Noticing the small revivals that remind you you’re still here

There’s a point in long illness
when the goal stops being “getting better”
and becomes something simpler:

Feeling alive again.

Not healed.
Not fixed.
Not triumphant.

Just… here.
Present.
Awake in your own skin.

For a long time, I didn’t think about aliveness.

I didn’t have the room for that kind of longing.

My days were built around getting through —
treatments,
flares,
appointments,
recovery.

Life wasn’t about joy.
It was about endurance.

But endurance has a way of wearing thin.

Eventually the body,
the mind,
the soul —

they all start asking the same question:

Is there anything left in me
that still lights up?

The surprising truth is that what brought me back
wasn’t grand.

It wasn’t a second chance
wrapped in glitter.

It was the unexpected kindness
I didn’t ask for.

It was saying yes again —
but only for a while,
only for what I could hold.

It was a moment at the kitchen sink
when something stirred
that felt suspiciously like hope.

It was laughter over something
sticky and ridiculous.

It was the dogs —
their weight,
their warmth,
their uncomplicated love —
reminding me that connection
is its own kind of medicine.

Aliveness didn’t return all at once.

It came in flickers.

Quick.
Quiet.
Almost shy.

A good cup of coffee
after a week of nausea.
A breeze through the window
on a day I could barely walk.
A conversation that didn’t drain me.
A belly laugh
I didn’t see coming.

Little revivals.
Tiny sparks.

Proof that something in me
was still reaching forward.

This compass point isn’t about transformation.

It’s about noticing
the moments when life
taps your shoulder and whispers:

You’re not done yet.

These next stories aren’t sweeping comebacks.

They’re smaller,
more human than that —

the kinds of moments
that sneak in
and move the needle
a hair toward living.

This is the part of the journey
where the map is still burned,
the body is still unpredictable —

and yet, something in you
begins to stir.

Something wants sunlight.
Something wants connection.
Something wants joy —
even if it’s tiny,
messy,
or short-lived.

This chapter is about those sparks.

The ones that pull you forward.
The ones that remind you
you’re still made of life.

Just a steady place to ask,
without needing to chase it yet:

Compass Point 9 — What Brings Me Back to Life?

Compass Point 9 — What Brings Me Back to Life?