long before Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis entered the picture.
But you trusted your body.
You could wake up and make plans without first asking whether you had enough energy to complete them. You could leave home without locating every nearby restroom. You could walk without monitoring your breathing, eat without wondering how your digestive system might retaliate, and stay busy without calculating how many recovery days it might cost you.
You thought exhaustion meant you simply needed more sleep.
That was adorable.
You did not know that one day you would become fluent in a language made up of symptoms, medications, procedures, infusion schedules, oxygen levels, insurance authorizations, and specialist appointments.
You did not know how much of your future would eventually be divided into before, during, and after the next flare.
If I could speak to you now, I would tell you to appreciate the ordinary moments—not because something terrible is waiting around the corner, but because ordinary life is far more valuable than either of us realized.
🕯️ I Owe You an Apology
Sometimes I look back at you with frustration.
I wonder why you did not travel more, rest more, take more pictures, or appreciate everything your body could do. I think about the opportunities you postponed because you assumed there would always be more time.
But that is unfair.
You made decisions using the life and information you had then. You could not have known what was coming, and you were never responsible for preparing me for it.
You did not fail me.
Your body did not betray me.
It became sick.
There is a difference, even when accepting it is difficult.
💜 I Do Not Want Your Life Back
For a long time, I thought missing you meant I wanted to return to your life exactly as it was.
I do not.
I miss the freedom you had inside your body.
I miss your energy, your spontaneity, and the confidence with which you moved through the world. I miss how easily you trusted your body to carry you through an entire day.
But I do not want to surrender everything illness has taught me about compassion, advocacy, boundaries, and the importance of listening to myself.
I do not want to lose the voice I found while fighting to be heard.
I do not want to forget the people who stood beside me when my health made life complicated.
I do not want to give up the community created through sharing my story.
And I certainly do not want to surrender the humor that helps me survive life with Crohn’s and MG—even when my roommates behave like tiny, unreasonable dictators with absolutely no respect for my calendar.
I do not want to become you again.
I only wish I could borrow your body occasionally.
Maybe for vacations, busy workdays, and any event involving stairs, long walks, questionable food, or restrooms located several miles away.
🌱 You Did Not Disappear
I once believed illness had separated us.
There was the woman I had been, and then there was the woman chronic illness forced me to become. I treated us like two entirely different people standing on opposite sides of a diagnosis.
But I understand something now:
You did not disappear when I became sick.
You grew with me.
Your determination became my perseverance. Your kindness became my advocacy. Your stubbornness became the reason I kept searching for answers when I knew something was wrong.
Your humor is still here, although it has become considerably more medically inappropriate.
Your dreams are still here too. Some have changed shape, some take longer, and some now require rest breaks, backup plans, medication, and perhaps access to a comfortable chair—but they are still ours.
The woman I was before illness is not someone I lost. She is part of the woman learning how to live with it.
🦋 I Need You to Know
I am sorry for every time I compared my current body to yours and decided mine was no longer good enough.
I am sorry for using your energy as the standard by which I measured my worth.
I am sorry for believing that needing help made me less independent than you were.
I am sorry for treating rest like evidence that I had failed.
The truth is, you never had to survive what I am surviving.
You did not have to keep rebuilding your life around symptoms you could neither predict nor control. You did not have to explain invisible limitations to people who judged what they could not see.
You were strong.
But so am I.
Your strength was expressed through everything you could do. Mine is sometimes expressed through recognizing what I cannot safely do—and choosing to honor my body anyway.
💭 I Will Carry You Differently
I will always miss parts of you.
I will miss the ease with which you moved through the world. I will miss your spontaneity and the way you assumed your body would cooperate.
But I will no longer use your life to punish myself for the one I have now.
Instead, I will carry you as a reminder of where I began—not as proof that I have become less.
I will remember you with love instead of comparison.
I will honor the life you lived while continuing to build one that fits the woman I am today.
You are not a life I need to recreate.
You are part of the foundation upon which I continue to rebuild.
With love, grief, gratitude, and a little medically necessary sarcasm,
The woman we became
🎵 Music Playing…
“Who I Am” — Wyn Starks
A reminder that every version of me belongs to my story—the woman I was, the woman illness changed, and the woman I am still becoming.
💭 Reflection Corner
If you could speak to the person you were before chronic illness changed your life, what would you want them to know?
Would you thank them, forgive them, apologize to them—or remind them that they are still part of you?
Missing your former self does not require rejecting the person you are now. Both versions deserve tenderness.
If you are grieving who you used to be, please remember: missing your former freedom does not mean you have stopped valuing the life you have now.
You are allowed to honor the person you were, acknowledge what changed, and love the person you are still becoming.
Until next time,
Keep advocating. Keep educating. Keep honoring every version of yourself.
💜 The Dual Diagnosis Diaries
Where honesty meets advocacy, and survival becomes a story worth telling.
Kia Lorice
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
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