When You Look Fine But Don’t Feel Fine

I’m writing this post from my bed, in pain, because I couldn’t get up this morning. My body needed rest, but my mind needed purpose—so I decided to do something with my pain and put it into words. Living with chronic illness often means moving through life carrying an invisible weight. For me, the pain began as early as I can remember. But the medical tests and scans didn’t start until my body began to show outward signs—like bulging eyes, no menstrual cycle, constant stomach problems, and an inability to grow or gain weight.

At age 12, I was diagnosed with Graves’ disease. That diagnosis opened the floodgates. Over the years, others followed: rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), and scoliosis.

Some days I felt like I had all the energy in the world. Other days, I was so exhausted I could barely move. The cycle was endless. I would overdo it when I felt good, trying to catch up on everything I couldn’t do before—and then crash hard, caught in a flare that left me in pain, frustrated, and drained.

People couldn’t see what I was going through, so I was labeled dramatic or attention-seeking. I was constantly invalidated, told I was fine, or that it was “all in my head.” Eventually, I learned to stop talking about it altogether—even when I was in excruciating pain.

At 14, I Was Told I Might Never Be Able to Have Children

One of the moments that changed everything was when a doctor told me at age 14 that I might never be able to have children. I was still a child myself. I didn’t even know yet if I wanted kids—but I remember how much that broke me. It made me feel like I was less of a girl, less whole, and destined to be alone. I believed it made me unlovable. I didn’t want to let anyone into my life who might have to carry that burden with me.

That belief stuck for a long time.

When Religion Becomes a Response to Pain

Coming from a spiritual background, I was often told, “This is just a test from God.” And while my faith is still a vital part of my life, I’ve learned this truth: being told it’s a test doesn’t take the pain away.

When you feel like you’re dying inside and no one believes you, hearing that it’s a spiritual trial can feel more like dismissal than comfort. Gratitude wasn’t possible back then. I was simply trying to survive.

But now—after years of learning, healing, and unlearning—I do feel gratitude. Deeply. And it’s because I’ve found ways to take care of myself and surround myself with people who do, too.

Why I Focus on Holistic Healing

My healing hasn’t come from one moment or one medication. It’s been an ongoing, evolving process. It came from learning how to listen to my body, how to track my flare-ups, how to regulate my nervous system, and how to truly rest when I need to. I no longer wait for the pain to force me to stop. I’ve learned how to prevent the crash.

Growing up, flare-ups were constant. Now, they mostly show up when something is off—when I push too hard or neglect my body’s cues. I’ve come to know my body intimately, and I honor it more than I ever did before.

This is why holistic health is such a big part of how I work as a therapist. Because real healing means looking at the full picture—physical, emotional, mental, spiritual. I’ve had to walk this road myself, and I continue to walk it with intention every day.

The Power of Connection and Shared Understanding

One of the most healing friendships in my life has been with my neighbor, who lives with Sickle Cell Disease. We first bonded over our illnesses—but more than that, we bonded over how we’ve both chosen to live: with positivity, compassion, and a solution-focused mindset.

We’re the kind of people who smile through pain, spread kindness, and offer support without needing to be asked. Sometimes she shows up at my door and surprises me with an iced matcha or a gluten-free treat from my favorite bakery—and I do the same for her. It’s a reminder that even when we’re hurting, we’re not alone.

Recently, she shared with me that doctors once told her she wouldn’t live to adulthood. But she didn’t just survive—she built a meaningful career raising awareness and advocacy for Sickle Cell. And now, she’s a mother of two healthy and beautiful children.

When I told her about what I was told at 14, she didn’t just listen—she understood. Her story helped me begin to rewrite the one I’ve carried in silence. It reminded me that doctors can speak to our biology, but they cannot predict our spirit. Even now, I’m not sure if I want children—but hearing her story made me realize that it could be my decision, not something decided for me. For the first time, it felt like I had a choice—not just a fear. And that shift changed something in me. It gave me back a sense of agency I didn’t even know I’d lost.

How to Show Up for Someone Living with Chronic Illness

You don’t need to fully understand someone’s illness to be a meaningful part of their support system. Sometimes, it’s the smallest, most consistent acts of care that make the biggest difference.

