’m Not Cured — But I’m Living Again (And That Changes Everything)

By Mike – The Adapted Adventurer

This isn’t a cure story.It’s not even a comeback story.It’s a clarity story.

Because for years, I lived in a haze.Not just from the MS fatigue, or the pain, or the meds that slow your mind and body down —but from the emotional fog that settles in when you stop seeing your life as your own.

And when that happens?You don’t even realize how far you’ve drifted.

You think you’re just resting.You think you’re just tired.You think you’re giving your body what it needs.

But sometimes — and I say this gently —we end up giving our fear the keys to our life.

And fear is a terrible driver.

I want to speak from the heart —to those living with chronic illness or spinal cord injury, the elderly and to every caregiver, partner, and friend who’s tried to help someone they love out of that fog.

Because here’s what I’ve realized:

We don’t need fixing.We need remembering.

Remembering what it feels like to laugh.To move.To matter.To show up for our lives, even when we can’t stand, run, or walk like we used to.

The first step back wasn’t physical.It was emotional. It was spiritual.It was the moment I decided:I still want to be here. And I want to be proud of the life I’m living.

And when I finally started moving again —yes, even just rolling into the gym or dancing in my chair —something happened I didn’t expect:

I started feeling alive again.I started seeing myself again.And I started seeing them again.

The people who believed in me when I forgot how to believe in myself.

There were others — my Palms Family, The Cain 4 in Atlanta, my Miami VA Team.Each one a blessing.Each one a hand held out in the dark.

But Chris…

My wife, Chris, was the one who took the pushback.The one who absorbed the silence, the frustration, the fog I was drowning in.The one who never stopped trying to help me see the light.The one who carried love like it was a backpack — and still walked beside me, even when I couldn’t walk beside her.

I see her now.

And I see all of you — caregivers, spouses, kids, friends.I know it’s hard to love someone who’s given up on themselves.I know you don’t always know what to say.

But please — don’t give up on them.They may just need one person who believes they can still come back.

And to my MS group — to my friends who understand fatigue like it’s gravity:

I’m not here to tell you to push through every day.I’m here to tell you that some days, if you move just a little —something opens.

Not a cure.But a space.A spark.A breath.

And it reminds you:

You’re still here.And there’s joy to be found — even now.

I’m not cured.But I’m living again.

And for me — that changes everything.

“The hardest part isn’t moving your body — it’s convincing your heart that life is still worth showing up for.”