woman walking in tunnel

How I Deal With the ‘Why Me?’ Question

First, I feel it’s important to say that I am not, in fact, a heartless monster who hates the world and wants to tear down religion. That is not who I am or what I’m here to do. I am here to explain, from one point of view, how atheists who live with chronic illness might view the world and deal with living in it.

Even though I respect religious people and everyone’s right to believe what they will, I’m not religious and don’t have to be in order to have hope, joy and courage, even while living with chronic illness. I’m here to continue that conversation.

When we first become ill, or shortly after being diagnosed, a lot of people with chronic illnesses can start to ask themselves this all-encompassing question: Why, oh why, out of all the people in the world, did it have to be me? 

But that’s understandable. It feels personal when your life is torn out from under you. When the world becomes small, dark and painful, it’s hard to find things to be grateful for and easy to wish for another universe where you get better tomorrow or never become sick in the first place.

“Why did it have to be me?” 

I see a lot of people asking this question online in regard to their health; it feels like they’re grieving a former life for a moment before picking back up and continuing forward. It’s something we all do and often need in order to stay emotionally healthy through all of this.

Even though I certainly grieve and have times when I wish with all my heart I had never gotten sick, I don’t find myself asking this particular question: Why me? And, honestly, I think it’s because I’m an atheist.

As an atheist, I don’t believe in a god, gods and omnipotent beings. I don’t think there is some cosmic wisdom in the universe keeping us all safe and cared for. I think we’re all just people, living our lives. We do our best to get along and have joy, love and hope in our lives. We work together to make the world and ourselves better as we learn and understand more about each other and the world we live in every day. The more we understand something or someone, the less we fear them. That means more empathy, compassion and cooperation with each other, which is wonderful because if we’re all that we’ve got, then we had better take care of each other. This viewpoint is called humanism.

In a world where there are just people living their lives, it doesn’t make sense to blame anyone or anything for your illness, let alone ask why you were “chosen” instead of someone else. The universe wasn’t out to get you. I don’t believe there was a god trying to test your faith or teach you a lesson. The cosmos didn’t have an agenda that involved you becoming ill.

In this world view, it simply doesn’t make sense to wonder why it is that you, out of all the billions of other humans, have a chronic illness. There is nothing mystical that ties your chronic illness to other people. Genetics, environment and other natural factors can help explain the “Why did I become ill?” question, but the “Why me and not someone else?” question falls apart in the same way it would if you asked your parents why you got the genetic illness and not your next-door neighbor.

But, putting aside the idea that atheism may reveal some issues with this particular question, I think it’s more important to look at the question using my humanism — from a place of empathy.

The “Why me?” question is most often used to mean something more like: “I am grieving a former or possible life that I no longer get to live because of my chronic illness.” Perhaps it is better to say what we mean. That this is not the life we had planned to live and perhaps not the life we ever wanted to live. That we wish we could have more control and more choice in what our illnesses do to our lives. That we sometimes wish we could live another life free from this illness.

Even if none of this can happen, grieving is a natural part of dealing with a drastic life change, and it’s healthy to feel your feelings. I think it can be even more helpful when you understand why you’re feeling what you’re feeling. You don’t wish your illness on someone else; you just wish you had a better alternative. 

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Lead photo by Thinkstock Images


people walking in the street, blurry abstract

When People Don't Realize They're Seeing the Symptoms of My Illness

Our town used to be a small town but somewhere in the 18 years we’ve lived here (in which our town population went from 1,400 to 12,000), we’ve become a suburb instead. Recently, after a doctor’s appointment, I was waiting to be picked up and found myself sitting on the steps of the corner of the business area in the higher-end, newer part of town, doing some people watching. I kept thinking it was weird that no one was making eye contact with me.

At first I thought it was because, even though people moved to our area for the small town feel, they weren’t actually what I think of as “small town people” — and I do think that was a big part of it — but then I thought about what people were seeing while I was sitting there: an older, overweight lady with no makeup, wearing a T-shirt and jeans in an area that has women dressing up even for a trip to the grocery store.

