That early morning was terrible. Daniel was only ten months old and was sick with otitis. The sticky fever, the crying, the sleepless nights, the compresses, and the worries were piling up.

Perhaps that’s why, when I started to feel my face strange and my face numb, I thought it was due to fatigue. I didn’t pay attention to it at that moment. I just wanted Daniel to get better and for the morning to come, because with the sunlight, problems sometimes seem less serious.

I never imagined that, with the sunlight, a dark moment in my life would begin. I got up to splash water on my face and saw my mouth strange. I tried to move it and put it back in place, but I couldn’t. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. The smile was a horrible grimace that appeared in the mirror as if it were a tasteless joke.

From shock, I went to fear, then to anger, to denial, and to sadness. It was hard for me to reach the supposed acceptance, but I don’t think I ever did. Why was this happening to me? What happened to me for my body to respond like this? Did I do something wrong? Many questions and few answers.

The most shocking thing for me was when I tried to drink coffee and it spilled out of the side of my mouth. It seemed like a nightmare. I missed my face, I missed laughing, I missed being me.

Then came the doctor’s visits, an emergency CT scan, acupuncture, treatments, high doses of prednisone, appointments with the neurologist, massages, exercises. During all this, I had to take care of Daniel and try to feel better so that my pain wouldn’t affect him. It was very difficult.

Luckily, at that time the child was small and although he looked at me strangely, he was not aware of what was happening. I didn’t want to see anyone. I isolated myself, I distanced myself, I didn’t look in the mirror, I hardly spoke — me, who has always been talkative—. The whole world changed for me. I had to take a necessary pause to think and recognize the damage that had led me to the path of paralysis.

Behind the “I’m fine”

Since I was diagnosed with facial paralysis, I started studying the subject to understand the causes, the consequences, and to avoid it from happening again in the future. It was a moment of deep introspection, a turning point where I decided to look inward and confront the accumulated stress that had been playing tricks on me for so long. For the first time, I stopped to think about myself, about how I was treating myself, and about the urgent need to take care of myself.

For years, even since my childhood, I had lived in a constant race against time, prioritizing the needs of others over mine, relegating myself to the last place on the list of priorities. I hid my pain behind a forced smile and a repetitive “I’m fine,” while my body sent me warning signals that I ignored. I pushed it to the limit, punished it with the weight of stress and worries, carried it without realizing the serious consequences it would have.

It is said that the body speaks when the mind is silent. In my case, my body screamed to be heard. It took drastic measures to force me to pay attention, to remind me that I also deserved care and love, that I couldn’t ignore my needs in order to maintain the facade of superficial well-being. It was a painful but necessary awakening, a reminder that physical and emotional health cannot be sacrificed in the name of complacency or external expectations.

Facial paralysis was an abrupt wake-up call and a stark reminder that I needed to change the way I lived. I couldn’t continue pretending that everything was fine while my body and mind were crying out for help. I had to make significant changes to prioritize my well-being and learn to love and take care of myself in the same way I did for others.

It was a painful but liberating process of self-discovery. I learned to listen to my body and recognize the signals it sent me, instead of ignoring or minimizing them. The learning continues, step by step, one day at a time, and it’s very difficult for me, but I know it’s also necessary.

I had to learn to set healthy boundaries, to say “no” when necessary, and to delegate responsibilities. I’ve also tried to consistently practice self-care, although it’s not so easy with two young children and starting from scratch in a new country. Still, I always look for ways to reinvent ourselves, to create our family traditions and activities that bring joy to everyone.

Impact on Daily Life

Facial paralysis brought with it a series of challenges that affected almost every aspect of my daily life. From difficulty communicating and smiling to problems eating and taking care of my little one. The struggle to maintain my self-esteem and confidence as a mother became a monumental task.

Accepting my condition was a gradual process filled with emotional ups and downs. As I adapted to facial paralysis, I learned to find new ways to carry out daily activities and accept changes in my physical appearance. Raising Daniel while facing those challenges forced me to find the inner strength to keep going.

During the journey, emotional support was indispensable. My friends, family, and healthcare professionals became a solid network that held me up in the toughest moments. However, in the midst of the network, my husband stood out as a rock on which I could lean when I needed it most. Despite facial paralysis and the struggles we faced, he never stopped showing me his love and care.

I remember how, even when I felt most vulnerable, my husband always found a way to make me feel beautiful. His words of encouragement and his unconditional support were a balm to my soul in moments of deep distress. He not only took care of me physically, but he was also my emotional support, my anchor amid emotional storms that seemed to shake me.

In moments when I felt I had hit rock bottom, my husband was my push to keep going, my lifesaver in the sea of uncertainty and pain. His constant presence and unconditional love were my refuge, my shoulder-home to which I could turn at any time.

Then, I became pregnant with Emma, and we returned to colic nights and the pains of cesarean section. The specter of paralysis hovered around us. Even when we arrived in the United States —after the journey that changed our lives forever— the paralysis returned with more force, although I think it hadn’t really gone away completely because my face has never been the same. Neither its expressions nor my mouth. But little by little, with a lot of patience, I have learned to know myself, to listen to my body, as I continue in the process of healing not only physical, but also mental and emotional.

From Self-Discovery to Self-Love

The journey of self-discovery led me to understand that self-love is not a selfish act, but a fundamental need for a balanced and fulfilling life. I learned to recognize my worth and to value my health and happiness above all else. Although the path to recovery has not been easy, every step I have taken forward has been worth it.

Today I can say with certainty that facial paralysis not only taught me important lessons about self-care and self-compassion, but it gave me the opportunity to rediscover myself and embrace my true inner strength. Although my journey toward healing continues, I am grateful for the perspective the experience has given me and the growth it has inspired in me. Now, I commit to continuing to prioritize my well-being and to live an authentic and fulfilling life, in which self-love is always my guide and my greatest strength.

Over time, I have discovered that there is light at the end of the tunnel and that each obstacle overcome makes us stronger and more resilient. We can find peace and happiness—even in the most difficult times of parenting and life in general, with the right support and the determination to keep going. Although it may seem like a mouthful, it’s okay to not always be okay. Accepting our sadness, our mistakes and pain is part of the healing process.

This article was translated into English from the original in Spanish.