A reflection on life after illness, and the quiet miracle of still being here
Healing didn’t come as fireworks.
It came as breath. As stillness. As I’m alive, and that is enough for today.
There is a before and after in every survivor’s story.
Before the diagnosis. Before the fear. Before your body stopped feeling like home.
And then… the after.
Not a fairytale. Not perfection. But presence. A strange and sacred kind of rebirth.
After illness, you don’t just go back to who you were.
You go deeper. Softer.
You understand that being able to stand up in the morning is a victory.
That laughing without guilt is a kind of resurrection.
Your body, though marked, is wiser now.
It knows what it means to endure.
And your soul? It’s been to the edge and back.
It knows how to love differently now — quieter, but truer.
You cry because the light through the window is beautiful.
You smile because the coffee smells like life.
You tremble because you’ve seen how quickly it can all be taken.
And so you love harder.
You say thank you to your body, even when it aches.
You touch the world with reverence.
You are not just surviving.
You are blooming again,
even with cracked soil and uncertain rain.
You are the proof that we don’t need to be whole to be holy.
💛 If this article spoke to your heart, you might find even more comfort in my personal story of healing.
📖 Find my book on Amazon: in cancer memoriam: A Story of Resilience and Hope
