Living, Loving, and Thriving After My HIV Diagnosis

I never thought I’d be writing my story like this. Life has a funny way of surprising you when you least expect it. In June 2023, I was just 22 years old, living my life, hanging out with friends, and trying to keep my head above water. I had gone through a rough year, so when I took a trip to Dallas, I saw it as my chance to unwind, to escape from the weight of reality for just a little while.

It was a fun trip—one of those carefree moments you never think will be your “last” of something. But it was. The last time I felt truly untethered from the realities of my health, the last time I could exist without the knowledge of what was about to come next.

A few days after returning home, I got a routine notification from my health portal. My heart sank before I even opened the message. There it was—HIV positive. I felt like the air had been knocked out of my chest. My stomach dropped, my head spun, and the lingering effects of a hangover vanished instantly. I reread the message, hoping I had misread it, hoping that if I blinked hard enough, the words would change. But they didn’t.

The doctor’s message included the phrase, “HIV is not a death sentence,” but in that moment, I felt like a part of me had just died.

Can You Describe How You Felt When You First Received Your Diagnosis?

The moment I saw the words HIV positive, everything around me went silent. It was as if the entire world had stopped moving. My mind went blank, my body frozen in place.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t panic. I just sat there, staring at my phone, feeling like I had been ripped out of my own life and placed into someone else’s nightmare.

It felt surreal, like I was floating outside of my body, watching myself go through this moment.

I kept thinking:

This can’t be happening.

Did they mix up my results?

What did I do wrong?

My mind raced, trying to piece together every decision I had made in the past year. I had been careful, I thought. I had always been cautious. And yet, here I was.

The numbness set in almost immediately. For days, I moved through life in a fog. Conversations felt distant. Food tasted bland. I couldn’t focus on anything because my mind kept circling back to one terrifying thought: What does this mean for my future?

And then, the fear crept in. Not just the fear of the virus itself, but of everything else—relationships, friendships, work, my dreams. Would I ever feel normal again? Would people see me differently? Would I ever be loved the same way?

I felt like my life had split into two parts—before and after. And I didn’t know how to move forward.

What Helped You the Most in Coping with the Initial Shock of the News?

At first, I didn’t cope—I avoided. I buried myself in work, hoping that if I kept myself busy enough, I wouldn’t have to think about what was happening.

At the time, I was working three different positions at my job. It was exhausting, but it gave me something to focus on other than the thoughts racing through my head. I kept my schedule packed, pushing through shifts, coming home, and crashing, only to do it all over again the next day. I convinced myself that if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t have time to spiral.

But avoidance is only temporary. It doesn’t make the reality go away.

My therapist was the one who finally made me stop. She saw right through me. She told me I needed time—to process, to grieve, to sit with my emotions instead of running from them. She ordered me to take time off from work, to stop numbing myself with exhaustion and allow myself to actually feel what I needed to feel.

That’s when I turned to the internet, searching for something—answers, comfort, proof that I wasn’t alone. I found forums, pages, and communities filled with people, especially women, who were living with HIV and thriving. Seeing their stories, reading their experiences, realizing that they were still building beautiful lives—it helped more than I can explain.

It reminded me that this wasn’t the end of my life. That I could still have love, happiness, and a future.

How Has Your Perspective on Life Changed Since Your Diagnosis?

Before my diagnosis, I thought I had control over my life. I believed that by making the right choices, staying out of trouble, and being cautious, I could avoid life-altering situations. I thought I was careful enough, that things like this happened to other people—not me.

But life doesn’t work like that.

Getting diagnosed with HIV completely shattered that belief. It made me realize how fragile our sense of control really is. You can do everything “right” and still end up in a situation you never saw coming. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you do for a living, or how careful you think you’ve been—life has its own plans.

I learned the hard way that saying "it couldn’t be me" is the biggest lie we tell ourselves. Because it can be you. It can be any of us.

It forced me to see life differently. To stop living with the illusion that I was exempt from hardship just because I followed the rules. To understand that unexpected things happen to everyone, and what matters most isn’t avoiding them, but how you choose to move forward when they do.\

What Role Has Your Family Played in Your Journey? How Did They React When You Told Them?

Had I not been out of town with my close friend when I initially received my diagnosis, my mother would’ve been the first to know. 

She was actually the second person I told—and in a twist of irony, she used to work at a clinic that specializes in HIV care. Of all people, she would understand.

I didn’t know how to say it. I was still struggling to even process it myself. But when I finally told her, she didn’t panic. She didn’t judge me. She comforted me, let me cry, and reminded me that I wasn’t alone. I needed that. Sometimes, you just need to let yourself break down, and having her there to catch me when I did made all the difference.