I greeted them with my broken-toothed smile, as my teeth are crumbling due to long-term use of some of the medications I’m on. I was at the doctor about the vertigo I’ve been experiencing so I’ve been swaying a lot, too, when sitting still or having to steady myself while walking. Oh, and it gets worse. I wore my coat because even though I was enjoying the sun, I get an allergic-like reaction to it so in an effort to try to keep my skin covered, I was really warm and all sweaty. Sitting on concrete steps is really hard on my body, so I kept getting up and walking awkwardly around and then sitting back down.

I kept thinking about the post I’d read by actor Wentworth Miller about people judging a meme which featured a photo of his past weight gain instead of understanding that he was struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts at that time. They were judging him based on wrong information about a struggle they couldn’t see.

I also thought about how often I use the term “invisible disability” to describe my illness when really it isn’t all the invisible anymore: the weight gain and the broken teeth caused by my illness and medications they used to treat it; the scars on my skin from frequent rashes and inflammation; the limping gait I have due to my deteriorating joints; the sway even when I’m sitting still due to inner ear inflammation; the tremor and the twitching from neurological aspects of my disease… the list could go on and on. My illness is not invisible; it just isn’t what many people recognize as a disability. People don’t understand what they’re seeing. They’re judging my book by its cover, not realizing that the story inside is in a different genre than what it looks like from the outside.

I guess I’m writing all this down to remind people that you don’t know another person’s story and judging someone based on appearance alone might cause you to jump to incorrect conclusions. That invisible illnesses are not always completely invisible. And that I’m guilty of all this, too. I hope to do better in the future. I hope you will, too.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Lead photo by Thinkstock Images

Woman with eyes closed and text 23 things people dont realize you're doing because you have chronic fatigue

23 Things People Don't Realize You're Doing Because You Have Chronic Fatigue

To an outsider, things like taking the elevator instead of a flight of stairs or turning down party invitations might look like a reflection of your personality. But to a person with chronic fatigue, these can be coping methods that are essential to getting through the day.

We asked our chronic illness community on Facebook to share what things they do that others may not realize is because of their chronic fatigue. Their answers reveal the adjustments that often must be made in everyday life to save energy, and that healthy people may not realize how much of a difference these strategies make.

Here’s what our community told us:

1. “Make sure I have a ‘buffer day’ in between any exhaustive event and resuming life.”

2. “Wearing PJs most of the day if I’m not going out. Some days it’s too painful to move and I can’t do simple chores around house. It’s embarrassing at times. I feel bad.”

3. “Planning my showers. I made a comment at Christmas about how I wish our shower downstairs worked because most days I’d like to get take a quick shower but I don’t want to climb the stairs. My husband’s sister’s boyfriend said, ‘Wow, you’re so lazy.’ I was seeing red at that moment and it literally took every bit of willpower to not lash out at him.”

4. “I have to plan everything based on what I need to get done and how much energy it’s going to take out of me.”

5. “I lean literally all the time. On walls, on tables, on people, on carts. I get panicky if there isn’t something to support myself on.”

6. “I micromanage every single aspect and moment of every day to determine what I can and can’t do and figure out how to get things done. This in itself is exhausting.”

7.I don’t invite people to my house. It’s always a mess and I feel bad about that because I just don’t have energy to keep it tidy. I wear PJs all day every day unless I absolutely have to go out. My home is my refuge from the business of the world. The one place I feel comfortable.”

8. “People didn’t realize that at 25 to 33 years old my dad drove me places a lot because I had brain fog from chronic fatigue.”

9. “Finding a quiet room at work to close my eyes and rest in the middle of the day. Sometimes, just being away from people for a few moments allows me to recharge just enough to push through.”

10. “Exercise. It sounds counter-intuitive but if I don’t my symptoms get worse. So you stretch through the pain and push just the right amount.”

11. “Curling up under a mountain of blankets. The weight comforts me and makes me feel grounded. It stops the spasms that rock my body as well.”

12. “People often compliment me when I wear one of my wide headbands. Sometimes I let them in on the secret and say, ‘Thanks so much! It’s because I’ve been too tired to wash my hair so I’m covering it.’”

