«My life, disability and other troubles» – anonymous revelations of the Frenchwoman

«My life, disability and other troubles» - anonymous revelations of the Frenchwoman

The author of the blog «My life, disability and other troubles» call Elodie (the accent on a final syllable), it thirty, is ill from 11 years. Elodie tries to keep anonymity therefore does not specify a place of the residence. But it is exact not Paris. But about the illness (which does not call, but a lot of things lets know from a context) and experiences she writes quite frankly. And it is surprisingly wise also the light-.

«My life, disability and other troubles» - anonymous revelations of the Frenchwoman

Blog name: My life, disability and other troubles

One of favourite images of Elodzhi – «to catch life hurriedly». Its motto – «it is not necessary to dramatize an illness or disability – it is necessary to take from them new forces».


«My life, disability and other troubles» - anonymous revelations of the Frenchwoman

Whether it is possible to reconcile to an illness?

I very often asked myself this question, and others too sometimes about it asked. In general, I think that there are some periods of collision with an illness. The first stage is, naturally, the diagnosis announcement. That moment when the doctor knocks out the earth at you from under feet. Forever. Then his words have completely destroyed my world, it is the truth. I have appeared face to face with that dreadful uncertainty which was promised to me by the diagnosis, after all my illness progresses, and nobody could tell to me that will be farther.

I will explain: within twenty years the illness has come far. I had very difficult periods. Heavy time of doubts, fear. Even despair. Not to know that will bring to you tomorrow, it is very heavy. Certainly, in mind "eternal" questions turned: «Why it happened with me? Why now? What I such have made?»

I have waved on them a hand, after all on similar questions of the answer all the same is not present.

Years passed, gradually the illness took more and more important place in my life. I could not fight against its progression. It is the fight lost in advance. And I have quickly enough understood and have accepted such condition of things. But thus I had a feeling that I should fight against those negative consequences that brought me an illness in process of the development. For example, emergence of a wheelchair became for me the real test. Very painful. It was transition to the new person – without possibility to turn back. To the person sitting which never will not rise any more. Also cannot go. Never. This stage of an illness has strongly changed me. Somewhere at heart I understood that everything will be now in a different way, not as before.

Each person has the vision of the events. Events experience. There is no one universal way of acceptance of an illness. Everything depends on character, from temperament. Well, and certainly, from those who surrounds you. I was lucky – round me people who support me. They force me to realise my dreams and projects, let’s to me everything throw because of that only that I am sick. Thanks to them I have quickly understood that there is nothing impossible. Will power does any dream by reality. It concerns everyone, regardless of its physical condition.

Today I precisely know that have accepted an illness as a part of my life. As part me. It – a natural part of my daily occurrence. Inseparable part. There is no day which I could live without it. It is the fact. But I have learnt to live quietly, despite of it. The illness never prevented me to realise my projects. To embody dreams. And it seems to me, what exactly it has made me stronger and strong. It has opened to me eyes on value of life, on value of every day which needed to be lived. The illness has taught me to use every instant of happiness, to see all magic sides of the life, presented to us. And in it, it seems to me, the illness has made me better, I became more open and susceptible. In any case, I like to think so.

But thus I know that I can not accept an illness as that, in itself. The more I am accustomed to live with it, the my rejection of is stronger that the illness has fallen down me, absolutely not clearly from where. This rejection forces me to fight every day. To some extent it became a peculiar engine of my life. To fight, that my illness did not prevent me to live how I want. To fight every day that she is not dared to encroach on my freedom – freedom to live, think, self-express. And to be heard, despite of everything. If I stop fight – I will simply die. I am firmly convinced of it. And I let’s an illness win. She will not receive over me the power. Never. Life is too short to lose …


Recently, at evening at friends I had to explain to the person new to me that such life with disability. About daily difficulties, in particular, about household chores, about a set of disappointments in the past – such stories usually confuse and surprise listeners. It has appeared that she is a teacher for people with intellectual backwardness. The mutual exchange of experience has turned out, it was very interesting and it is very useful.

Besides other I have told it that my blog was, actually, attempt to find a way to describe all those difficulties which I face, those things which do some days more difficult, than the others. It began for me possibility not to become reserved. Not to ignore rather unfair and unacceptable situations, especially in that, as to life with disability.

«My life, disability and other troubles» - anonymous revelations of the Frenchwoman

And here then this girl has told to me, simply amazing words:

«You know, after all you were lucky, you can express the feelings. You always have a possibility to tell, if something not so. Some do not have even it, for example, at with whom I work». Women! I as though have regained consciousness after these words. Has realised. After all, really, I forget sometimes that there are people who cannot tell about what they live and that feel. And I, without reflecting at all on it, so quietly I use the possibility presented to me.


It is impossible to be saved from everything, but it is possible to think of the good. To think that even if everything develops not how it would be desirable, it will not prevent to take pleasure in fine moments of life. To accept its magic with open arms. To open eyes, to see those wonderful things which for fractions of a second can present to us a smile. The hope is simply necessary for me. It is necessary to speak to itself, what not everything is lost.

And behind all these barriers on my way – life. Precious. Fragile. Bright. And, I think, is the most important.

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