One of the hardest things about growing up with sickle cell disease wasn’t the pain. It was the limitations — not just those imposed by the condition itself, but also from other people’s expectations.
Like many patients, I grew up hearing what I couldn’t do. The conversations weren’t always malicious. Most people thought they were being realistic, trying to prepare me for a difficult future. But over time, those messages began to shape the way I saw myself. I started to wonder whether my dreams were realistic. I questioned my ambitions. I hesitated before taking opportunities because I’d spent years hearing that my condition would ultimately decide what my life looked like.