“This is my Aunt Janet and she’s divorced,” my niece Stevie shared as I attempted to sit down at her first grade school dinner. Red with embarrassment, I then looked down in horror at the children’s table we were expected to sit at which was about a foot off the ground. My knees groaned, snapped and popped as I dropped down into my tiny chair. Gamely, I looked up into the eyes of a beautiful southern lady who introduced herself as Amy who was also divorced. Laughing, I mentioned in addition to a failed marriage, I had rheumatoid arthritis (RA) and that it was doubtful I was ever getting out of the chair without help. Being prepared for awkward situations related to losses, functions and abilities due to RA, it came as a somewhat humorous experience to realize I am just a regular person with shared experiences after all. RA doesn’t have to define us.