Oct 16, 20234 min read

YOU POSSESS INCREDIBLE STRENGHT!

I've walked in your shoes, and I know there will be days when it feels like the universe is conspiring against you. But guess what? You've got a reservoir of inner strength that's absolutely unbreakable. Your mind and body might throw some curveballs your way, but you're the master of this game, and you'll outplay them every single time. The beauty of it all is that grief, pain, and heartache aren't permanent if you don't allow them to be.

On those days when even taking a single step feels like an insurmountable task, don't sweat it. Start with a day, and if that's too much, go for half a day. If that still feels overwhelming, break it down to an hour. Heck, if an hour is a mountain to climb, take it one minute at a time. And if a minute feels like an eternity, just focus on one thing: breathing. Know this, my friend: I'm immensely proud of you for not throwing in the towel. Remember, you don't need to have your entire life mapped out all at once; just take that baby step, then the next, and keep going until you look back and see how astonishingly far you've come. Keep moving forward, no matter what. I know sometimes you get tired, exhausted, and convinced you're losing at life. But let me tell you, you're made of more strength than you can imagine.

On those mornings when you wake up, and your body seems to have forgotten how to cooperate, don't be too hard on yourself. If necessary, stay nestled in your bed and just breathe. Inhale the serenity of that quiet moment when it's just you and the stillness around you. On such days, be gentle with yourself. People handle grief, depression, and the ups and downs of physical and mental health differently, and that's okay. You've got to tap into that deep well of inner strength each and every day.

For me, the safest place was in bed, eyes closed, allowing thoughts to drift in and out without clinging to any of them and just letting everything be as it is.

Remember, your mind can be quite the trickster if you let it. You've got to be the master of your thoughts; don't let them become your master. If you've got someone by your side, lean on them. And if you're on your own, make sure someone checks in on you, helping you plan each step. There's no need to heap pressure on yourself.

It took me a staggering 16 years to come to terms with the loss of my children, the realisation that I wouldn't be a mother, the endless treatments and surgeries, and the harsh truth that I'd be chronically ill for the rest of my life, with no cure in sight. I'd lost everything - my family, my financial security - and had to start from scratch. I existed in a perpetual fog, barely breathing. To the outside world, I wore a mask, pretending to be just fine. But in reality, I was barely hanging on, feeling like a spectator in my own life. There was no time to grieve; I had to keep moving forward. I wasn't a citizen of Australia and had no partner or family to rely on, so I had to work, sick or not.

On the rough days when I was at my sickest, I had lost my three precious babies. The physical and mental pain was excruciating, yet I had to drag myself to work. Some days, I could bounce out of bed like anyone else, but on the bad ones, getting out of bed was a monumental struggle. It felt like a powerful magnet was sapping all my energy, pulling me towards the floor. I just needed to be as close to the ground as possible. It was like I believed that down there, I'd be safe, hidden from view, unable to fall any farther. But on some days, I'd simply collapse onto the floor; strangely, it felt safe there. As if I'd hit rock bottom and discovered that rock bottom had a basement. That basement became my refuge, my solace, even in its darkness. There were days when all I could manage was to crawl to the shower and sit there, willing myself to stand, dry off, and find clean clothes.

Most days felt like an internal battle, as arduous as scaling Mount Everest, just trying to reach the door. I'd call a taxi if I could get to the door because I knew public transport was out of the question. People might have thought I was extravagant, but little did they know I was fighting for my life. I celebrated the tiniest victories, like taking a shower and making it to the door.

Every single day was a showdown between my mind and my body.

You see, you never truly grasp your strength until it's the only choice you have. And I know, without a doubt, that you possess that incredible strength.