Reflecting on what I’m grateful for softens the edges of NMOSD

It’s astonishing how quickly life can shrink down to just the present moment when you’re living with a chronic illness like neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder (NMOSD).

Its symptoms have a way of pulling you into the now with an intensity that can feel all-consuming, whether it’s managing fatigue, navigating pain, or simply trying to make it through the day. In the now, reflection feels like a luxury. Who has the bandwidth to look back or look inward when your body demands every ounce of your attention?

And yet, reflection is often precisely what brings me back to myself.

As we enter this holiday season, I start to think about what still shines in my life, even though the last year and a bit have been difficult. Gratitude isn’t meant to erase my hardship, but it does soften its edges. It helps me gently shift my focus from everything that’s been lost to everything that continues to carry me forward.

Recommended Reading

November 21, 2025 News by Michela Luciano, PhD

Study IDs environmental factors tied globally to higher NMOSD risk

What I am grateful for

This year, reflection has taken on a new meaning. After a cycle of major NMOSD attacks, six between May 2024 and February 2025, I reached a point where I felt as though my body had forgotten how to stabilize. I moved from one medication to the next, hoping each would be the one to interrupt the chaos, finally. It wasn’t until I started Ultomiris (ravulizumab-cwvz), with the guidance, persistence, and sheer advocacy of my neurologist and his team, that things began to change. Slowly, quietly, my body steadied. My life steadied.

So, when I sit with myself now, during a holiday season that invites reflection, the following thoughts rise to the surface.

I am grateful for a treatment plan that finally works. Ultomiris gave me something I worried I might never feel again — a stretch of calm. Not perfection, not a cure, but enough stability that I could imagine the future without fear taking the lead.

I am grateful for my neurologist and his team. Their partnership with me is grounded in compassion, persistence, and the belief that I deserve the best chance at a functional life. Good healthcare isn’t just science; it’s advocacy, and their immense care changed my life.

I am grateful for my support system: my family, my friends, and even my colleagues, who stepped in, stepped up, and held me together during some of my darkest moments. They still remind me daily that I am not navigating this journey alone.

And I am deeply grateful for you, my readers. Your messages, comments, and stories are often the fuel that keeps me writing and remind me that we’re in this together. That our community has strength and power that is still changing the world for each of us and those after us who might find themselves living with a rare condition like NMOSD.

A return to normalcy

The other day, I asked my family what they were grateful for this year. Their answers caught me by surprise, and I’m still processing them.
“You’re doing well, so I don’t have to worry about losing you,” said my daughter. “We have some normalcy again,” my husband said.

Normalcy. It’s a feeling, a rhythm, a return to the everyday moments that illness tends to steal. My family’s responses reminded me that my health doesn’t just shape my life; it also shapes theirs. And right now, we’re all breathing a little easier.

As we turn the corner toward Christmas, the pace of life tends to accelerate. The demands grow louder with holiday events, family expectations, financial pressures, and year-end deadlines. If I’m not careful, I can slip right back into survival mode, where reflection disappears, and everything feels urgent.

But this year, I want things to be different. This season of reflection has shown me that clarity doesn’t come from doing more; it comes from understanding what truly matters.

So I’m setting a gentle boundary with myself: only what truly matters gets my time. My health. My family. My moments of joy. My gratitude. Everything else — the noise, the pressure, the impossible standards — they can fall away.

The holidays will always have their share of stress and chaos, but they don’t have to pull us away from what we value most. Reflection is the anchor. Gratitude is the reset.

Note: Neuromyelitis 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 providers 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 Neuromyelitis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder.