Only a handful of people knew about my diagnosis early on. We decided to keep it to ourselves initially, and we would start telling others when the timing felt right. Knowing when and how to tell was so hard. There would be times when we planned to talk about it, but it didn’t work out, and other times we had no intention of mentioning it, yet we ended up sharing the news. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and we found ourselves winging it most days.

In the beginning, I couldn’t talk about having MS without crying. The tears were there, whether it was with a doctor, one of the few friends or family members that knew, or someone I was revealing my diagnosis to for the first time. Thankfully, it wasn’t my sobbing, snotting, ugly crying. I saved those episodes for home. Or my therapist’s office. Or carpool. Or the garden while pulling weeds. Or the Target parking lot. (I’m pretty sure that I single-handedly helped Kleenex’s bottom line in 2022.) During that time, I looked fine to everyone else, but in actuality, I had a VIP ticket for the emotional roller coaster, and buddy, it was one of those “unlimited rides” passes. As soon as I was by myself, I fell apart. I would suck it up, put on a happy face, do what I had to do and move on until I was alone again. Holding my emotions together, along with trying to act like everything was fine physically, was exhausting. I could be on a work call, perfectly fine one minute, and then sobbing over the macaroni and cheese while preparing dinner the next. I could attend a get-together at a friend’s house, laugh with everyone else, then come home and cry non-stop in the bathtub. My poor husband never knew what to expect. He was the only one that saw every single side of what I was going through. I know he’s the butt of jokes oftentimes in my writing, but he is the best thing that ever happened to me. He has the biggest, most wonderful, and most compassionate heart, and I couldn’t have gotten through this last year without him. (He earned this shout-out because I’ve recently been finding his clothes on top of the hamper instead of on the floor beside it. He’s trying!)

The more I talked about having MS, the easier it became, but it was still really hard. Over time though, I realized my emotions were affected less by what I was going to say and more by what I was going to hear. Some of the people I thought would be the most caring and sympathetic, shocked me when they weren’t, and those I thought would take the news with a grain of salt, ended up showing me a side I never expected. It kept me on my toes, that’s for sure. Each conversation was something I will never forget, and looking back on it now, I can recall each and every one. I remember where we were, the reaction I received, and how I felt afterwards. Some were good, some were not so good, and some just sucked, and left me thinking, “What the heck just happened?”

Overall though, I felt love and support from so many people, and I believe telling others was the beginning of no longer feeling alone in this fight. I discovered that many of my friends and family had their own connections with MS, and we found common ground talking about the disease. But even with some of my biggest supporters, those I knew I could count on and the ones that would be with me through the worst, it was difficult to see their reaction to my news. Some were apologetic, some were in shock, and some cried along with me. I was already on the edge when it came to my emotions, so the added sadness would hit me like a slap in the face. I felt like I was not only holding myself together during these conversations, but I also became a counselor to help others get through my news! Not what I was expecting at all. I was in desperate need of something to lift me up. I was so sad and stressed and wasn’t sure how many more times I could go through talking about it. Luckily, just what I needed was on the way.

I had one friend that I was anxious to talk to, but our schedules had not allowed us to see each other for a bit. Finally, we were able to meet face to face. When we started talking, we covered the basics, family, work, and each other. When I decided to tell her, I felt my usual discomfort and panic coming, but it never had the chance to surface. I said a few short things followed by, “I found out that I have MS”, and before I could even take a breath at the end of the sentence, she shouted, “Shut up!” Wait, I have to get it just right. It was two very distinct sentences with a short pause between them. “Shut! Up!” I need to make sure you read it exactly the way I heard it. Her reaction caught me off guard, and I will never forget what happened next. I laughed. Like, really laughed. No tears, no sadness, and no fear. For the very first time, I didn’t have to see pity in someone’s eyes, and it was wonderful and hilarious, and it makes me so happy even while I type this. The conversation that followed was one of the best I had since being diagnosed, and I wholeheartedly believe that day was a turning point for me. It made me realize that the conversation about having MS didn’t have to be the pity party I thought it had to be. It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. It was amazing and truly changed how I felt about sharing my diagnosis with others.

Things were looking up. I was slowly healing from my flare-up, I was receiving disease-modifying infusions and tolerating them well. I was successfully managing work and family, the people closest to me knew about my diagnosis and were cheering me on, and I had built a support network that made me think things were going to be ok. Instead of 2 steps forward and 3 steps back, I was finally making headway and felt prepared for the fight ahead. And I was prepared, had the fight ahead been only with MS.