Living with a husband who has chronic illness for a season

Celeste G.

My husband was chronically ill off and on for a couple of years, during which time he wasn’t really able to work or do much to help support our family of 6 at the time. This put a lot of strain on me because I was trying to juggle homeschooling our kids, working part time, and taking care of our home mostly by myself. I felt so alone during that time even though I had 5 other people around me everyday. I was stressed, exhausted, and overwhelmed. My husband unfortunately became depressed during this time because he wanted to be there for us more, but when he would try it would just end up making his symptoms worse and sending him back to bed for the day. He was seeking answers from doctors, who suggested all kinds of things including allergy shots, diet changes, exercise routines, medications, etc but nothing was really helping. I had to deal with my own somewhat irrational anger at my husband because while I knew he was doing everything he could to get better, I was left with so much responsibility. I even had a hard time accepting that he was really sick at times because the symptoms weren’t always easy to see on the surface, and unfortunately my father had little understanding and would tell him to do things like “just go for a run”. Thankfully, I was able to find some ways to take things off my plate like sending my kids to public school, and my husband slowly found his way back to health through emotional work as well as physical solutions.

Surviving and coping with fibromyalgia

Adley H.

Living with fibromyalgia means waking up every day in a body that doesn’t always feel like it’s on your side. It’s pain that moves and lingers, exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, and a constant fight to be believed in a world that doesn’t understand invisible illness. Some days, even the smallest tasks feel monumental. Other days, I grieve the life I thought I’d have before chronic illness changed everything. For me, fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma, stress, and nervous system dysregulation. My body has carried years of survival, and now it speaks through widespread pain, fatigue, and sensory overwhelm. I’ve spent years learning how to listen to it instead of fight it. That hasn’t been easy. There’s been guilt, frustration, isolation, and fear—but also resilience, self-compassion, and an ongoing process of redefining what strength looks like. I know what it’s like to feel dismissed by doctors, misunderstood by friends, and judged by a culture that values productivity over rest. I know how hard it is to advocate for yourself when you’re already so tired. And I know how powerful it can be to talk to someone who gets it—not because they read about it, but because they live it too.

Living with mental and/or physical health challenges at a "young" age

Ambika M.

Everyone said certain health challenges that started in graduate school would go away once I left the stressful environment. But they were here to stay. While peers spend their vacation leave and money on trips, I spend my sick leave and funds on doctor's appointments and interventions - all while managing conditions and treatments discreetly for co-occurring conditions. If you struggle with sleep, pain, anxiety, or GI issues - as well as as "gymtimidation," or having to choose sneakers over cute heels - I'm here for you.

Burnout because you’re not lazy

Christine D.

I used to think burnout meant being tired. Like maybe I just needed a nap, a weekend off, or a better planner. But burnout isn’t just exhaustion, it’s a kind of soul-weariness. It’s waking up and feeling like your tank is on Empty, even after a full night’s sleep. It’s dreading your to-do list, feeling numb to things you used to care about, and quietly wondering if something is wrong with you because you just can’t anymore. For me, burnout came after years of trying to be the reliable one. The hard worker. The person who didn’t complain, who pushed through. I ignored the signs: the brain fog, the irritability, the constant fatigue, the Sunday dread. I thought rest was something you earned, not something you deserved just for being human. Eventually, my body and my spirit forced me to slow down. And in that stillness, I realized how much I had been running on fear—fear of being replaceable, of not doing enough, of letting people down. Burnout made me rethink everything: how I work, who I do it for, and what I need to feel okay. If you’re feeling depleted, disconnected, or just done—you’re not weak. You’re not failing. You’re probably burnt out. And you deserve space to talk about it.

Rebuilding your life after divorce tied to health struggles

Debra H.

I got married at 20, and by 21 I was pregnant and facing devastating news: I had a rare vascular disease, and carrying a child could kill me. I had to make the painful decision to have a total hysterectomy, and not long after, my husband left. He couldn’t handle my health issues, and I was left grieving the loss of both a relationship and the future I had imagined. I’ve had over 55 surgeries in my life, and that period was one of the lowest. But I wasn’t done. I started my own transportation business—before Uber even existed—and threw myself into peer support work, helping others find their way through the dark. I’ve also lived through sexual assault, family mental illness, and the loss of a child, and I still continue my own therapy. My life hasn’t been easy, but I’ve rebuilt it on my own terms. If you’re feeling broken or abandoned because of something you never asked for, I’d love to talk.