13. “Always wearing comfortable, non-restrictive clothes so at any given time I can lay down for a bit when it gets too bad.”

14. “I have myasthenia gravis and it can make chewing and swallowing difficult to impossible. In the evening, when I’m most fatigued, I often can’t finish my dinner. Waitresses insist on asking multiple times why I didn’t finish. It’s actually very intrusive. I should only have to answer yes or no to ‘Can I take your plate,’ without an explanation!”

15. “I spend a lot of time counting steps. For example, at the movies I know exactly how far the bathrooms and exits are. I’m not going to be the first out but I bet you I’ll make it!”

16. “Keeping my hair short. It’s out of practicality. Less hair to manage, brush, and wash saves valuable energy.”

17.Ignoring texts or phone calls because of severe cognitive difficulties and/or too tired to type or talk.”

18. “I eat microwavable food so I can eat instead of leaving half cooked food all over. I burn food from forgetting it on the stove or end up dropping it on the ground by accident.”

19. “It’s sometimes hard to explain to friends and coworkers why I take the bus two stops instead of just walking, or take a taxi when I could take the subway (all those stairs!)”

20. “I always got anxious about the invites to parties across town and the offer to just ‘crash on the couch.’ I’d usually go and just not drink. Not because I didn’t want to ‘party,’ but because I knew I wouldn’t sleep on a couch because I have such a hard time sleeping and because even one drink would make me feel horrible. Always got ‘party foul,’ ‘Stop being a drag,’ ‘Just one shot’ — Nope. A night out would equal about two days down.”

21. “Wringing my hands and wiggling my legs or rocking back and forth. I look like I’m rubbing lotion on my hands all the time but really I’m trying to ease some of the pain through my own body heat.”

22. “I always have to get a carriage at the market even if I’m only getting a few things — I need it for support or by the end of the trip I’ll barely be able to get to my car — the worst part is just standing in line to cash out! That can actually ruin a ‘good’ day.”

23. “I don’t leave my house on Mondays. I frequently overdo it on the weekends with family and friends. So I need a day for recovery — I don’t open the blinds, I don’t answer the door, I unplug/turn off the phones, and stay in bed resting until I get up to make dinner.”

What things do you do that people don’t realize you’re doing because of your chronic fatigue? Share in the comments below.

23 Things People Don't Realize You're Doing Because You Have Chronic Fatigue
Doctor explaining something to patient

When My Doctor Looked Me in the Eye and Told Me I Was ‘Legit’

At the beginning of my health journey, I was turned away by doctors for months. While I’ve had a pretty good run lately, those previous doctor’s appointments scarred me. 

After getting infection after infection and having critically low white blood cells and antibodies, my doctor suggested a month-long round of antibiotics until my immunology appointment. I was happy because I wanted to be healthy, of course, but after a second, I said something strange: “But don’t I want to be as sick as possible for the appointment? I mean, I want to seem legit.”

Yes, I know that sounds like I’m just trying to get attention, but imagine living in my body where you feel terrible all the time, but on the outside, you look like all your peers. 

Then my doctor turned, looked me in the eyes and said, “One look at your file and he’ll know you’re legit.”

This statement may sound unimportant, but to me it glued my scarred and doctor-fearing heart back together because, yes, I am sick. 

For some, being told you’re sick can be difficult, but to me it made me feel believed. And after all the tears and doctors I’ve been through, it made me feel oh so relieved. 

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Lead photo by Thinkstock Images

woman in restaurant looking out window

Why It’s Hard to Make New Friends When You’re Chronically Ill

My husband and I recently graduated from college and moved to a new town for work. It has been about six months, but we’re still struggling to make friends. I don’t get out of the house much, and after work and making dinner, all I want to do is soak in an Epsom salt bath and then crawl into bed with a good book. My husband will go out with some guy friends to watch sports every once in a while, but if I’m having a flare, he knows I will need him home to make sure I’m alright.

I’m an introvert and I usually don’t mind spending long periods of time alone with my thoughts, but lately I have been terribly lonely. I wish I had someone who wouldn’t mind stopping by to watch Netflix, bring dinner when I’m too tired to cook or just chat.

