The Silent Battle: Living with Chronic Illness in a World That Needs more Compassion

Imagine this: A woman, frail and exhausted, sinking into the worn out muscles in her body. The weight of chronic illness has been her constant companion for over a decade. Dark circles haunt her face, her body aches with an unbearable fatigue and inflammation, and the simple act of breathing feels like a marathon. A restless toddler plays at her feet, unaware of the invisible war his mother fights every single day.

Across the room, an older man, perhaps a father-in-law, crosses his arms. His words land like a slap — “You don’t have the right to be sick.”

It’s not the first time she’s heard it. Those who’ve never faced the relentless grip of chronic illness often dismiss the suffering they can’t see. They confuse perseverance with exaggeration. They mistake resilience for weakness. And even when the hospital doors swing open once again, they shake their heads, unwilling to understand.

A Life Defined by Pain

For those with Lyme disease, chronic mononucleosis, or countless other invisible illnesses, the battle isn’t just physical — it’s emotional. Every attempt to explain the crushing fatigue, the stabbing joint pain, the dizziness that steals your balance, is often met with disbelief.

Doctors may shrug, labeling symptoms as chronic and really nothing they can do to help the incurable. People may grow distant, unable to comprehend why you’ve canceled plans yet again. Family members, steeped in the belief that “pushing through” solves everything, offer well-meaning but dismissive advice:

• “It’ll go away.”

• “You cant be sick, you have too many responsibilities”

• “Have you tried steriods?”

• “You don’t look that sick.”

But chronic illness doesn’t care about appearances. The bravest smile can’t conceal the body’s rebellion. And no amount of determination can undo years of damage from infections that linger, autoimmune flares, or neurological pain that no medication can touch.

Begging for Compassion

When the body gives out, there’s nowhere to hide. Trips to the hospital become routine. Blood draws, scans, and invasive procedures mark the calendar like grim appointments. Yet, even then, the pleas for understanding are often drowned out by judgment.

For the older generation, raised in a time where empathy can be a foreign concept. Chronic illness isn’t something that can be “pushed through” like a bad cold or a stressful week at work. It demands acknowledgment — and that’s terrifying for those who believe weakness is a choice.

But what if we shifted the narrative? What if instead of questioning the validity of someone’s pain, we simply believed them and helped?

A Call for Change

The world needs more than awareness — it needs action. Compassion doesn’t require understanding every medical diagnosis; it requires recognizing the humanity of those who suffer. It’s choosing to listen instead of judge. It’s showing up when a friend says they’re too tired to move. It’s validating the pain that can’t be seen.

Chronic illness warriors are not weak. They are some of the strongest people you will ever meet. They endure not just the agony of their symptoms but the crushing weight of isolation and misunderstanding. And still, they fight — for their families, their dreams, and the hope of a better tomorrow.

So, the next time someone tells you they’re struggling, resist the urge to compare their experience to your own. Instead, offer them what the world so often withholds: empathy. A simple “I’m here to help you” can be the most healing medicine of all.

The incurable deserve compassion. The exhausted deserve understanding. And the woman on the couch, with her aching body and her desperate eyes, deserves to know she’s not alone.

Let’s change the narrative. Let’s be better. For her. For all of them.

When the World Turns Away: Living Through the Worst Flare in Years

It’s been over three years since I’ve faced a flare this brutal. And this time, the weight of it has nearly crushed me.

But I’m not the only one suffering.

My husband has been here, scared and overwhelmed, trying to hold down the fort while I fight for my life. He’s working full-time, taking care of our one-year-old, and doing everything in his power to keep our world from falling apart. He watches helplessly as I shake from symptoms too unbearable to even mention sometimes. He rubs my back, wipes away my tears, and whispers, “I’m here, baby.”

But everyone else forgot to help. Lost in their own sagas and egos, the whispering pleas for help fell on deaf ears.

No one to offer a moment of respite. No one to say, “Let me watch the baby for a while” or “I’ll drop off dinner.” It’s just us. And while he tries to be strong, I see the fear in his eyes — the heartbreak of knowing he can’t take this pain away.

Since Mars went into retrograde in December 2024, it’s like the universe decided to test every ounce of strength I have. I’ve had panic attacks that stole the breath from my lungs. I’ve screamed into pillows, sobbed on the bathroom floor, and begged for relief that never came. I’ve pleaded with the universe and anyone willing to listen — please, I need help.

But still, no relief arrived.

And through it all, I tried to act like I was okay. Chronic illness teaches you to mask your pain. People think if you can sip a green juice or attempt a few minutes of yoga, you must be fine. They assume if you’re not constantly talking about your illness, it must not be that bad. But the truth is, I stopped talking about it because trying to explain the horror of chronic illness is useless to those who will never understand. Staying silent became easier than facing their ignorance. Plus it has become part of my vernacular and manifestation practice to not put energy into words and feelings of debilitating symptoms in trying to describe something I never want to experience in the first place.

And now? Unfortunately, we’re at the peak of a flare that won’t subside, and the crushing responsibility of caring for a toddler doesn’t pause just because the symptoms roar. Every diaper change feels like lifting a boulder. Every movement wincing in pain. Every cry shatters the fragile thread I’m clinging to.

it’s unfair for others (who have been blessed with health most of their lives) to have this twisted belief that you don’t have the right to be sick if you’re a parent, a spouse, or someone with responsibilities. That somehow, its in your control and because there are people who depend on you, you’re not allowed to fall apart. “You’ll be fine soon,” they say. “You have too much to do.”

But I’m not fine. And pretending otherwise doesn’t make the symptoms disappear.

No one should have to scream for help and be met with silence. No husband should have to watch the person he loves waste away without anyone stepping in to offer relief. No mother should have to choose between her own survival and the care of her child.

Chronic illness is a thief. It steals your strength, your independence, your sense of safety. But what makes it unbearable is the isolation. And the truth is, the strongest people are often the ones suffering in silence.

If you know someone living with chronic illness, please — check in on them. Offer help without waiting to be asked. Bring a meal. Hold their hand. Help them. Because no one deserves to fight this battle alone.

And to my husband — I see you. I see the way you carry the weight of this family when I can’t. I see your strength, your tenderness, and your unwavering love. Thank you for being my anchor when the storm refuses to pass. You are my lifesaver on these treacherous seas and im beyond thankful for you and your love.

Remember to always 🐝 kind.. and be grateful for every day you rise feeling well.

Link to Bitch Your Aura is Calling 📕

Sending love & light 🙏✨