Seven nights. Eight days.

That's how long I spent in the hospital.

I've experienced pain before. I've experienced fear, disappointment, and moments when life seemed determined to test everything I believed about myself.

But nothing prepared me for those eight days.

I have never felt so physically, mentally, and spiritually vulnerable.

My body was hurting in ways I struggled to understand. Medication helped with the pain, but at times, I felt like I was losing my mind.

I couldn't always trust what I was seeing. I couldn't always make sense of what I was feeling.

The room around me sometimes seemed like a completely different place.

I was frightened.

Not just a little frightened.

I was terrified.

There were moments when I cried because I didn't know how to explain what was happening to me. Moments when I felt trapped inside an experience I couldn't control.

Imagine being awake and wondering whether your own mind is still yours.

Imagine reaching for something familiar and feeling as though the world around you has changed.

I don't have the words to fully describe it.

And perhaps I never will.

What I know is that the experience reached beyond physical pain. It challenged me mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

I felt as though I had entered another realm.

Whether medication contributed to what I saw and felt, I know how real that experience was to me.

It was a place I had never experienced before.

And one I never want to return to.

There were moments when I felt as though I was fighting for my soul.

And in the middle of that fear, I called on The Most High.

Not because I had suddenly discovered faith.

I've had faith.

I called because when everything around me felt unfamiliar, when my body and mind seemed beyond my control, my faith was something I could still reach for.

I never lost my faith.

I may have lost my sense of time.

I may have struggled to recognize what was happening around me.

I may have felt helpless, frightened, and overwhelmed.

But somewhere inside all of that confusion, I still knew who to call.

The Most High.

I believe He was in that room with me.

I called for Him.

And today, as I sit here reflecting on what happened, I feel more grounded in my faith than I did before.

Not because I understand everything.

I don't.

Not because I have answers for every frightening thing I experienced.

I don't have those either.

But because I came through something that shook me to my core, and my faith remained.

There is something deeply humbling about that.

I don't feel invincible.

I feel human.

More aware of how fragile life can be.

More aware of how quickly our circumstances can change.

And more aware of how much growing I still have to do.

During those days, there were moments when I didn't recognize the woman I was becoming in that hospital room.

I wasn't always patient.

I wasn't always kind.

I wasn't always able to express gratitude.

Sometimes I was simply trying to survive the next moment.

And I want people to understand something.

When someone is seriously ill, they may not look or sound like the person you know.

Pain can change how we respond.

Fear can change how we communicate.

Medication can affect how we think and perceive the world.

And underneath all of that, there is still a person.

Still deserving of dignity.

Still deserving of compassion.

Still deserving of love.

I was still there.

Even when I couldn't fully recognize myself.

Even when I was afraid.

Even when I felt like I was losing my mind.

I was still there.

I came home exhausted.

And I came home better than I was when I entered that hospital.

There was something beautiful about returning to familiar surroundings.

And there was Anakin.

My kitty.

Years ago, when I found him, I told him he was home.

I didn't know then how much that little promise would mean to me years later.

Whenever I've been gone for a long time, Anakin wants to be close to me. He wants to be in my arms.

And after everything I experienced, that familiar connection meant more than I can explain.

Sometimes love is quiet.

Sometimes it has four paws.

Sometimes it simply waits for you to come home.

And then there was my husband.

My husband was there.

I remember that.

I remember being frightened and confused. I remember not always being the easiest person to love in those moments.

I wasn't always the most grateful wife.

And he was there.

There is something about looking back on a time when you weren't completely yourself and realizing that someone continued to stand beside you.

I love my husband.

And I am grateful that when I look back at those difficult days, I can remember his presence.

Today, I'm better than I was a week ago.

I'm better than I was yesterday.

I'm still healing.

And I am still growing.

I don't believe that surviving something difficult automatically makes us wiser. Sometimes we have to sit with what happened. We have to acknowledge the fear, the hurt, the people who helped us, and the things we learned about ourselves.

That's what I'm doing now.

I want to become a better person.

I want to be a better wife.

I want to continue being an advocate.

I want to help people who feel forgotten, dismissed, or invisible recognize that their lives have meaning.

And I want to continue discovering who I am.

Having a disability does not erase my abilities.

Being sick does not erase my purpose.

Needing help does not erase my dignity.

And experiencing moments of confusion does not erase the person I have spent a lifetime becoming.

I am not finished.

There will be more difficult days. There may be more battles.

And I hope there will be many more moments of joy, laughter, discovery, and peace.

I want to experience all of it.

Because life is more than what we see.

More than what we touch.

More than what we think we understand.

My experience reminded me of that in a way I will never forget.

If you're reading this while going through something you cannot explain, something that frightens you, or something that has brought you to your knees, please hear me.

You don't have to pretend you're okay.

You don't have to fight every battle by yourself.

You don't have to prove your strength by hiding your fear.

Sometimes surviving means allowing someone to hold your hand.

Sometimes it means accepting help.

Sometimes it means resting long enough to begin again.

And sometimes it means calling on the faith that has carried you through the darkest chapters of your life.

I called on The Most High.

I believe He heard me.

And now, a few days later, I am home.

I'm still breathing.

I'm still thinking.

I'm still learning.

I'm still loved.

I'm still here.

The battle may not be over.

And neither is my story.

Don't give up on yourself. There is still light, even when you cannot see it.

I pivot. I don't quit.

LIVE. DON'T JUST EXIST.

— Kelli Frederick, M.A. Founder & CEO, Empowerment Coaching Global LLC empowermentcoaching.global