I Had to Rebel to Remember Who I Really Am
For almost three months, I lived inside a tiny chamber. It was called the isolation room. But to me, it was a test. A test of patience. Of resilience. Of faith. I was allowed out only briefly. Just enough to walk the narrow corridors of the bone marrow transplant (BMT) unit.
It was almost 11PM, the hour when nurses switched shifts. I knew the rhythm well by then. Just two doors separated the BMT unit from the hospital’s second wing, the place where I had spent most of my chemotherapy treatment. I knew the nurses there; I was familiar with the energy, the faces, the warmth. And although I was strictly forbidden to leave the BMT perimeter, something deeper stirred within me, a craving for connection, a longing to share a laugh, to smile with the “normal” world beyond those two doors.
The rebel in me finally spoke up. With calm, confident defiance, it whispered, “Enough with the rules. Go. Now it’s time to live again.” So while the nurses were preoccupied with their handover, I made my move. I slipped through the first door… then the second.
For the first time in 3 months, I stood on different ground. Just beyond the salon area, the place was quiet, empty. But inside me, something had burst open. I felt free. I was making my own decisions. I walked slowly, with a mix of awe and boldness, eager to surprise my old friends the nurses from the other unit, and show them I could walk again. Freely.
They were caught off guard, smiling. They didn’t know I’d just broken out like a rebel. One chat led to another. We shared stories, giggles, real connection. It felt good. Natural. Then suddenly, I heard someone call my name sharply. I turned to find a nurse from the BMT unit rushing toward me, laughing in disbelief. “Oh my God, I thought you had fled the hospital!” Without missing a beat, I replied, “Nah, it’s almost midnight. All the pubs are closed. No point escaping now.” Everyone burst into laughter. Even her.
It was a moment. A good moment. No harm done. But it reminded me of something vital, that the isolation room had been dimming my light. And that I still had that light. I could still make people smile. I could still shift the mood in a room. I could still connect. More importantly, I realized I had the power to choose for myself, even when it meant going against the current. That simple act of rebellion wasn’t about breaking rules. It was about reclaiming my sense of self. That’s how confidence grows!
Today, when I coach about authenticity, I speak from that place. Authenticity isn’t loud; it’s grounded, centered, secure. And sometimes, it takes losing access to everything we love to realize the strength that’s been waiting inside us all along.
For me, those strengths were humor and social intelligence. And I found them in the quiet rebellion of a midnight walk. That’s why I keep sharing this message: never underestimate the awakening power of difficult times. They don’t just challenge us, they reveal us.
