from the VAULT
One of the hardest parts of being sick is the guilt.
Not only the guilt of cancelling something.
Or needing help.
Or leaving something unfinished.
It is the guilt of looking at what you managed to do and still deciding it was not enough.
The old version of us is still standing there with a clipboard.
Keeping score.
Reminding us what we used to do.
What a healthy person could do.
What somebody else with MS says they can do.
What we should have finished.
That old version of me can be a real asshole.
He does not care what the temperature is.
He does not care how badly I slept.
He does not care that my leg is stiff, my hand is curling, my brain is foggy, or that I have already used half the day just getting my body ready.
He looks at the lawn and says:
You used to cut all of that.
It is 32 degrees outside.
Can I cut the lawn?
No.
That is not failure.
That is the right answer.
I can look at the growing season and think:
I used to handle four large plants.
Am I doing four this year?
No.
I am going to do two.
Not because I stopped caring.
Because I want enough energy left to enjoy growing them.
That is the part I am still learning.
The goal is not to keep proving that the old version of me existed.
The goal is to build a day the current version of me can actually live inside.
MS is not a “one more” disease.
One more errand.
One more phone call.
One more thing in the yard.
One more quick stop.
One more job before I sit down.
Each thing can look small by itself.
But the body does not receive them one at a time.
It receives the stack.
The shower.
Getting dressed.
Stretching.
The brace.
The stairs.
The drive.
The heat.
The appointment.
The grocery store.
The conversation that took more brain than expected.
The thing that went wrong.
Then somebody looks at the final task and says:
It is only one more thing.
No.
It is one more thing sitting on top of everything else.
That is why somebody else’s goalpost cannot be mine.
Even within MS, our bodies are not the same.
Lesions vary in number.
They vary in location.
Symptoms are different.
Energy is different.
Mobility is different.
Pain is different.
Sleep is different.
The amount of help around us is different.
The demands of the day are different.
So comparing my output to another person with MS does not give me a fair measurement either.
Your stack is your goalpost.
Not my stack.
Not the healthy person’s stack.
Not who you were ten years ago.
The stack you are carrying today.
Sometimes a good day is finishing the whole list.
Sometimes a good day is doing two important things and stopping before the body collapses.
Sometimes it is cancelling the wrong thing so you can protect the right thing.
Sometimes it is making dinner.
Sometimes it is taking a shower.
Sometimes it is getting home safely.
That is not lowering the goalpost until life means nothing.
I still want goals.
I still want to feel useful.
I still want to feel proud.
I still want to feel like my life.
I deserve satisfaction.
I deserve to feel rewarded and happy when I manage my day well.
But I cannot feel any of that if I keep using a ruler built for a body I no longer have.
I will always lose that comparison.
Not because I did nothing.
Because I measured it wrong.
Setting the right goalpost is not giving up.
It is measuring the day properly.
Today, maybe I did not cut the lawn.
Maybe I did not finish everything.
Maybe I chose two plants instead of four.
But I paid attention.
I protected tomorrow.
I kept something for the people I love.
I kept something for myself.
And I did what fit inside the body and life I was actually living.
Your stack is your goalpost.
When you reach it, let it count.