While I’m someone who has always been health-conscious and at times very worried about getting the big C—especially after losing my 28-year-old sister to breast cancer—it never, not for one second, crossed my mind I would get a debilitating, chronic illness that I didn’t know existed. But at 49 years old, that is exactly what happened.
In 2024, my life stopped. Completely. And by stopped, I mean I became housebound and no longer had the ability to work, exercise, sleep, eat more than four foods, tolerate medications, supplements, personal care products, smells, light and at times unable to walk unassisted or drive.
While I am with an incredible medical team and have made a lot of progress, my life is still very limited. The past 19 months have been consumed with appointments (sometimes every day, sometimes twice a day), a long list of medications and supplements, isolation, loneliness, fear, hopelessness, anger, doubt, frustration, boredom, restlessness, loss of creativity, loss of work, loss of income and loss of identity. I went from a confident, creative, extrovert who very much knew what she wanted and what she didn’t want, to completely losing my sense of who I was in the world. My body changed, my mind changed, my life changed, and I’ve had to learn how to live inside a reality I never asked for.
Early in my illness, God placed a verse in front of me (multiple times) that became a lifeline: “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2
I didn’t know then that this verse would become the architecture of my healing. I didn’t know it would become the doorway into a new identity. I didn’t know it would become the name of the quiet work God was doing in me—the work of renewal.
For a long time, I didn’t have words for any of this, which considering I have been writing my entire life (professionally and personally), was baffling. I was just trying to survive it, and many days, I still am. My medical team and a few others have been encouraging me to write, which I avoided for fear it would keep me stuck reliving the traumatic things I’ve experienced with this illness. But I have found I’ve been stuck nonetheless, and I can’t stop writing in my head, which I took as a sign it’s time to really write. Write to find out who I’m becoming. Write to honor what I’ve survived. Write to step into the new life God is designing for me.
And maybe—if you’re in a time of renewal—this will bring you comfort knowing you’re not alone.
My Type-A nature doesn’t like to put anything out into the world until it’s perfect. But I don’t have the energy for perfect anymore, and I’m tired of waiting for the right conditions or the right moment. I don’t know exactly what this space will grow into, and that’s a bit terrifying. I just know I’m meant to begin. I know I’m meant to write again. I know I’m meant to share the beauty, the messiness, the faith, the healing and the renewal.
Thank you for being here at the beginning.
Ramona
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