When that’s your idea of a friend, it can be really difficult, if not impossible, to find someone who thinks of friendship the same way. First of all, where do you find friends like that? Most of the articles I’ve read online tell me that making friends as an adult is like dating — you have to “put yourself out there.” These articles suggest going to events you enjoy, joining clubs in order to find others with similar interests or just hanging out at a bar.

Well, when the “events” I enjoy consist of long warm baths, naps and ordering takeout (or sending my husband to pick it up), how am I supposed to meet anyone?

I do attend an aqua therapy class once a week for those with arthritis or fibromyalgia, but I am the youngest by approximately 40 to 45 years. I also attend a chronic pain support group once a month and I find it very helpful, but again, I am the youngest. And maybe it sounds selfish, but I would like to have some friends who don’t have a chronic illness — people I could call if I needed help with something or someone to hang out with when I can’t leave the house.

In an effort to be more optimistic about my chronic illness (one of my resolutions for 2017), let’s imagine that I have actually found a suitable place to meet potential friends, a place where 20-somethings hang out that isn’t too loud, too overly stimulating and doesn’t drain my energy in the first five minutes after walking through the door. Then what?

Suppose I strike up a conversation with someone and we end up talking for a while, asking each other questions and comparing interests. At the end of the conversation when they suggest hanging out later in the week, should I just say yes and hope they aren’t thinking of some extravagant activity that will leave me in bed for three days? When should I mention my chronic illness, my penchant for quiet evenings at home and my tendency to cancel plans at the last minute? Should I be up front and risk losing a friend before I’ve even really made a friend in the first place? Should I let the truth come out in its own time and just hope they will like me enough by then to actually stick around?

See my difficulty? There doesn’t seem to be any easy way to make friends without being hurt (emotionally, physically or both) in the process.

I really wish that I could end this story on a successful note, but for now that’s not the case. I still don’t have any friends. I don’t have anyone I can call when I’m feeling horrible and don’t want to be alone, but I want to give my husband a break from being my caretaker. I don’t have anyone I can text when I realize there’s no way I can stand up long enough to make a meal. I don’t have anyone I can trust to see me without my “mask” on, without pretending I’m OK until I make it back home.

And I’m completely unsure of how or where to find them.

This is an ongoing journey for me, and perhaps it is for many of you as well. If you’d like to come along with me as I learn how to make friends while living with my chronic illness, just press the green “follow me” button. Hopefully, we can help each other out.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Lead photo by Thinkstock Images

girl in wheelchair at beach

When Another Year Passes by With an Incurable Illness

Getting teary and emotional at New Year is common and it can be for many different reasons, but the more I think about mine, the more it feels too real and unfortunately that’s the problem. When I hear the words “Happy New Year” around me and the clatter of champagne glasses I smile, join in and chant alongside them. But inside my stomach is doing butterflies as I take a large gulp in to try stop the waterfall of tears just wanting to cry from my eyes. It’s real and it’s here, I can’t stop it, I can’t control it. Just like my debilitating condition.

New Year is hard because it reminds us all it’s another year gone by, and for me I find that incredibly difficult to cope with and accept. In reality, I feel like I can’t cope with it, because if I do then I have to accept that it’s been another year of this illness, another year ahead of the unknown, 365 more days trying to stay alive and praying and hoping for good stability and treatment. If I accept it’s 2017 and a new year, then I have to cope with the fact that it’s another year further away from where I was before I was unwell. It hurts me so bad inside because I feel I’m being dragged further and further away from when there wasn’t a pressing and progressing genetic condition over my every move. I could cope with being unwell, being in hospital a few times a year and on small amounts of medication when I was young — I mean, you keep going, that’s just what you do.

But when it takes over your whole life and nearly takes your life it can become a different story. All my problems were actually all linked to one genetic condition which then was causing all of the complications including the life-threatening ones is something I couldn’t comprehend then and still don’t now. In total over the last three years I have spent 20 months in hospital and in that time (in bites of seven months and two months/weeks at a time) all you have to focus on is staying alive, getting through the next hour and the next day and the hospital is your home, your family and it still is now. Being at home is different, though — you might start the process of grief, because in the hospital you can’t because at the time you’re just trying to survive.

