Feb 3, 2026
This blog has existed for years without really existing.
The posts were written. Some polished. Some raw. Most finished enough to stand on their own. What never happened was the release. Not because I didn’t have anything to say, and not because I was afraid of writing it.
I didn’t release it because once it’s out, it stops being mine.
Keeping these words private gave me control. Over tone. Over timing. Over how much of myself I allowed into the world at once. Living with MS already means surrendering control in ways most people never have to think about. My body makes decisions without consulting me. Fatigue shows up uninvited. Pain changes plans. This blog was one place where I still got to decide when and how things were seen.
There’s also the problem of being misunderstood.
I don’t write for sympathy. I don’t want to be inspirational. I’m not interested in being reduced to a diagnosis or turned into a cautionary tale. I look strong. I train hard. I live a full life. That combination confuses people. Once something is public, people project onto it. They decide who you are based on a few paragraphs and their own comfort level with discomfort.
So I waited.
I told myself I was refining. Curating. Waiting for the right moment. In truth, I was protecting the version of myself that still gets to be complicated. The one who can be strong and declining at the same time. The one who trains Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu while quietly calculating how far he can walk tomorrow. The one who hasn’t decided yet which parts of the story get to be permanent.
Time passed anyway.
MS doesn’t pause while you organize your thoughts. It doesn’t care if you’re ready to speak publicly. Changes accumulate. Lines get crossed quietly. And at some point, not sharing becomes its own kind of dishonesty. Not lying, exactly. Just editing reality a little too aggressively.
I’m releasing this blog now not because everything is resolved, but because it isn’t.
These posts aren’t a victory lap. They’re a record. Of adaptation. Of stubbornness. Of mistakes. Of moments when grit worked, and moments when it didn’t. They reflect someone still in motion, still training, still traveling, still negotiating with a body that keeps changing the terms.
This isn’t an announcement. It’s not a declaration. It’s simply the acknowledgment that holding everything back no longer serves me.
The writing was always the easy part.
Letting it be seen took longer.