April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month. Every story matters. Every person matters. Every family matters. Every caregiver matters. 

Here’s a little of my twenty year journey with Parkinson’s Disease.

I didn’t plan for Parkinson’s to become part of my story. Like most people, I thought of it as something distant—something that happened to other people, later in life, somewhere far away from my daily reality. But life has a way of rewriting plans without asking for permission.

At first, it was subtle. A tremor that came and went. A stiffness that felt like I had just slept wrong. Small things that were easy to brush off, easy to explain away. But over time, those small things stopped being occasional visitors and became companions. That’s when I knew something deeper was going on.

Getting diagnosed with Parkinson’s was a moment that split my life into “before” and “after.” There was the version of me who moved freely, who didn’t think twice about balance, coordination, or even something as simple as buttoning a shirt. And then there’s the version of me now—more aware, more deliberate, and, in many ways, more resilient than I ever imagined I could be.

Parkinson’s doesn’t just affect the body; it reshapes your relationship with time. Everything takes longer. Movements that used to be automatic now require intention. There are days when my body feels like it’s resisting me, like it has its own agenda. On those days, patience isn’t optional—it’s survival.

But Parkinson’s has also taught me things I might never have learned otherwise.

It has taught me to celebrate small victories. Getting through the day with steady hands. Walking without hesitation. Completing tasks that once felt effortless but now feel like quiet triumphs. These moments might seem insignificant from the outside, but to me, they are everything.

It has taught me to listen—to my body, to my limits, and to my needs. Rest is no longer something I earn after productivity; it’s something I honor as essential. Slowing down isn’t failure—it’s adaptation.

And perhaps most importantly, it has taught me about strength. Not the loud, obvious kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that shows up every morning, even when I don’t feel ready. The kind that keeps going, even when the path is uncertain.

There are hard days. Days filled with frustration, fatigue, and moments of grief for the life I once had. I won’t pretend otherwise. Parkinson’s can be relentless, and it’s okay to acknowledge that.

But there are also good days. Days filled with laughter, connection, and a sense of purpose that feels even sharper because of the challenges. Parkinson’s may have changed my life, but it hasn’t taken it away.

I am still here. Still learning. Still adapting. Still finding ways to live fully within the limits I didn’t choose.

If there’s one thing I’ve come to understand, it’s this: life with Parkinson’s is not just about what’s been lost—it’s about what remains, and what can still be built.

And that, in its own way, is something worth holding onto. ~OC