New Delhi, A year ago

Some anniversaries are not about grand celebrations but quiet reflection. It had been a year since my journey with cirrhosis began—a year of fighting an invisible battle, small victories, and lessons I hadn’t asked for.

That morning, I woke up thinking of the milestone. I imagined it would feel triumphant, a quiet pride lighting up the day. Instead, a small action from someone close left me feeling unexpectedly low. The weight of disappointment reminded me of a truth I’ve struggled with—sometimes, the people who matter most won’t fully grasp the magnitude of your journey.

I didn’t celebrate that day. Instead, I shared my thoughts with my son and a close friend, and then I let the day pass. There was no party, no toast, no big moment. But there was reflection.

I reflected on how far I’d come—my health improving, my resolve strengthening, my life slowly rebuilding piece by piece. But the absence of acknowledgment from others also underlined something important: the milestones we hit in the quiet moments of survival are often visible only to us.

---

A Year of Struggles and Triumphs

The year leading up to this day was anything but easy. There were moments when weakness overwhelmed me, days when just getting through felt like climbing a mountain.

There were sudden, startling incidents—like the burst of blood from my arm in the middle of a casual conversation. I can still feel the shock of having to explain it to those around me, trying to mask the embarrassment with calm explanations while pressing a cotton gauge tightly against my skin.

Speaking of that cotton gauge, it became my constant companion, always in the car, always ready. It was a reminder of the unpredictability of my condition, but also of the small ways I had learned to take control.

Amidst the struggles, there was something else—a fragile, flickering strength that I clung to. Every time I felt the weight of the journey, I’d picture a small light at the end of the tunnel. Some days, that light felt impossibly far. Other days, it felt close enough to touch. But it was always there, reminding me why I chose to keep fighting.

---

The Emotional Layers of Chronic Illness

Living with cirrhosis is not just a fight against a disease; it’s a fight to hold onto hope, to preserve relationships, to keep faith in your own ability to heal. It’s a fight for the everyday joys that others take for granted.

Milestones like these anniversaries are double-edged. They remind you of your resilience but also highlight the moments of loneliness in your fight—the times when you wonder if those around you truly understand how much strength it takes just to keep going.

---

A Message for Others Fighting Their Own Battles

If you’re in a similar journey, know this: not every victory will be cheered, not every milestone will be celebrated. And that’s okay. It’s not the noise of others that validates your fight; it’s your quiet determination, the fact that you wake up and keep going despite everything.

Celebrate how you want to celebrate, even if it’s just in your heart. And if you let the moment pass quietly, don’t feel guilty. Survival itself is a triumph worth honoring.

---

Closing Reflection

Looking back on that day, I’ve realized something powerful: it’s not the applause or the recognition that defines our strength. It’s the quiet resilience to keep moving forward, to keep choosing life, to keep hoping for better. And that, I think, is worth celebrating every single day.