If I could sit across from my 13-year-old-self right now, I think she’d stare at me wide eyed, somewhere between disbelief and admiration. Not because I’ve “figured it all out,” which I most certainly haven’t, but because I’ve kept and continue to keep going, even when I don’t know how.

I was 13 when I was diagnosed with Autoimmune Lymphoproliferative Syndrome, an extremely rare autoimmune disorder that even many healthcare professionals to this day are confused by. At an age when most kids were worried about what to wear to school or how to pass their next quiz, I was learning how to pronounce the name of my condition and what it meant to live in a body that didn’t always feel like my own. There were many hospital visits and medications accompanied by a laundry list of side effects, and a lifelong experience of learning how to advocate for myself in a room full of doctors that barely know what’s going on in your body. That girl – the one with the IV in her arm and hope in her heart – she had no idea how strong she really was. But she kept going anyway. And I kept going too.

I recently got married at 26, to the absolute best friend I could’ve imagined having by my side. Our wedding was a day that was filled with so much love and support, and one I thought would just happen in the movies. My younger self would be astonished at the love that we have built and would be proud of the fact that I let myself be seen – not just the polished, put-together version of Diana, but the unfiltered, silly, sometimes fragile, version of myself.

Now, I’m in a season of figuring things out – again. Maybe that’s just what life is: a series of restarts. The goals I set for myself last year look different now, and I am proud of recognizing that things, including myself, change. The timeline I imagined continuously shifts and brings new obstacles. And still, I get up. Because the resilient, determined, and strong 13-year-old girl still lives within me.

All in all, little Diana would be proud that I never gave up on her. That I kept choosing to believe in better days, even on the hardest ones. That I found laughter in pain and meaning in the moments that most people overlook. That I carry her with me – not just her struggle, but her spark. I hope she knows how much she still inspires me, and how I continue to strive to be the person that she once needed.

So, to that brave little girl who faced the unthinkable with courage: thank you. You taught me how to fight, how to hope, and most importantly, how to live. And if you are reading this and are in your own season of restarting, please know that it is okay to not have everything figured out. The strength is in showing up, again and again.