What She Called Nothing

The pain she ignored became our inheritance.

They called it strength.
What she had.
What all the women before her had.

Backs straight as ironwood.
Pain passed down like heirlooms.
Never named, never mourned. Just borne.

In our house, illness was something you outlasted.
Not something you treated.
You prayed. You boiled leaves. You bit down.
You went to work.

Even when her breath turned metallic.
Even when her ankles swelled like fruit left too long in sun.
Even when her stomach curled in on itself, clenched tight as a fist.
She cooked. She cleaned. She prayed louder.

And I watched.
From the edge of childhood.
From the edge of her shadow.
Learning how not to flinch.

Now I’m forty-three.
And a bloom of discomfort has taken root beneath my ribs —
hot, wet, sour.
Like something fermenting.

Sleep slides sideways.
Food sits like stone.
The body stutters, protests, warns.

I used to think I was stronger than her.
More modern.
Healthier.

But maybe I just had time.
Time she never had.
Time to ignore what I didn't yet recognise.

And still —
when I wake in the night, breath shallow,
when the sweat feels oily and strange,
when the ache begins again in that same place just above the hip —
I say nothing.

Because silence was the sermon.
And pride, the altar.

But rust doesn’t care for rituals.
It spreads anyway.
Quiet. Relentless. Familial.

That’s the inheritance.
That’s the warning.

It whispers early.
Long before the diagnosis.
Long before the drip bags and morphine.

And we have a choice.

To hear it.
To name it.
To do differently.

Before it becomes her story all over again.

–––

These stories aren’t rare.
They’re just rarely told early enough.
Most decline begins in silence —
a skipped check-up, a cough you dismiss, a breath you pretend is fine.

She didn’t need saving.
Just a warning sooner.

––– Pause Here –––

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.
Most illness doesn’t start with a bang.
It starts when silence becomes habit.

Lingzhi isn’t a miracle.
It’s a habit.
A quiet, daily way to care for the body —
before silence becomes suffering.

Lingzhi is a traditional food taken to support general well-being. It is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease. For personalised advice, please consult a qualified healthcare practitioner.

#SubHealthStories #HealthIsAHabit #HappyHealthyLingzhi