I used to think that in order to collaborate or connect, I had to dilute parts of myself. That the tangents, the emotional spirals, the ideas that came in bursts—those things had to be hidden or softened. But I’m learning that the right people don’t just tolerate those things—they value them. They don’t need me to edit who I am. They just need me to be honest. When I stop over-preparing and just show up as myself—interruptions, rabbit holes, half-finished thoughts and all—that’s when real connection happens. It’s not mystical or magical. It’s rooted in trust. It’s honest. And it reminds me that identity isn’t something I have to earn or polish. It’s something I get to claim fully, even when I’m still figuring it out.
That, to me, is the future of identity after diagnosis. Not hiding who we are. Not minimizing it. But learning to embrace the parts of us that make us different—and building a life that allows those parts to thrive.

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