Many of us living with chronic illness don’t ask for help—not because we don’t need it, but because we already feel like a burden. We’re used to hearing “you don’t look sick” or being told we’re too sensitive, too dramatic, too much. So we learn to carry it quietly. Your willingness to show up anyway—without being asked—can mean the world.

Here are a few ways to offer support:

• Check in—without pressure.
  A simple “Thinking of you” or “No need to respond, just here if you need anything” text reminds us we’re not forgotten, even when we’re too exhausted to talk.
• Offer specific help.
  Instead of “Let me know if you need anything,” try:
  
• “Can I drop off a meal this week?”
• “Want me to grab anything while I’m out?”
• “Would it help if I came by for 10 minutes just to keep you company?”
• Respect our limits without making us feel guilty.
  We may cancel plans last-minute or go quiet without warning. It’s not personal—it’s survival. Let us know our pace is okay.
• Celebrate the small things.
  Sometimes just getting out of bed, showering, or showing up to work is a victory. Recognize and honor those wins with us.
• Learn about our illness.
  Taking the time to understand even the basics of what we’re dealing with shows care and effort. It tells us you’re trying to understand our world.
• Bring joy.
  Surprising someone with their favorite coffee, snack, or a heartfelt note can make a huge difference—especially on a flare-up day.
• Just be present.
  You don’t need to fix anything. Just being there—listening, validating, sitting in silence—is enough. Your presence says, “You’re not alone in this.”

Supporting Yourself Through Chronic Pain

Living with chronic pain can feel like trying to plan your life around something unpredictable and invisible. While every body is different, here are some supportive practices that have helped me and many others manage flare-ups and regain a sense of control:

• Track your patterns.
  Notice when flare-ups tend to occur—after certain foods, stress, weather shifts, or sleep changes. Keeping a pain journal or using a tracking app can help you anticipate and respond sooner.
• Honor your pacing.
  Just because you can push through doesn’t mean you should. Think of your energy like a battery—some days you’ll have more charge than others. Use that energy intentionally, not all at once.
• Rest before you crash.
  Rest isn’t just recovery—it’s prevention. Build breaks into your day, even when you feel “fine,” to avoid the boom-and-bust cycle.
• Learn your warning signs.
  Get familiar with the early whispers your body gives you—tension, brain fog, irritability, fatigue. These are signals, not inconveniences.
• Build a toolbox of comfort.
  Think heating pads, gentle stretches, grounding techniques, guided meditations, or herbal teas. Having options on hand makes it easier to care for yourself during a flare.
• Move in ways that feel good.
  Movement doesn’t have to be intense to be therapeutic. Gentle yoga, walking, or mobility exercises can support circulation and reduce stiffness—when your body is up for it.
• Speak kindly to yourself.
  Pain often comes with guilt, shame, or pressure to "tough it out." Remind yourself: “I’m doing the best I can in this moment. That is enough.”
• Lean into support.
  You don’t have to do this alone. Whether it’s a friend, therapist, partner, or support group—connection softens what pain often isolates.

You Don’t Have to Prove Your Pain to Be Deserving of Care

To anyone living with chronic illness:
You’re not imagining it. You’re not too much. You are not unworthy.
You are navigating something incredibly difficult—and still showing up.

That is strength.

I Never Thought I’d Make It This Far—But I Did

There were so many moments when I didn’t think I’d make it—not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t imagine a life beyond the pain, the doubt, and the exhaustion. And yet, here I am.

I’ve come further than I ever thought possible. Not because everything is perfect, but because I’ve learned how to live in my body with compassion. I’ve learned how to honor its needs, listen to its signals, and support it with the right care, people, and perspective.

I’m still healing. I always will be. But I’m no longer surviving—I’m choosing, creating, and becoming. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

If you’re reading this and quietly carrying something similar: I see you. And I hope you know it’s okay to take up space, ask for help, and believe in a future that feels good in your body. You deserve that. We all do.

Disclaimer: This blog post reflects my personal experiences and insights as both a therapist and someone living with chronic illness. It is not intended to provide medical advice or replace professional medical care. Please consult a licensed healthcare provider for any medical concerns or treatment decisions.