When you encounter me, I appear composed. My makeup is neatly applied, and my hair is styled. Over time, I’ve mastered the art of looking presentable with minimal effort. I’ve picked up various strategies to blend in, even though I grapple with a chronic illness. I may smile through my pain or sit quietly while my body protests. I do this to fit in, to feel a semblance of normalcy, and to spare others the discomfort of addressing an illness they might not understand. It’s an effort to occasionally project an image of health.
You haven’t witnessed my most difficult days because I intentionally keep them hidden. My close friends, like my husband and my sister, are privy to these moments, but the nature of my illness often compels me to retreat. On particularly challenging flare-up days, the last thing I want is to be outside my safe haven, pretending to be fine. So, I remain at home, surrounded by familiar walls.
There are only a few places I can muster the energy to visit on bad days, and even fewer on truly awful ones. These are places where I feel completely secure, where I don’t need to explain myself. This isn’t due to shame about my condition; rather, I seek solace when I’m at my most vulnerable. However, this choice can lead to misconceptions about the severity of my illness.
You might never see me lose consciousness, but that doesn’t negate its occurrence. You likely haven’t witnessed me struggle to breathe after a simple shower, yet that is part of my reality. My hands may tremble, and my face may pale as I gasp for air just from standing up. You’re unaware of these struggles because I hide away on those days. But trust me, they are very real.
I share this perspective because it’s easy to judge a person’s health based solely on appearances. When you see me, you might wonder why I can’t hold down a regular job or question my passion for writing about chronic illness. You may think I exaggerate for sympathy, but what you see in a fleeting moment doesn’t represent my daily reality.
I strive for a sense of normalcy because I dislike being pitied; I don’t want my illness to dominate conversations. I write to shed light on the hidden aspects of this experience, hoping to foster understanding not just for myself but for others who share similar struggles. I want to encourage thoughtful consideration before making assumptions based on surface impressions.
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In summary, it’s important to recognize that what you see is only a fraction of the whole picture. Chronic illness can be a hidden battle, one that many face behind closed doors.