I will always keep going and I will always keep fighting, but I battle with grief every single day, coming to terms with what my life is now, the reality and the seriousness of the illnesses I have. There is no time limit on how long it may take. Some people may come to terms with things very easily, some may take longer. There is no right or wrong. Though most of the time I am so hard on myself to feel I should be stronger, to feel I should be better by now. But I have to remind myself I’m going through this, no one else and no one else can fully understand, even those fighting chronic illnesses, though they do have a lot more understanding about the medical and emotional side, and it’s good being able to have friends to turn to.

It’s tough on not just me, though. It’s hard on everyone around me and the complexity this illness brings with the unpredictability of not knowing what’s round the corner is a hard life to lead. Things can change day to day and minute to minute, plans can often be cancelled and you are constantly on alert whether watching for deterioration of infections to planning surgeries and the next hospital admission. But I think one of hardest things for those closest to me is watching me scream in pain with tears down my face, just willing anything to lighten the load and being so unwell at times with so many tubes coming out it’s hard to even recognize who I am anymore. The want to “fix it” which is something I have witnessed a lot around me, coming out in actions, behavior and emotion. As much it hurts me, it hurts them and all they want to do is take it away and how much I wish that was true.

Coming to terms with a genetic condition you cannot cure and one where at any time any of your organs and systems could start deteriorating to the point of not having any function anymore, which you try to keep stable but in the end have no control over, is something you can only comprehend when faced with.

You go through all the grief processes you would in any other grieving situation, you feel denial: “No, this can’t be happening, no it’s just a mistake, please let it be wrong.”

Then anger and hurt: “It’s not fair, I don’t want this. What did I do to deserve this, is it my fault, who do I blame, how will I cope?”

Then I move on to bargaining, where I will do anything to change the situation, go back to how things were before: “If I make up for every mistake I’ve made will it go away, I’ll try, I’ll do anything, please?”

Then the depression: “I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. This is hopeless, how will I cope, everything’s changed how will I adjust, I can’t.”

Then comes the acceptance. This is when you have learned to accept where you are and have learned to cope in the ways that are best for you. To accept that although it is an extremely difficult situation to be in things will be OK. I will still achieve, I will still make a difference in my lifetime and although so much has changed I can adapt and find my purpose in this world.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve and you can go through all or just a few of these feelings and in any order. In short, you learn to cope but no two ways of coping are the same and no two people are the same. There is not a time clock on which you must come to terms with a life-changing illness. This is something people have said to me in the past and it made me feel I’m not good enough or strong enough as I’m not at acceptance yet. But those who love me remind me I’m going through it, not them and no one else can judge my journey or tell me how I should feel or what I should do. Support is so important and I have that in different ways, but in the end it is my story and until those people who judge me have walked in my shoes for those 20 months in hospital and 12 months to understand just a small bit of what’ve I’ve been through and to know how it feels to fight what I am right now, physically and emotionally. We are all battling our own demons and I would never judge anyone else or comment on their troubles or tell them what they’re doing wrong, so let’s all remember that and have respect for one another. Everyone is facing a battle you don’t know about.

For me, I’m still keeping going, just taking a day at a time, getting the support from those around me and my specialist teams and battling to keep this body the best it can be. Emotionally things are difficult but I will not give up, I couldn’t. I’ve lost too many friends to give up on life. I struggle and I can break down and have days where I just want to hide under my duvet and not come out, but I will never give up. I’m still fighting through the grief and I’m in the midst of it all right now.

I don’t know how long it will take me to come to terms with my reality, but I should not be ashamed of that, nor should I let anyone get me down by those who judge too quickly or act hurtfully towards me. I’m me, this is my story, my journey and it will take me as long as it takes. Those who love me and know me well know that and I know that they respect me for who I am, what’ve I’ve been through, am going through and will keep supporting me through.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Real People. Real Stories.

150 Million

We face disability, disease and mental illness together.