Building Identity Beyond Illness Through Birding
The author, Jayme, a woman with braided blonde hair wearing a floral headband leans out of a car window, holding a camera. She is gazing attentively at something in the distance while parked on a dirt trail surrounded by trees and greenery, under a clear blue sky.
For nearly a decade, I had a dream job: traveling around the country championing toys and games alongside players, designers, and artists from around the world. Full of energy, and burning the candle at both ends, it wasn’t until I experienced a catastrophic shift in my health that I was forced to abandon my life as I knew it and began to question who I was beyond my career, and ultimately, beyond the illness that upended my life.
Four years later, I live with dysautonomia, a dysfunction of my autonomic nervous system that developed after contracting COVID-19 on a business trip in the early pandemic. One of the millions of people now navigating long-haul symptoms of the virus, I manage chronic pain, a handful of heart problems, and dozens of other symptoms that have severely limited my capacity for physical activity. My once glamorous life on the go was abruptly replaced by flare and crash management strategies, compounded by the grief of the life I’d originally planned for and lost.
About a year into the onset of my illness, I was isolated, anxious, and feeling hopeless. A friend, having noticed my interest in a family of Cardinals in my yard on my Instagram, gifted me a subscription to my local Audubon Society as an encouragement to consider leaving my house. After nervously corresponding with event facilitators, I attended a beginner bird walk at a cemetery nearby. I was astonished to discover, thanks wholly to the grace of the event volunteers, that birding was adaptable to various mobility levels, and was something I could partake in safely without shame or fear! Mustering just a bit of curiosity and patience, I was able to shift focus from my stress and pain to a world of discovery and excitement.
The author, Jayme, holding a yellow monocular fitted with a phone scope to her eye as she looks into the distance while wearing a beanie and a denim jacket over a black shirt with trees and vegetation around her.
Like magic, birding transformed from a long-held curiosity and admiration to a lifeline. Bolstered by the encouragement of my partner and my tendency to go ALL IN when starting something new, I immersed myself in the hobby with all the spare energy I could muster. Whether looking out my bedroom window or taking a short walk around the block, there were always opportunities to listen and take note of my surroundings to feel more connected with the natural world around me. Binoculars were a revelation. Remote meetings became remote meetings from the porch surrounded by titmice and doves. My dedicated moments of immersion and reflection helped me process complex emotions by gently reminding me that healing and joy were still possible, even when I was struggling to accept my new reality.
As I unpacked my grief, I found myself face to face with my internalized ableism, realizing how deeply ingrained society’s assumptions were, and feeling ashamed that I’d initially written off the idea that I could have a full life once my health changed. I’d been so upset about losing my identity as an ambitious young professional and losing so much physical ability that I’d let my assumptions about life as a sick person dictate how I would live - forgetting how to see beyond my illness..
A snowy egret stands in shallow water surrounded by large rocks and green vegetation. The bird’s white feathers contrast with the earthy tones of the rocks and water, and its reflection is visible on the surface of the pond. Photo by author
Fortunately, as I developed patience in waiting for birds to appear in the wild, I too learned to accept my current place in life, both physically and emotionally. Had I not been forced to slow down by situations outside of my control - I might have never discovered this hobby that made me feel so alive, nor explored my connection to the natural world and all there is to enjoy beyond a computer screen. Grateful to have gained this new perspective, I feel passionate about contributing to advocacy around disability and other health concerns, championing accessibility in outdoor spaces for everybody.
To this day, my physical limitations often outpace my ambition, preventing me from birding as much or as enthusiastically as I’d like. Short sessions require hours to days of recovery. I overheat easily and struggle to breathe when navigating uneven terrain, so in addition to shade, I need frequent breaks to lower my heart rate and can’t carry much with me as I walk. I often leave sites earlier than planned when I start to feel unwell or discover that a trail is too difficult to navigate.
Jayme, dressed in outdoor gear and a black hat, stands near a forested swamp, looking up into the treeline through binoculars. The ground is covered with leaves and branches, and the water in the swamp is partially covered with green algae. Tall trees surround the area, creating a dense, natural environment.
When I’m too tired or sore to go outside, I learn instead. Reading field guides and watching live feeds from around the world are two small ways that I’ve leaned into embracing what I can do, rather than dwell on what I can’t. Slowly upgrading my camera and learning more about wildlife photography has enabled me to better document my excursions, creating a tangible record of my discoveries and accomplishments that I can share with my friends, family, and online community. It feels special to be able to share something I adore with people who care about me, especially as many of them have felt helpless watching me struggle with my health.
A collage of six photographs that Jayme has taken include: a Green Heron perched on a tree stump emerging from an algae-covered swamp, a Belted Kingfisher perched in a tree with bright yellow and orange leaves, a Black-crowned Night Heron standing in a high branch of a Live Oak tree, a Mississippi Kite seen through a break in green leafy branches, a Black-chinned Hummingbird sitting among several airplanes in a nest attached to a gnarled branch, and a Cedar Waxwing gazing thoughtfully at green and red berries in a green tree.
I’m deeply grateful for the volunteers and organizers at Birdability (and beyond) who prioritize accessibility and inclusion in nature. If it weren’t for the care and attention extended to me on my first birding experience, I would have missed out on discovering that beyond my career, beyond my illness, I am a birder who indulges curiosity, leans into my passion, and experiences joy when observing the world around me. I hope this blog connects me with others journeying down a similar path. You’re more than welcome here.
