There have been many times since my diagnosis of relapsing-remitting MS in 2015 that I have felt shame for being different. I feel shame when someone calls out my gimp or when I have to admit to a coworker that I can’t assist them with something if I’m flaring.
I have been shamed by others; those who do not understand what it’s like to be chronically ill, and who extend minimal compassion or understanding.
