If you’ve ever lived with an incurable, debilitating illness, you’ve probably wished for a miracle. It’s deeply human to hope for a magical cure. I can’t count how many mornings I opened my eyes hoping the tinnitus—the telltale sign that my symptoms were still there—had somehow disappeared overnight.

I developed Ménière’s disease while I was working out of state. During one attack, I lay curled up in the fetal position in a cold motel bathtub, vomiting, gagging, and shaking, wondering whether I would be able to go to work the next morning. I was afraid to get on a plane to fly home. Then I became afraid to leave home at all.

Several possible futures for my life ended in that motel bathtub.

The highly functional, reliable powerhouse I had always been was gone. If an attack came, I could become a puddle of vomit on a random sidewalk or park path.

Ménière’s disease is considered an incurable, disabling condition. It isn’t life-threatening, but it completely changed my state of being. There were so many things I could no longer do. I fought against it and suffered, grieving the loss of the life and abilities I had taken for granted.

Then, almost magically, it disappeared in less than a year.

Ménière’s disease is notoriously unpredictable. For the next two years, I was active and functional again. I made plans for a new career and new adventures.

Then it came back with a vengeance.

The attacks became so frequent and severe that I was essentially homebound and often bedridden. But something had changed in me. This time, I didn’t mourn the life I thought I should have had. This was simply the reality of the present moment. My task wasn’t to fight reality—it was to adjust my priorities.

I accepted a different state of being.

By then, I had already learned that controlling Ménière’s disease directly was almost impossible.

I also had diabetes and was taking medication to lower my blood glucose. Intuitively, I suspected the medication might be a major trigger for my Ménière’s attacks. If I wanted to stop taking the medication, I would have to lower my blood glucose through diet and exercise instead.

I couldn’t control Ménière’s disease, but I could control my diabetes.

While I was homebound, I immersed myself in learning. I read book after book about both conditions and adopted a very strict diet. Around that time, a friend sent me Becoming Supernatural. Although I didn’t believe in spontaneous healing, much of what Joe Dispenza wrote resonated with me. I began practicing meditation, setting clear intentions, and paying attention to my inner state rather than focusing only on my symptoms.

One morning, after a moderate vertigo attack, A single word arose in my mind:

“Run.”

Normally, I would have stayed in bed all day. Since I couldn’t physically run, I interpreted it the only way I could. I got up, left my apartment, and walked to a nearby park.

When I returned home, a friend called to say they had unexpectedly arrived at Penn Station and wondered if I could meet them. It was the friend who had sent me Joe Dispenza’s book.

Had I stayed in bed, as I normally would have, I never could have seen them that day.

I don’t know where that inner message came from. I only know that I listened.

Over the following year, my blood glucose dropped into the pre-diabetic range without medication. At the same time, my Ménière’s attacks became less frequent and eventually became rare.

Was it the diet? The meditation? The change in my nervous system? The intention? The reduction in blood glucose? A combination of all of them?

I honestly don’t know.

What I do know is that my state of being changed.

I am not cured. I still have very mild Ménière’s symptoms that remind me to pay attention. I still maintain a disciplined diet and regular exercise to keep my blood glucose under control.

But today, I am functional.

That is my current state of being.