Some days, my body feels like a stranger I’m forced to share space with.

Living with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) is not something you can fully explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it. It’s unpredictable, complex, and often invisible. One moment, I can feel almost like myself again — moving, thinking, existing with a sense of normality. And the next, my body rewrites the rules without warning.

There are days when my hands tremble without permission, when my legs feel heavy and disconnected, when even the simplest tasks require immense effort. It’s not just physical — it’s mental, emotional, and deeply personal. FND doesn’t just affect how I move; it affects how I see myself.

What makes it harder is the misunderstanding. From the outside, I might look “fine.” But inside, there’s a constant negotiation happening — between what I want to do and what my body will allow. It teaches patience in ways I never asked for, and resilience I didn’t know I needed.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to hold onto: I am still here.

Even on the hardest days, when frustration creeps in and exhaustion takes over, I am learning to listen to my body instead of fighting it. I am learning that rest is not weakness, that slowing down is not failure, and that my worth is not defined by my productivity.

Living with FND means living in the in-between — between strength and struggle, progress and pause, hope and uncertainty.

And somehow, in that in-between, I am still finding pieces of myself.