I’m writing my final reflection a bit late. Interning at LHA brought up many questions about what my role is within my community now that I am bedbound. Previously, I felt that my role was to be an educator. I still do. But now, on some days, I struggle to get a few sentences out. I am in a constant state of receiving from others. In experiencing this dramatic shift—and so easily, too—I feel like I am trapped in my body as an archive. It feels like I am trapped in an autoethnography that I can’t get to end. As if I could never move on from the first summer. The way my illness stopped me from educating my community in the way I intended is exactly why prevention of this chronic illness, long covid, is necessary to our movements. And it is exactly why disability justice work cannot be solely expected of disabled people. The work cannot always be done by those who need its fruits the most. And the work does not only serve those who need it most. I understood that when I initiated and planned this project as an ablebodied person. I hope that one day I can share the stories, including my own, in the way I intended. For now, I have been humbled by my limited body and the kindness of those affected by it at the LHA. I am grateful for their care and I am dedicated to giving it back.