How Asthma Made Me Who I Am Today

I don’t remember a moment when I suddenly realized asthma was shaping my life. It just did.

Early lessons in perspective

My mom tells me that even before I had any memory of it, I used to stand in the front seat of the car breathing loudly. Not because I wanted attention, but because if I stood in the back with my brother, my breathing annoyed him. Seatbelts were optional back then; apparently, loud breathing wasn’t.

So, asthma was already giving me special positioning—a special awareness—before I had words for it. It was shaping my sense of self long before I understood what the condition even was.

Finding direction through limitation

When my dad later told me I wouldn’t be able to work in a factory or at the family car lot because of fumes, it didn’t feel unfair. I didn’t grieve it. I didn’t think, "Why me?" I just understood. The experience of living with asthma was part of who I was. It always had been.

In fact, I was sort of excited. College meant a different path—a different life. Based on my health, I was already different, so this just felt like the natural next step. There was never a "woe is me" phase. That mindset never crossed my mind. Asthma and my identity were intertwined; it wasn’t something that happened to me. Asthma was just… me.

The gift of solitude

While my dad and brothers were outside cutting, hauling, and stacking wood, I was usually inside—often in my room, reading a lot.

Having asthma pushed me inward, and I took advantage of that time. I educated myself. I wrote constantly. I kept journals. My grandma encouraged me to keep a diary, and I enjoyed it. Writing gave me a place to think, to reflect, and to make sense of things. Looking back, that quiet time spent navigating my world with asthma mattered more than I realized.

Discovering a professional voice

That’s why I chose journalism. I loved to write. I wanted to be a published author. I dreamed big—Stephen King big. (Okay, that part didn’t quite happen.) But look at me now. I did become a published writer, just not the way I imagined.

Journalism school taught me to write well, but I wasn’t an extrovert and wasn’t especially self-motivated. Traditional journalism wasn’t the right fit. I wanted to be a columnist, but I was told that privilege came only after years of grinding it out as a reporter. Turns out, they were wrong.

In 2007, I started a blog—right as blogging was taking off. I wrote about the reality of asthma. Not to vent—never to vent. I wrote to teach, to connect, and to speak honestly about living with it. I met people who lived with the disease the way I did. I felt like I had found my voice—my niche. I wanted people new to the diagnosis to know that yes, life changes—but you can still live well.

When Asthma.net later asked me to write, it felt surreal. Writing had always been the dream. And here I was, doing it—not as a bestselling novelist, but in a way that felt just as meaningful, maybe even more so. This felt like my version of a kid’s dream job as an adult.

Empathy and the respiratory connection

My history with asthma also led me to respiratory therapy. My dad once told me I’d make a good respiratory therapist because I’d understand what it feels like to be short of breath. He was right.

I remember a COPD patient once saying, “None of you understand.” And the nurse replied, “John does.” That moment led to conversations and then to friendship. That empathy—the ability to make someone feel seen and understood—is the greatest joy of my job. My personal asthma journey allows me to connect with patients on a level others cannot.

For a long time, I asked God for things: help me get this job, help me succeed, and I’ll spread the word. And one day, the answer felt clear: "John, you’re already doing it." That’s when I realized my purpose wasn’t something I was chasing. It was something I was already living—connecting with patients, empathizing, and helping them feel human again.

A life defined by gratitude

So, has asthma hurt me more than it’s helped me? No. It helped me.

It helped me mature early. It forced me inward and made me reflective. It made me read, write, think, dream, and look backward as a kind of historian. It made me empathetic. It led me to college, to respiratory therapy, to blogging, and ultimately to this unexpected and meaningful role writing for the asthma community.

At 56, living a relatively normal life, I can say this without hesitation: asthma made me who I am today.

Asthma helped shape my identity

I don’t love this disease. I never will. But I believe God gave it to me because He wanted me to be different—in a good way. Today, even with severe asthma, it is well controlled. I feel normal. I feel blessed.

And while I don’t love the condition, I’m okay with it now. Not because of asthma itself, but because it can be controlled and treated. Because of that, I can live a normal life. And along the way, it led me to the hospital, to respiratory therapy, and ultimately to this community—where stories are shared, understanding is built, and no one has to feel alone. It made me what—and who—I am today.