Navigating chronic illness with resilience, self-advocacy, and hope

Holley B.

Living with over 25+ years of TWO invisible chronic illnesses has been a test of both my body and my mental health and spirit. For years, I felt dismissed and gaslit by doctors, misunderstood by those around me, and unheard in a world that often overlooks the complexity of invisible illness. My symptoms were real, but the support was not — and that left me feeling isolated, defeated, and at times, hopeless. But I made a choice: I would become my own best advocate. I researched, I asked hard questions, I pushed back when I was minimized, and I refused to give up on myself. I learned to listen to my body, to speak up in medical appointments, and to build a team that believed me. Balancing these health challenges while parenting, healing from trauma, and staying sober wasn’t easy — but it taught me what true strength looks like. I’ve faced discouragement, flares, and fear. But I’ve also discovered peace through acceptance, connection, and even joy within the struggle. If you’re dealing with chronic illness and feeling unheard, burned out, or alone, I want you to know that you matter. You deserve care, compassion, and hope — and together, we can talk about how to fight for it.

Living with a chronic illness

JanMarie L.

The daily struggles of dealing with a chronic illness are exhausting! I was diagnosed at age 29 with fibromyalgia. Until I was in my late 50's, I was able to manage the pain and flare-ups with over the counter meds and self-care. In my late 50's, I had an increasing amount of pain, fatigue, headaches, relationship stress, and career struggles due to my illness. It was scary, emotionally challenging and overwhelming. I reached a point where I could not get out of bed on most days and my entire life was falling apart. I was unable to function. I lost my physical and mental health, my career and my feelings of being valuable and a contributor. I have learned how to take one day at a time and manage my energy. It took courage to be willing to pick myself up and begin to rebuild a life with my new reality. I have built a tool box that is full of helpers for my rough days. Some tools are actions, others are ways to deal with the feelings and stresses.

Finding your first steps in recovery

Jenna C.

I never imagined myself getting sober. Honestly, I had already planned out my death—I didn’t think there was any hope left. After twelve years of nonstop partying, I found myself at 29, sick and tired of being sick and tired. I wasn’t trying to get sober, not really—but something shifted. I picked up the phone and asked for help. That one small moment cracked the door open, and it saved my life. Since then, recovery has become the foundation of everything I do. It hasn’t always been easy—my journey has been shaped by trauma, mental health struggles, chronic illness, and growing up in a family deeply impacted by addiction. I understand that recovery isn’t a straight line or a one-size-fits-all process. Now, I help others find their own way through it. Whether it's meeting someone where they are, supporting someone in a violent relationship to take their first steps toward safety, or walking alongside someone questioning whether they’re ready—I've been there. I offer honest, compassionate support to anyone wondering if it’s time for a change. Sometimes, all it takes is one small sliver of hope. I’d love to help you find yours.

Balancing motherhood and health challenges

Jessica I.

Life hasn’t always been easy, and I’ve faced my share of struggles. Growing up as the second oldest of six kids, I learned early how to juggle responsibilities, including helping raise my older sister’s children in their early years. My own journey as a mom has had its challenges, too—infertility, pregnancy loss, and health issues like POTS have all shaped my path. But perhaps the most challenging experience was a serious car accident that left me feeling hopeless and overwhelmed. I struggled with suicidal thoughts before seeking therapy, and it was through that therapy that I was able to heal and rebuild my sense of purpose. As a parent, I’ve encountered many obstacles, from advocating for my son’s speech development to learning that a small but significant health issue—an ear bead that had been lodged in his ear for eight years—was affecting his hearing and development. Through patience, perseverance, and a willingness to explore natural and alternative solutions, I’ve learned how to face the obstacles in my life with resilience.

Managing chronic illness while balancing life

Katie G.

I have lived with type 2 diabetes since 2009, spending many of the years with uncontrolled diabetes. It impacted my physical health, mental health, relationships, and the way I move in the world. In 2022, I made a big decision to leave the job I had, which required a lot of travel (which I loved) to focus on my health. Since then, I have made huge strides in taking care of myself, understanding I need to put myself first and choose healthier decisions for my life.

Becoming disabled at a young age and navigating life after a disabling injury/illness or sy.

Katrina N.

