There was a moment — quiet and long — when I lay in bed and realised the life I had known was no longer mine. Not because I chose to stop, but because my body insisted.
The world beyond the hospital window carried on in its usual hurry — medical staff doing their jobs, visitors darting in and out from their daily routines — and I lay wrapped in oxygen tubes and silence.
It was in that stillness I began to grieve. Not just the breath I used to have, but the identity I lost with it.
In our culture, purpose is tightly coiled with productivity. We are taught to measure our worth by how much we can contribute, achieve, or perform.
But what happens when doing becomes too much? What happens when our output dwindles to the invisible work of surviving?
The Myth of Productivity = Worth
We live in a society that romanticises hustle and quietly vilifies rest. Productivity is worshipped.
Rest is a reward you earn, not a right. And so when chronic illness enters or progresses — slow, unwelcome, undeniable — it doesn’t just alter your days, it calls into question your entire sense of worth.
I fought with guilt. The kind that whispered, “You should be doing more,” even as my lungs gasped for breath. I felt ashamed of my stillness. Compared myself to my before days or peers who were building families, careers, and lives at full speed.
It took therapy, Buddhist practice, and many tearful nights to realise: this wasn’t failure. This was transformation.
“You are not a machine. You were never meant to be measured by output.”
Toko-pa Turner
Letting Go of Titles and Timelines
Illness strips away the labels we cling to.
It’s like standing naked in front of a mirror, unsure of who is left.
But within this rawness, there is also space. A blank canvas. A gentle invitation to redefine.
“Try not to resist the changes that come your way.
Rumi
Instead, let life live through you.
The Emergence of a New Kind of Purpose
In the absence of constant doing, I began to notice small sacrednesses. The tenderness of a friend’s message. The quiet dignity in brushing my hair. The courage it takes to get dressed on a painful morning.
Purpose was no longer loud. It whispered.
I started writing again — not for deadlines, but for healing. I created this space not to prove anything, but to offer something.
Sometimes, purpose looks like helping one person feel less alone. Sometimes it looks like making art with trembling hands, or watching the light change on the walls and remembering you are still here.
“The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”
Pablo Picasso
Redefining Purpose When You’re Chronically Ill
Purpose doesn’t always need to be grand. Sometimes it is:
- Making someone laugh on a hard day
- Offering kindness to your body
- Surviving with grace, or even without it
- Saying no
- Saying yes, gently
We are taught to glorify the peak moments. But a chronically ill life teaches you to revere the in-between: the breath between flare-ups, the hour of peace before fatigue returns, and the moment of calm when you forget the pain.
There is purpose in being present.
Gentle Reflections for the Journey
- Journal prompt: What brings me meaning today, however small?
- Mantra: “I am worthy, even when I am still.”
- Meditation: Sit with your hand on your heart and simply breathe. Notice what it feels like to be alive, without earning it.
A New Compass
You are not less valuable because you do less.
You are not a failure because your body asked you to slow down.
In fact, perhaps in this great slowing, you are becoming more deeply yourself.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver
Maybe your purpose is not to climb, but to root. To witness. To soften.
To simply be — and in being, inspire others to remember that they too are enough.
You are not broken.
You are becoming.
And that, dear one, is purpose in its purest form.
Lungevity 