They said I couldn't Function daily

The Body That Makes Its Own Rules

Almost six years ago, my life changed when I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder — FND.

For a few months, I completely lost the use of my left leg. I knew I wanted to move it, but it simply wouldn’t work. Eventually, some movement returned, but it never truly became the same.

Even now, I only have partial feeling in my left leg. Some days it works, some days it doesn’t, and sometimes it seems to decide for itself when and where it’s going to cooperate.

Then there’s the pain.

It’s constant.

Some days it’s manageable, and other days it consumes me. Constant pain is exhausting — not just physically, but mentally. It takes energy, patience and sometimes the ability to simply enjoy a normal day without thinking about how much you’re hurting.

I also get sudden jolts through my arm, along with facial and neck spasms that I have no control over.

And there are days when the spasms become so severe that I can’t swallow food or even drink.

Things that most people do without thinking can become things I have to worry about.

That’s one of the hardest parts of FND — the unpredictability.

I never truly know what my body is going to do from one day to the next. From the outside, people might see me talking, smiling and carrying on with life. They don’t necessarily see the pain, the spasms, the jolts, or the battle happening underneath.

I’ve spent almost six years learning to live in a body that doesn’t always listen to me.

I’ve had to learn patience. I’ve had to learn that resting isn’t giving up, and that a bad day doesn’t erase the progress I’ve made.

Most importantly, I’ve had to learn that I am not my symptoms.

I am not the leg that stopped working.

I am not the constant pain.

I am not the spasms or the jolts.

I am not the days when I can’t swallow.

I am still me.

Six years ago, my body changed the rules.

It didn’t take away who I am.

So I keep going.

Some days are harder than others. Some days my body fights me every step of the way.

But every day, I’m still here.

Still adapting. Still learning. Still fighting. Still me.

And maybe that’s what strength really is — not making your body do what you want, but waking up, facing whatever it gives you that day, and carrying on anyway.