How do I find meaning when my body no longer lets me do what I love?

Mirabai couldn't be the wife society demanded. She couldn't stay in the palace, perform the role, follow the script. So she became a mystic instead—not because her loss transformed magically into purpose, but because she stopped waiting for her old life to return and started paying attention to what was actually calling her. This isn't about toxic positivity. You're allowed to grieve what you can't do. And you're also allowed to notice—slowly, without pressure—what else is becoming possible in the space your illness has opened. Maybe you can't run marathons anymore, but you're developing a practice of sitting still. Maybe you can't work sixty hours, but you're learning what rest feels like. Maybe you can't show up the way you used to, but you're discovering deeper kinds of presence with the people who matter. Mirabai's devotion grew precisely because she was limited. Constraints forced her inward. They forced her to examine what she actually loved—not the performance of it, but the raw thing itself. Start small: What small thing brings you alive right now, in this body, today? Not your old hobby repackaged. Something new. Something possible. The meaning isn't in replacing what you lost. It's in learning to see what's here.