PROTECTING THE BODY THAT CARRIES ME
What preparing for surgery taught me about softness, fear, and survival.
As Black women, we learn early how to protect everybody but ourselves. We become the strong friend, the dependable daughter, the woman who keeps showing up polished, productive, and smiling no matter what life places on her shoulders. We carry families, friendships, careers, and expectations, often without stopping to ask who is helping carry us.
Then chronic illness enters the chat.
Living with Multiple Sclerosis has taught me that protecting my peace also means protecting my body. Even when I look healthy, my immune system is fighting battles no one can see. Something as simple as a sneeze in close proximity can become a setback. Preparing for surgery has reminded me just how much intention it takes to care for a body that requires a little more grace.
People think preparing for surgery means packing a cute overnight bag and requesting time off work. For me, it means seven medications before I even enter the facility. It means coordinating doctors, adjusting treatment plans, and preparing my home, schedule, and mind for recovery.
The hardest part is delaying my upcoming infusion.
Since being diagnosed, that treatment has helped suppress the episodes that once disrupted my daily life. This will be the first time I have gone without that layer of protection. And if I’m honest, that scares me.
There is a quiet fear that lives in the back of my mind. The fear of an episode happening while I’m driving. At work. In a room full of people. The fear of my body reminding me that I am not always in control, no matter how carefully I plan.
What most people don’t see is that chronic illness requires constant negotiation. The workouts. The meal prep. The social plans. The career goals. Every decision is weighed against the question: “Will my body be able to support this today?”
Yet this season is teaching me something I have spent years resisting. I do not have to do everything alone.
For so long, I wore independence like a badge of honor. Now I am learning that strength also looks like accepting help, choosing rest, and allowing myself to be cared for. It looks like extending grace to myself when my body needs more than my mind wants to give.
I don't know exactly what life will look like on the other side of surgery. I know there will be healing, slower days, and a deeper appreciation for the body that has carried me through every challenge so far.
Maybe that is the lesson in all of this. Not just learning how to survive inside this body, but finally learning how to protect the body that has been protecting me all along.
