Of Scars and Sanctuary: My 2021 Winter with Chickenpox

2021 was a year that tested the limits of my resilience—not just physically, but emotionally. It was the year I contracted chickenpox as an adult, an experience far more brutal than the childhood “rite of passage” suggests.

The physical toll was exhausting, but the social weight was heavier. I remember the visceral feeling of being a “monster” in public; seeing people physically recoil or widen their path to avoid me was a unique kind of isolation. In those moments, when the mirror and the world both told me I was something to be feared, I realized how fragile our sense of self can be when it isn’t anchored by others.

That anchor, for me, was my circle of friends in Vancouver.

While the world outside kept its distance, my friends stepped closer. They didn’t see a “monster”—they saw me. I am profoundly grateful to the people who chose to be my sanctuary during those weeks:

• Adi, whose jokes were the best medicine I had, keeping my spirits up when the itching and fever were at their worst.
• Kate, who didn’t care about the stares and insisted on taking me out to the pubs, making me feel like a normal human being again.
• Michelle, who gave me the gift of her time, hanging out and ensuring I never felt truly alone in the isolation.
• Rita, who showed incredible grace and tolerance, sharing a home with me while I was at my most contagious and never making me feel like a burden.

This experience taught me that while viruses can mark the skin, true friendship leaves a far deeper, more permanent mark on the soul. To my friends in Vancouver: thank you for seeing me when I couldn’t bear to see myself. You turned a terrible experience into a lesson on the power of belonging.