Sharing my last post was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life. It was one of the few times I've allowed myself to be publicly vulnerable and share my post onto Instagram for a whole platform full of people I know. It felt both terrifying and liberating. The response, however, was incredible.
One friend, in particular, spoke to me after a gym class. She recalled how ill I was back in the day, but didn't realise that I had received a lifelong diagnosis. Perhaps, it was because back then I looked visibly ill and now, the only indication off my illness is if you see me whip out my fancy tablet crusher to crush 42 pills. The conversation reminded me how important it is for people, especially South Asians, to open up about taboo subjects. We never know who could be struggling with something similar.
This conversation struck a chord with me. When I was going through my diagnosis, I had never heard of a young person like me being sick. It was always older people, and even then, it rarely went beyond diabetes or high blood pressure.
I remember when I first started to get better, the hospital wanted to publish a case study due to the rarity of the illness. A distant family member advised against it, saying it wouldn't be recieved well. It felt as if my illness was something to be ashamed of. But why should I have been ashamed? At that time, I was 1 of 36 people diagnosed globally. I should have felt proud.
Having that conversation with my gym friend, made me realise how much we all need these honest conversations, especially within communities that might shy away from discussing health issues openly.
Sharing my story, it wasn't about me anymore, it was about everyone who might be going through something similar and feeling isolated. There is a power in vulnerability. It's a reminder that we all have our battles, and sharing them can bring us closer together, fostering a community of support and understanding.
So if you can and if you feel comfortable, let's keep the conversation going.
