Choosing in Small Ways

For anyone living through chronic illness, grief, or life changes they did not choose, rebuilding often begins the same way: finding one small choice that is still yours.

When life changes in ways you didn’t choose, something shifts beneath you. The life you were living no longer exists. The future you thought you were moving toward is suddenly gone.

You can’t go back and fix what was lost. You can’t move forward the way you planned.

This is the moment many people mistake loss of control for loss of agency.

And when you are living inside chronic illness or grief, that distinction matters. Loss of control is real. The ability to choose does not disappear with it.

You try to decide what to do next, and stall. The next step isn’t clear. Even deciding feels heavy. Days stretch. You find yourself waiting without knowing what you’re waiting for. Eventually, the day ends.

This is often what healing after life changes actually looks like. The long, quiet stretch of not knowing.

I was no longer showing up the way I had before. Not as a mother. Not as a colleague. Not even as a spouse. The roles I had built my life around were still there, but I couldn't step into them. That absence had a weight to it.

My husband suggested we get kittens.

I didn't know it then, but he knew what he was doing. The research, planning, and prep would give me something concrete to work on when the rest of my life had stalled. And once they arrived, they needed me in a way I could still answer.

During the day, I talked to them. Random moments. Decisions I was turning over. Winston, which doctor is going to finally figure this out. They didn't answer. I didn't need them to. Someone was in the room.

At night, lying in the dark, I'd find one thing I was grateful for. Sometimes it was just them.

It didn’t change what had happened. But it was mine. A single choice at the end of a day when nothing else had been.

That is the work of rebuilding what the world can't see. Returning in small ways, to yourself.

That choice didn’t move my life forward. It kept me from vanishing.