She didn’t just stop at comforting me. She connected me with one of her cousins who also has HIV. I didn’t even know she existed before then, but suddenly, I had someone to talk to—someone who truly understood what I was going through. I asked questions, she gave advice, and over time, I even became friends with her daughter, who’s my age.

Other than my mom, only my stepfather and one of my sisters know. Not because I don’t trust the rest of my family, but because, at the time, we were all living together, and I felt like they needed to know. I just didn’t have the strength to tell them myself, so I let my mom do it for me.

They reacted the way I wish everyone would—with love. They reassured me, made sure I was okay, and since then, it’s barely been mentioned. Not because it’s ignored, but because they don’t see me any differently. And honestly, that’s the biggest gift they could’ve given me.

My mom even helped me find the infectious disease specialist I see now—the same doctor she used to work with. And he’s amazing.

You Mentioned Feeling Conflicted About Dating and Relationships—How Have Those Feelings Evolved Over Time?

Dating after my diagnosis was terrifying. At first, I didn’t even know if I wanted to try.

The fear wasn’t just about rejection—it was about everything. How do I even start? How do I bring it up? What if I meet someone I really like and they run the moment they find out?

I gave it a shot. I tried Positive Singles, a dating platform for people living with STIs, including HIV. I met some cool people, but I also met some weird ones. Some ran the moment they found out about my status. Others, I ran from—mostly because I was scared. Scared of getting too close. Scared of putting myself out there just to get hurt. I wasn't ready, and deep down, I knew it.

But then, something unexpected happened.

I met someone—not through a dating app, but through gaming.

We had been playing together online for a while, just casual banter between matches. Then we started talking more, laughing more, sharing bits and pieces of our lives. I found out he didn’t live too far from me, and eventually, our conversations started to shift. He became interested in me—not just as a gaming buddy, but as something more.

The moment I realized that, I didn’t hesitate. I told him about my status right away. I figured, if he was going to walk away, better now than later.

But he didn’t.

He asked questions, wanted to understand. He listened. He wasn’t scared of me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I didn’t have to be scared either.

That conversation led to more. We started talking about what it would mean if we pursued something romantic. Then, we finally met in person—at an anime festival, of all places. It was perfect. We clicked immediately, and before I knew it, we were kissing.

Since then, everything has just felt right. We’ve met each other’s families, and they both welcomed us with open arms. His family likes me. My family adores him. He even has his own little nickname in my family, which is honestly the cutest thing.

But beyond all of that, he makes me feel safe.

For two years, I struggled with the thought that I wasn’t worthy of intimacy. That my body wasn’t something anyone would ever want again. That even if I found someone who accepted my status, it wouldn’t feel the same.

But with him, it does. For the first time in a long time, I feel wanted. I feel cherished.

How Do You Approach Disclosing Your Status to Potential Partners?

Disclosing is… weird. There’s no perfect way to do it.

On dating apps like Positive Singles, it was easy—everyone already knew what they were signing up for. My status was out in the open, no awkward conversations needed. But in the real world? That’s a different story.

With my current love interest, I told him right away—before we even met in person. At the time, I wasn’t expecting much from our friendship, so I didn’t overthink it. I just put it out there, assuming he’d either accept it or move on. And honestly? That made it easier. I wasn’t scared of losing him, because I wasn’t emotionally invested yet.

But that’s not always the case.

The hardest part about disclosing isn’t saying it—it’s waiting for their reaction.

The second those words leave your mouth, you feel like the whole world freezes. You’re watching their face, their body language, bracing yourself for whatever comes next. Are they going to flinch? Will they look at you differently? Will they start searching for an excuse to leave?

It’s not just about rejection—it’s about their knowledge, or lack of it. Because the truth is, most people still don’t understand HIV. They think it’s something it’s not. They don’t know about U=U (Undetectable = Untransmittable) or that someone with a controlled viral load can’t transmit the virus. They don’t know that people with HIV live long, healthy lives just like anyone else.

That’s the real hesitation.

Not the words themselves, but the fear of what happens next.

What Advice Would You Give to Someone Newly Diagnosed and Struggling with Stigma?

To the newly diagnosed babes—fear not.

I know it’s scary. I know it feels like your whole world just flipped upside down. But trust me when I say, you are going to be okay.

The hardest part? Wrapping your head around the fact that you’ll have to take medication for the rest of your life. But guess what? So do millions of people with other chronic conditions. Diabetes, high blood pressure, thyroid disorders—people take daily meds all the time, and no one bats an eye. So don’t let that part shake you.

The sooner you start treatment, the sooner you reach undetectable status, and once you’re undetectable, you can live just as freely as anyone else. U=U (Undetectable = Untransmittable) means you can’t pass the virus to your partner. You’re not a risk to anyone. You’re healthier than some people who have never even been tested.

