Learning to Love Who I'm Becoming

Rachel K
Jul 5
4 min read

Updated: Jul 20

Podcast: Journeys

Series: Becoming

Learning to Love Who I Am Becoming

There are moments when I look at my life and barely recognize it.

I remember the person I used to be—the version of me who was independent, productive, and confident in what she could accomplish. I thought I understood the direction my life was taking. I had responsibilities to fulfill, people to care for, and plans for the future.

Then Functional Neurological Disorder changed what I could expect from my body, my mind, and my days.

Living with FND brought uncertainty into nearly every part of my life. Symptoms could change without warning. Things I had once done easily became difficult or sometimes impossible. I could not always think clearly, remember what I needed to do, find the words I wanted to say, or depend on my body to cooperate.

Every setback seemed to take me farther away from the person I remembered being.

For a long time, I believed healing would mean finding my way back to her.

Waiting for My Old Life to Return

I kept measuring my progress against the life I had before FND.

When I had a better day, I wondered if I was finally getting better. When my symptoms returned or something became difficult again, it felt as though I had failed.

I carried an image in my mind of the person I thought I needed to become again. She could handle everything. She did not need as much help. She could make plans without wondering whether her body would allow her to keep them.

I missed her.

I did not initially recognize what I was feeling as grief. I thought grief belonged to moments of obvious loss. But I eventually realized I was grieving losses that were harder for others to see.

I was grieving my health.

I was grieving my independence.

I was grieving the future I had imagined.

Most of all, I was grieving the person I thought I would always be.

The Weight of Comparison

Without realizing it, I had turned my former self into an impossible standard.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not become exactly who I had been before. Every comparison became another reason to feel disappointed in myself.

I saw the things I could no longer do but overlooked the courage it took to keep trying.

I noticed every limitation but rarely acknowledged how much I was learning.

I mourned the confidence I had lost without recognizing the quieter strength growing in its place.

I offered compassion to other people who were suffering, but I struggled to offer that same compassion to myself.

The person I was comparing myself to had lived in a different body, during a different season, with different abilities and circumstances. Continuing to demand that I become her again was not helping me heal. It was keeping me from seeing the person standing in front of me today.

Making Room for Grief

Understanding that I was grieving did not take the pain away, but it helped me name it.

I did not need to pretend that everything was fine. I did not need to be grateful for every difficult thing that happened. I could acknowledge that FND had changed my life and that some of those changes hurt deeply.

Grief and gratitude could exist together.

I could miss the person I used to be while still making room for the person I was becoming.

I could hope for improvement without postponing my entire life until healing arrived.

I could accept my life today without giving up on tomorrow.

Acceptance did not mean that I stopped caring or trying. It meant I stopped treating my present life as though it were merely a waiting room for the life I really wanted.

This life is still my life.

And the person living it is still worthy of love.

Seeing Myself Differently

My worth has never depended on how much I accomplish, how independent I appear, or how well I meet the expectations I once placed on myself.

I am a beloved daughter of God on my strongest days and on the days when I struggle to complete the simplest task.

My value does not increase when I am productive or disappear when I need to rest. It is not determined by my abilities, my limitations, or how closely my life resembles the plans I once made.

I am still learning to believe this.

Learning to love who I am becoming has not been one great moment of transformation. It is a choice I must make repeatedly.

It means speaking to myself with greater kindness.

It means allowing myself to rest without believing I have failed.

It means recognizing courage even when it does not look the way I expected.

It means seeing that needing help does not make me less valuable.

And it means trusting that God can still create something meaningful from a life that did not follow the original plan.

A Different Kind of Healing

For years, I thought healing meant returning to who I was before FND.

Now I wonder whether healing can also mean becoming more compassionate, more honest, and more willing to recognize worth in places the world often overlooks.

Perhaps healing is not always about going backward.

Sometimes it is grieving what has changed while choosing to remain present in the life we have now.

Sometimes it is releasing the person we thought we had to be.

Sometimes it is learning to see ourselves through God’s eyes instead of through the expectations we have failed to meet.

I still miss parts of my former life. I still have moments when I wish I could return to the person I once was. But I am slowly learning that becoming someone different does not mean my story is over.

Maybe I am not meant to find my way back to who I was.

Maybe I am being invited to love who I am now—and to trust the person God is shaping me to become.

Because sometimes healing is not about returning to an old story.

Sometimes healing is finding the courage to begin a new one.