Strength in Every Step: A Mother’s Perspective on MS

It was 6:30 AM when I heard the familiar sound of my alarm, pulling me from the haze of sleep. As I slowly opened my eyes, I could feel the weight of fatigue pressing down on me. It’s a different kind of tiredness, one that doesn’t seem to lift even after a full night’s rest. But today, I had promised myself I would push through. My daughter’s first day of 5th grade was today, and I wanted to be present for her.

Getting out of bed wasn’t as easy as it used to be. My legs felt like they were encased in concrete, and the numbness in my hands made it difficult to grip the bedpost for support. But I took a deep breath and focused on the small steps—swinging my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet firmly on the ground, and then slowly rising to a stand. My body protested with every movement, but I reminded myself that this was just part of my routine now.

As I made my way to the kitchen, my daughter was already dressed and ready, her excitement palpable. She flashed me a big smile, proudly showing off the outfit she had carefully chosen the night before. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and despite the pain gnawing at my joints, I couldn’t help but smile back.

Knowing I didn’t have the energy to walk to the bus stop, I asked my husband if he could drop her off at school. He agreed without hesitation, understanding how important this day was for her. I watched as he helped her gather her backpack and head out the door. She gave me a quick hug before they left, her smile as bright as ever. In that moment, I felt a swell of pride. She was growing up, full of energy and excitement for the world, and I was grateful to witness it, even on days when my body felt like it was working against me.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of fatigue and pain. I spent much of it lying on the bed, resting and trying to regain some energy. I thought about the things I used to do—the long walks, the spontaneous trips, the ability to jump out of bed and start the day without a second thought. It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparing the past to the present, but I’ve learned that doing so only deepens the sense of loss. Instead, I’ve tried to focus on what I can still do, even if it’s in a different way.

By the time my daughter returned home, I had regained enough strength to sit up and listen as she excitedly recounted her first day back at school. She talked about her new teacher, the friends she reunited with, and the plans she was making for the rest of the school year. Her energy was infectious, and for a little while, I forgot about the pain and fatigue. I was just a mom, listening to her daughter’s stories, sharing in her joy.

Later that evening, as I tucked her into bed, she hugged me tightly and whispered, “Thank you for today, Mom. I know it was hard for you.” Her words caught me off guard, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. “You’re welcome, sweetie,” I managed to say, fighting back tears. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

As I made my way back to my own bed, the day’s challenges started to catch up with me. My body ached, and exhaustion weighed heavily on my mind. But as I lay there in the quiet of the night, I realized something important: despite the difficulties, despite the pain, I had made it through another day. I had been there for my daughter when she needed me, and in those small moments of connection, I found strength.

Living with MS is not easy. It’s a constant battle, one that requires more patience and resilience than I ever thought I had. But it’s also a journey of discovery—of finding new ways to live, to love, and to be present for the people who matter most. And as I closed my eyes, I held onto that thought, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges, but also new moments of strength, hope, and love.