I was diagnosed with lupus at the age of thirty-nine. At the time, I didn't know much about the disease only that it was serious and that it could affect almost every part of my body. Two weeks after getting that diagnosis, my life changed again. I had my first stroke.

Since then, I've had a total of four strokes. Each one took something from me, but each one also taught me something about resilience. After the second stroke, I needed a walker to get around. I had to relearn how to do everything walking and even small things like writing my name. It was humbling, painful, and at times discouraging. But I refuse to give up.

My doctors told me that I likely developed lupus year's early, during my time in the Navy, when I served in Operation Desert Storm. Looking back, I can remember times I didn't feel right, but like many service members, I pushed through it. I didn't realize that my body was already fighting a battle of its own.

After being diagnosed with lupus, I was also diagnosed with seizures and Pots (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). Each condition bought its own challenges seizures that came without warning, dizziness that made standing or walking difficult, fatigue that had no amount of rest could fix. The combination has made my day-to-day life unpredictable.

I was forced to take an early retirement because the disease is so debilitating. I simply can't function the way I used to because lupus changed my life. There are days when I still feel strong, and others when I am reminded just how fragile the human body can be. The medication that was supposed to help me fight lupus eventually began to take my eyesight. Slowly I started to lose the ability to see clearly. That was one of the hardest parts of the disease for me realizing that the very thing meant to help me was also hurting me.

Lupus is a quiet disease. If you look at me, you might not see it. There are no obvious scars or marks most of the time. But beneath the surface, it's powerful. It touches every part of who I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It has taken things from me, but it has also taught me to appreciate the small victories: the days without pain, the moments of laughter, the love of my family and friends who stand by me.

I'm still learning about lupus, and myself, and about how to keep moving forward despite everything. This disease may have slowed me down, but it hasn't stopped me. Every day, I'm still here, still fighting, and still learning what it means to live with lupus.