I became disabled with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) after a crushing injury in a car accident in March 2010. This was before many of the recent breakthroughs in treating CRPS before it becomes chronic. It took four years for me to receive a proper diagnosis, and I still struggle with being misdiagnosed by different specialists. No matter what they call it, I continue to face many symptoms related to my disability. The worst of these is the emotional guilt I feel for not being able to do things. Eventually, I reached a point where I had to make a commitment to myself to truly live each daynot just survive. But what does that entail? It means living within my limitations while also finding ways to push those boundaries. Initially, due to people not believing me, I mistakenly thought I had to do everything on my own. I’ve learned a lot over the years, but it was a long and difficult struggle. I hope my advice can help you avoid those challenging years.

Body struggles and self-worth

Ritika D.

There was a time my body felt like a stranger—unpredictable, weak, and disconnected from the version of me I used to know. I wanted to show up in the world like I used to, but chronic fatigue and recurring health issues made even simple things feel exhausting. People would say, “But you look fine!” and I’d smile while quietly spiraling inside. It took time to learn how to befriend my body again. I started listening to it instead of fighting it. I gave myself permission to rest, to say no, and to ask for support—even when it felt uncomfortable.

Organ transplant surgery

Sarah C.

For five years—ages 18 to 23—I managed congestive heart failure. Medications, specialist appointments, lifestyle changes, exploring every option available. I told myself I would be alright, but deep down, I knew things were getting worse. My body was exhausted. I felt hopeless while struggling through the daily realities of heart failure. The idea of needing an organ transplant felt overwhelming—too big, too final, too terrifying to face. So I kept searching. I hoped things might improve with stem cell therapy. I was scared. What if the surgery failed? What if I didn’t find a donor in time? What would recovery even look like? I worried about the toll on my family, the financial weight, and the uncertainty of life after transplant. But slowly, I came to understand that waiting was its own risk. Staying in survival mode wasn’t truly living. And when things got worse, I had to be brave. I listened to the doctors. I pushed through the discomfort, the fear, the unknowns. The journey hasn’t been easy. There were setbacks, sleepless nights, and moments of deep uncertainty. But there was also clarity, connection, and incredible support. I learned to advocate for myself, to lean on others, and—slowly—to trust my body again. I found strength I didn’t know I had. And when the day finally came—the surgery, the healing, the second chance—I was terrified… but I was ready. Now, I’ve rebuilt life with new energy, deeper perspective, and lasting gratitude. If you’re facing the possibility of a transplant—or navigating the emotional weight of that decision—you are not alone. I’ve been there. Let’s talk about your journey and what healing could look like for you.

Life with a chronic illness and/or disability - the good, the bad, the complicated

Setrida N.

I have had chronic pain my entire life, though no doctors had been able to pinpoint it. Eventually I got some help managing it, but then suddenly it got much, much worse. I was diagnosed with Lyme disease and treated aggressively with antibiotics, but unfortunately much of the damage to my body was already done. After years of worsening symptoms and muddling through the healthcare system I have gained an equilibrium - a care team that is mostly steady and consistent, treatments that keep my illnesses generally under control. It took several years to diagnose me with POTS, hEDS, and focal dystonia, and that experience is hard to understand when you haven't lived it. But I am here to talk to you and support you through the grief and anger and all the other complicated feelings that come with this immense trauma.

Chronic condition management as a neurodivergent individual

Solangel J.

Managing a chronic condition isn’t just about symptoms—it’s about constantly recalibrating your life around energy, pain, mood, and unpredictability. For me, there’s no one-size-fits-all solution. Some days, I can do a lot. Other days, brushing my teeth feels like a win. And honestly? It’s taken time (and a lot of unlearning) to be okay with that. My condition doesn’t always show on the outside. From the outside, I might look ‘fine,’ but internally, I’m navigating fatigue, hormonal swings, executive dysfunction, pain, or sensory overload. Living with something chronic means becoming an expert in invisible labor—planning, managing, masking, recovering—and often doing all that silently. For a long time, I tried to force myself to keep up with expectations that didn’t match my reality. I pushed through until I crashed. I shamed myself for not being consistent. But slowly, I’ve learned to listen to my body. To create systems that bend when I need them to. To pace myself without guilt. To ask for help—even when that still feels hard. Chronic condition management is exhausting, yes. But it can also be an invitation to move through life in a way that’s more intentional, more present, and more grounded in your actual needs—not just what the world expects from you.

Managing diabetes and weight

Sunny H.

