There are things I don’t talk about very often. Not because I’m hiding them…but because sometimes it’s easier to live forward than to sit and take inventory of what’s been lost.

But every now and then, something slows me down just enough that I can’t ignore it. And I find myself quietly acknowledging what Multiple Sclerosis has taken from me.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. But in small, steady ways over time.

What MS Has Taken

It’s taken ease

The kind of ease you don’t even notice when you have it. The kind where you don’t have to think about how far you’ll walk, how long you’ll stand, or whether your body will cooperate today.

It’s taken certainty

I used to make plans without a second thought. Now, everything has a quiet “we’ll see how I feel” attached to it.

It’s taken pieces of independence

And that one has been hard to admit out loud. There are moments—small ones—that no one else would notice…but I do.

And sometimes, if I’m being really honest, there’s grief there. Not loud grief. Not the kind that knocks you over.

But a softer kind… that sits beside you and reminds you that life didn’t go exactly the way you thought it would.

🌿 What MS Has Given Me (that I never asked for)

And yet…somehow, it hasn’t only taken.

It’s given me perspective.

The kind you don’t get unless life forces you to slow down and really look at what matters. Like family and finding joy in the everyday.

It’s given me patience

Not perfectly—let’s not get carried away—but more than I used to have.

It’s taught me to listen

To my body. To my limits. To the quiet voice that says rest now… you don’t have to push through everything.

It’s given me a deeper appreciation for the small things

A good day isn’t something I take for granted anymore.

A walk where my legs feel steady.
A kitchen day where supper simmers, music plays, and everything just flows.
Grandkids laughing while I can still keep up with them for a little longer.
Nine holes of golf — not because I played well, although that’s nice too — but because I got to play at all.

Those ordinary moments carry a little more weight now. A little more gratitude. A little more joy.

👢 The Unexpected Gift

MS has also given me something I never would have chosen…but wouldn’t give back either.

It’s given me the ability to see joy in a different way

Not the big, flashy kind. But the quiet kind. The kind that shows up in:

• a pot simmering on the stove
• flour on the counter and grandkids asking what do we have to eat
• a slow morning with tea and nowhere to rush off to
• a slow walk on the beach with my husband or watching the kids play in the sand
• a day where “enough” really is enough

It’s changed how I measure a good life. And while I never would have chosen this path, somehow it’s made mine richer in ways I never expected.

🤎 Where I Land With It All

I won’t pretend MS is a gift. It isn’t. There are parts of it I would let go of in a heartbeat.

But I also can’t ignore what it’s shaped in me.

The slower pace.
The deeper gratitude.
The way I hold onto moments now.

So I live somewhere in the middle. Holding both.

Grateful… and grieving.
Strong… and sometimes tired.
Hopeful… and still honest.

And maybe that’s what I’ve learned through living with this disease — Not choosing one or the other… but learning how to carry both at the same time.

🥔 A Little Comfort Along the Way

There are days when MS asks more from me than I want to give. Days when my energy feels borrowed. Days when my body reminds me — gently or not so gently — that slowing down isn’t optional.

And over the years, I’ve learned something.

Comfort matters. Not just the big kind. Not vacations or grand adventures — although if you know me, you know I’m not ready to give those up just yet.

The smaller kind.

A favourite blanket.

A quiet kitchen.

The sound and smell of supper simmering on the stove while daylight fades outside.

Food has always been part of how I care for the people I love. But somewhere along the way, I realized it can also be part of how I care for myself.

Not perfectly. Not every day. But enough.

And I’ve learned that cooking for people you love sometimes means adjusting things along the way. This soup is one of those meals for me. Simple. Hearty. Creamy enough to feel comforting. Filling enough to satisfy hungry grandkids, Poppa, or whoever happens to wander into the kitchen asking, “What smells so good?”

Over the years, I’ve also found little ways to add a little extra goodness where I can.

I stir bone broth and mashed potatoes into this soup for extra creaminess and a nutritional boost. Partly because it tastes good — and partly because I often make extra to share with my Mother-in-Law, who has difficulty swallowing.

Food doesn’t always have to be fancy to take care of people. Sometimes love looks like finding ways to make supper easier to enjoy.

And maybe that’s what comfort really looks like.

Not fancy. Not complicated. Just something warm waiting for you at the end of the day.