MG taught me to find gratitude in small, simple moments

Thanksgiving season reminds me of something author Melody Beattie wrote: “Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”

Gratitude can also help us navigate life with myasthenia gravis (MG).

This morning began quietly in my study, as I was surrounded by books that trace the arc of my life. Some go back to my college years. They’re filled with underlined passages and dog-eared pages, the survivors of late-night study sessions. Others, like my old “Hardy Boys” mysteries, reach back to my earliest days as a reader. A few weeks ago, four newcomers took up residence on the bookshelves. I sat among them with a cup of coffee, taking comfort in their presence.

Since being diagnosed with MG, small rituals like this have become sacred. They remind me that luxury isn’t about extravagance, but about gratitude for the moments when body and mind find peace together.

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Beauty in simplicity

In the years before MG, one of my measures of success was moving and hurrying about. My days were crammed full with teaching, grading, mentoring, writing, and myriad other tasks. Each day was long, and my calendar was packed. Now, luxury has been redefined. It isn’t about possessions or pace, but peace. A chat with a friend of more than 40 years, the familiar comfort of my recliner, or a well-done Bolognese have become treasures.

I recently told a friend that MG has made my world smaller, but it has also made it deeper. The novelist Paulo Coelho understood this shift, writing, “The simple things are also the most extraordinary things, and only the wise can see them.” MG forces us to slow down, but in that slowing, we begin to see the contours of grace.

There is also something spiritual about this kind of simplicity. Rest was once something I resisted, even feared. As a teacher, I took pride in my stamina. Fatigue felt like weakness. Rest was an indulgence for the weak. But illness has a way of rewriting our theology. The Psalmist reminds us, “Be still, and know that I am God.” That verse has become a mantra for me. It’s an invitation to stop fighting against limitation and start listening for God in the quiet stillness. It is sacred space.

The preacher Charles Spurgeon put it beautifully: “It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness.” In the stillness of my study, among my books, joy is reborn. For a few moments, MG no longer exists. All limitations fade.

Science, too, affirms what faith has long taught. Psychologist Barbara Fredrickson’s research at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill shows that brief moments of joy can literally expand our capacity for resilience and healing. She calls it “broaden and build.” Positivity broadens our outlook and builds emotional strength over time.

Those findings resonate deeply with me. Some days, my energy vanishes without warning. I may need to cancel plans or take a nap mid-afternoon. Yet when I focus on one good thing, I feel something shift inside. As playwright and novelist Thornton Wilder wrote, “We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” Joy, it seems, is a medicine of its own.

Every chronic illness teaches its own curriculum. MG’s lessons are written in the language of patience, surrender, appreciation, forgiveness of the past, and trust that tomorrow will be better than today. MG forced me to move more slowly, and in doing so, I noticed beauty and stopped apologizing for needing rest.

I’ve realized that comfort isn’t the opposite of courage; it’s what allows us to keep going. Time spent with family and friends, strolls up the aisles in Whole Foods, or returning from a walk without gasping for air are not trivial experiences. They are evidence that grace still moves quietly through my life.

Tonight, I’ll close my day much as I began it, with a small luxury. Maybe it will be a favorite piece of music or a square of dark chocolate. These things are not rewards for endurance; they are reminders that endurance itself is grace. The writer Anne Lamott once said, “I do not understand the mystery of grace — only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” Living with MG, I’ve learned that grace is not a lightning bolt but a slow sunrise. It arrives quietly, book by book, moment by moment.

I give thanks for this.

Note: Myasthenia Gravis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Myasthenia Gravis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to myasthenia gravis.