And speaking of testing—let me remind you that a lot of the people judging haven’t been tested in forever. Some of them probably don’t even know their own status. So don’t let the stigma get to you.

There are also resources out there to help. Programs like Ryan White exist to make sure you can afford medical care, no matter your financial situation. If money is a concern, don’t be afraid to look into what’s available—because trust me, there’s help.

Most importantly—don’t let this diagnosis define you.

Yes, there are limitations, but there’s also so much life still left to live. Take some time to process, to heal, to learn about yourself. But don’t let this stop you from enjoying what the world has to offer.

How Do You Balance Self-Care and Managing Your Mental Health Alongside Your Treatment?

My motto has always been simple: be comfortable.

That doesn’t mean staying in a bubble and never pushing myself—I’ve learned that sometimes stepping outside my comfort zone is necessary. But at the end of the day, I try to make sure that whatever I do, I feel good doing it.

Self-care looks different for everyone, but for me, it’s gaming, good food, and rest.

There’s something about Fortnite and The Sims that just lets me escape for a while. I can zone out, have fun, and forget about whatever stress is weighing on me. Add a good meal and a drink to the mix? That’s my definition of unwinding.

When it comes to my medication, I’ve made it part of my routine, so it never feels like a burden. I take Odefsey, and I’ve learned that organization is key.

I set up a weekly pill organizer so I never have to second-guess whether I took my dose. And if you’re an iPhone user, I highly recommend using the Medication Tracker in the Health app. It reminds me to take my meds at the same time every day and keeps me accountable.

Eventually, taking medication just becomes second nature. You don’t even think about it—it’s just something you do, like brushing your teeth or charging your phone at night. It’s part of life, but it doesn’t have to control life.

You Talked About Enjoying Solitude but Also Craving Connection—How Do You Navigate That Balance?

I’ve always been a loner. My circle has always been small, and I liked it that way.

But even as someone who prefers solitude, there’s this undeniable need for connection—a feeling that, no matter how much I enjoy my own space, I still want to share pieces of my life with someone. I didn’t always know what kind of connection I was looking for. I just knew I wanted something.

For a while, I struggled with it. I’d let people in, then push them away. I’d get close, then feel suffocated and retreat back into my solitude. I thought maybe I just wasn’t built for relationships. Maybe I was meant to be on my own.

But I’ve learned that rushing into connections never works. It always leaves me feeling empty, like I forced something that wasn’t meant for me. So instead of chasing, I waited. I let time do the work. I let the right person find me when it was meant to happen.

And now, I feel like I finally have that connection.

It wasn’t something I searched for—it was something that naturally formed. And what’s beautiful about it is that I don’t feel like I have to give up my solitude to have it. I can be myself while also sharing my life with someone who understands and values me.

For the first time, I don’t feel like I have to choose between being alone and being loved. I can have both.

What’s One Thing You Wish People Better Understood About Living with HIV?

We are not dirty.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen or heard people talk about HIV like it’s some kind of punishment, like those of us who have it are reckless or irresponsible. That’s not the reality.

Most of us didn’t get HIV because we were careless. Many of us got it because someone we trusted didn’t know their status—not because we were out here intentionally putting ourselves at risk.

What people fail to understand is that treatment has changed everything.

We take our medication. We manage our health. We reach undetectable status, which means we can’t transmit the virus to anyone else—even through unprotected sex. U=U (Undetectable = Untransmittable) is a fact. But there’s still so much misinformation out there.

People assume HIV means we’re sick all the time, or that we’re some kind of danger to others. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. We live normal lives. We work, we date, we have families. Unless we tell you, you wouldn’t even know.

If anything, those of us with HIV are often safer partners than people who have never been tested—because we know our status, we’re on top of our health, and we’re taking the steps to protect ourselves and others.

The world has come so far in HIV treatment and prevention, yet stigma still lingers. That’s why I always tell people: get tested, stay educated, and stop making assumptions.

If You Could Give Your Younger Self Advice Before Your Diagnosis, What Would You Say?

Put yourself first.

I would tell my younger self to stop bending for people who wouldn’t do the same for me. To enforce boundaries without guilt. To stop worrying about making others comfortable at the cost of my own peace.

I would remind her that it’s okay to let go of things, people, and situations that no longer serve her. That walking away isn’t weakness—it’s self-respect.

Most of all, I’d tell her that life is bigger than whatever moment she’s stuck in right now. That whatever feels like the end of the world today won’t even matter in the grand scheme of things.

"Just wait."

Because everything she’s worrying about now? It’s going to pass. And what’s waiting for her on the other side is so much more than she ever could have imagined.

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