In college, I gained the freshman 15 and never really stopped. For years it was skipping meals, grabbing on the go unhealthy options, and late night snacking. I was building my career and then had 2 small children to raise. My health was suffering in many ways including poor eating and sleeping habits. When I decided I needed to feel better and stop living on coffee, fast food, and 11pm bowls of cereal, I threw my self into learning everything and I tried it all. Low Fat, Low Carb, Intermittent Fasting, Cardio, Weight Lifting, Meal Prep, Supplements, even Lap Band Surgery. All of it was temporary and felt like a battle of wills. Then came the diagnosis ... diabetes. Then my dad's diabetes got out of control and he was on dialysis. Then he died from complications of the disease. I promised my kids I would never let them sit next to me and keep me company for 4 hours while I was hooked up to a machine cleaning my blood because my kidneys couldn't anymore. Today I only focus on one number and it isn't the scale ... it's my blood sugar.

Fighting through flare-Ups, fatigue and pain with boundaries, grace and humor

Tami N.

I bring real-life experience, empathy, and a healthy dose of humor to conversations around chronic illness. I know what it’s like to navigate unpredictable flare-ups, manage relentless fatigue, and wrestle with the shifting sense of identity that chronic conditions can bring. I’ve lived through the “but you don’t look sick” comments and the endless dance between rest and guilt. My approach is grounded, honest, and compassionate, with a touch of sass. I help others feel seen, heard, and less alone in the chaos of chronic life. Whether it's figuring out how to pace your energy or redefining who you are beyond your diagnosis, I’m here to talk it through, laugh when we can, and cry if we must. This journey is tough, but we don’t have to do it without community or sarcasm.

Finding mindfulness through pain, trauma, and recovery

Tanya D.

My journey to recovery started when I hit rock bottom, struggling with alcohol and the trauma from a domestic violence relationship. I found myself in a hospital after nearly losing my life, which was my wake-up call. Since then, I’ve been sober since August 5, 2013, and my recovery has been a long, transformative process. Along the way, I’ve overcome PTSD, chronic pain, people-pleasing, and anxiety, while also navigating the pain of past abuse. Through 12-step programs, therapy, and my own support network, I’ve been able to rebuild my life. I know what it’s like to feel lost, broken, and unsure of how to start healing, but I’m living proof that recovery is possible. I’ve facilitated retreats, worked with other women in recovery, and supported those in crisis. Now, I’m here to walk beside you and help you find the resources and strength you need to take the next step in your healing journey.

Navigating addiction and mental health when you feel completely lost

Teko D.

I’ve been to the bottom—the kind of bottom where it feels like there’s no way out. I survived domestic violence, battled alcohol addiction, and spent time homeless while trying to make sense of a mental health system that didn’t always feel made for me. I didn’t just feel lost; I felt invisible. But through all of that, something kept me going. My faith played a big part in that, and slowly, step by step, I found my way into healing. I now work as a Mental Health and Recovery Peer Specialist, supporting others who are facing similar storms. I also mentor at-risk youth and share my story in a deeply honest way, including in my book Till Death Do Us Part... Hell in Paradise, which talks about a trip meant to destroy me that turned into a turning point. My mission now is to be the kind of support I desperately needed back then—real, raw, and rooted in hope. If you're feeling like there’s no one who gets it, I’m here to show you that you're not alone, and that the darkness doesn’t get the last word.

Living with a health scare that changed everything overnight

Tim L.

Four years ago, I was in the best shape of my life—running miles, strong, and finally feeling like I had real control over my health. Then, one day, I felt something strange in my chest. It passed after 16 hours, but returned a few days later. I brushed it off, thinking it was nothing. Months passed before I finally went to the ER and found out I had Afib. My body had been overproducing adrenaline to compensate, likely triggered by months of extreme stress—pastoring a church during the height of COVID, supporting people in crisis, carrying the weight of everyone else’s anxiety. What followed was the most vulnerable chapter of my life. I suddenly couldn’t do simple things without fearing I’d end up back in the hospital. I had never struggled with anxiety before, but now it was in my bones. I remember one moment so clearly—sitting on the edge of my bed a few days before my son’s seventh birthday, weeping. I was terrified I’d ruin his day. What if I had another episode at the party? What if I had to go to the ER in front of him? What if I couldn’t keep the promises we made for that day? I felt like life had completely collapsed, like I couldn’t move forward anymore. It took time, trial and error with medication, a heart procedure, and the support of my family to begin healing. This past year was my first full year without an episode. The fear still flares up sometimes, but I’ve learned to live again—even with the uncertainty. If you’ve had your life turned upside down by a health scare, I’d love to sit with you in that space where everything feels broken and help you figure out what comes next.