01/30/2025
The Storm and the Survivor
Lupus is a storm I never saw coming. It arrived without warning, without mercy, unraveling the life I had built, one thread at a time. It stole my energy, my strength, my certainty. It forced me to learn the language of pain, to measure time in flares and remissions, to carry a body that feels more like a battlefield than a home.
But I am still here.
There are days when my joints feel rusted shut, my skin burns from the inside out, and my own immune system marches against me like an army with no off switch.
My head pounds with migraines that blur the edges of reality. My thoughts scatter, lost in a thick fog that steals my words mid-sentence. My body is a paradox—exhausted yet restless, aching yet numb, fragile yet fierce.
But I am still here. And I am more than my symptoms.
Because for all that lupus has taken, it has not stolen my joy.
It has not stolen the way I close my eyes and drink in the laughter of my family, the sound of love echoing in my home.
It has not stolen the way sunlight spills across my bed in the morning, golden and soft, reminding me that even the hardest nights end.
It has not stolen the way my favorite song can still stir something deep inside me, a reminder that my spirit is not broken.
Pain has tried to make me bitter, but I refuse. Instead, I hold onto gratitude like an anchor.
I am grateful for the hands that steady me when I stumble, for the quiet presence of my wife when words are too much.
I am grateful for the days when my body allows me small victories—standing a little longer, laughing a little louder, finding the strength to fight another day.
I am grateful for the people who see me beyond the illness, who don’t measure my worth by what I can or cannot do.
Lupus is a storm, unpredictable and unrelenting. Some days it rages, and I can do nothing but hold on. Other days, it is quieter, and I can breathe. But through it all, I have learned to find beauty in the storm.
I have learned that stillness does not mean weakness.
That slowing down does not mean giving up.
That even in the fiercest winds, there is joy to be found.
So if this storm must stay, then I will learn to dance in the rain.
Because I am still here. And that is enough.
©️Jenn Schoch, 2025
Lupus and Me