Health, Honesty, and Human Connection: What I’m Learning
Over the last few years, I’ve had the great privilege of reconstructing my inner personal circle, welcoming more than a few fresh faces into my world. Historically, I’ve always been someone who’s naturally quite reserved and hesitant to let others in, so this change has undeniably symbolized an immense leap for me. It’s placed me in spaces that aren’t always comfortable, and I often have to remind myself that the discomfort I continue to experience in this area is only evidence of my growth: Where I’d normally turn away, I now lean in.
I think most people navigating chronic illness or persistent health issues have unfortunately faced judgement or misunderstanding at some point in time. Personally, I’ve been unable to find anything that makes these instances any less painful to hear or endure when they happen. It never fails to land unexpectedly, and it remains challenging not to take personally (because, surprise, health is personal).
After enough of these experiences, it becomes second nature to hesitate—to hold back, to measure words more carefully, and to doubt that understanding could ever follow openness. However, every so often, a moment comes along that challenges that belief.
During my Yoga Teacher Training, there was a moment in which we each had shared what brought us to yoga. As the circle moved closer to me, I felt my usual hesitance creep in—the internal debate of how much to share, whether I could keep it “comfortable” or “surface-level” enough, whether I even wanted to try. But when my turn came, I found myself speaking more openly than I ever had in a group of new people. I acknowledged that my health had shaped my path here, that movement has been both a refuge and a challenge, and that yoga, more than anything, has been a way to reconcile the unpredictable relationship I have with my body.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I braced for the discomfort that so often follows vulnerability. But instead of awkwardness or the weight of misunderstanding, I was met with acceptance—genuine, effortless acceptance. There was no questioning, no minimizing, no subtle shifts in energy that signaled I had said too much. Instead, there was understanding. Sensitivity. Care.
It was a moment that has continued to stay with me. Because for someone who has spent years carefully calculating when, how, or if to disclose anything personal about my health, this felt like a major step. Even now, I still hesitate when these conversations arise. There’s always a lingering fear—of being met with pity, of being dismissed, of feeling like my experiences are too much or too complicated for casual discussion. But that experience in YTT reminded me that there are spaces where I don’t have to overthink how I show up. That sometimes, when I lean in instead of turning away, I might find exactly what I need.
I don’t think navigating health conversations in new relationships will ever be entirely comfortable for me. But I do know that I’m learning to trust my instincts more—to recognize that not everyone needs to know everything, but that the right people will make room for whatever I choose to share. And that, above all, the willingness to be seen—despite the discomfort and the fear—is its own quiet victory.
My incredibly lovely YTT group on Graduation Day!
