Woman in wheelchair.

Why I Used a Wheelchair for the First Time

Recently, I made the choice to use a wheelchair for the first time, which was a pretty big decision and something I want to talk about. I want to start off this post by saying that choosing how and when to use a wheelchair is an incredibly personal decision, and this is only my own experience.

Why a wheelchair?

Ever since I realized there was a genuine health reason for me being in so much pain, and that I wasn’t being lazy, I’ve been trying to work around it. While I can manage my day-to-day life relatively well, trips away are a massive struggle. Last month, I had what should have been an amazing trip to London planned for my best friend’s 21st birthday — two whole days of sightseeing, shopping and shows. Obviously, with it being such an important birthday, I wanted to make sure she had an amazing time, and that me being tired and in pain didn’t get in the way.


It’s safe to say I had a lot of worries about starting to use a wheelchair. The practicalities: how do you borrow one? How do you steer it? Where are the brakes? The stigma: what will people think when I ask for one? And when I’m able to stand up out of the chair? And personally, admitting to myself that it was something that I needed on occasion, that it wasn’t a big deal, and that using a wheelchair for a special occasion like this wasn’t making a commitment for the rest of my life.

How did it go?

After chatting with a few friends and browsing museums to find one that rented wheelchairs, I decided to go for it. On arrival at the Natural History Museum I went to the cloakroom, signed a disclaimer, and 30 seconds later was equipped with a wheelchair. After a bit of figuring out how to fit me, my coat and way too many shopping bags in it, we were ready to go.

I started off being pushed, but the lack of control really bothered me, so I decided I was going to push myself which worked much better (after a few incidents getting around corners!) While my arms were so sore the next day, I think that’s something I’d get used to. Practically, it was better than I expected. People were on the whole really polite, happy to move out of the way, and I didn’t notice anyone giving me weird looks or anything. In terms of the museum, it was hard going; I couldn’t see quite a lot of the displays, and trying to find lifts (elevators) was mission impossible.

Overall though, it’s a big thumbs up for the wheelchair. Although it is not something I would want (or need) to use every day at this point, for occasions like this, where I’m trying to pack a lot of activities into a few days, it makes things so much easier. It means I can do so much more without the repercussions, and more importantly (for me at least) I can better keep up with others.

This story was originally published at Irish Dysautonomia.

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Blur silhouette of people walking on walkway in twilight

A Message From a 'Slow Walker'

There is often a lot of talk about how annoying “slow walkers” are. I have always fallen into the “annoyed” category since God gave me long legs at birth.

When I was 22 I got sick with a chronic illnesspostural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. It started off as a debilitating sickness. I could only walk about 12 feet without resting, and could only make the long journey up a flight of stairs to my bed once a day with the help of my parents and taking little breaks between climbing a few steps and sitting down to rest until I reached the top.

When I was finally well enough to go out of the house for a 15-minute errand to the grocery store it was a big deal. I felt like I had this tiny piece of normalcy in my life, even though I felt constantly dizzy and nauseous.

Wegmans was my number one choice for a field trip, and I wanted to see if I could go find a salty snack and chocolate bar while I was there. One salty snack, one sweet treat. That’s it.

I walked to the dessert aisle first, as it was closer to the entrance, and my eyes grazed over dozens of choices. The room spun as I tried to read new labels, and my body started to gently sway. I knew I wasn’t feeling well enough to stay in this upright position much longer, but I was determined to be normal again — at least for a few minutes. I snagged a bar I thought might be halfway decent and took each step to the popcorn aisle as carefully as I possibly could. I didn’t want to fall, and I absolutely was not about to faint in public for the first time — not today.

As I put one foot in front of the other I vaguely noticed the bustling around me. I felt mildly panicked as I began to realize I shouldn’t be alone anymore and that my heart was racing the way it does when I’m about to pass out. My eyes slowly scanned the aisle, and I couldn’t feel my footing anymore. My feet were still planted firmly on the ground, but my head was spinning in circles.

“What the hell is her problem,” I hear behind me. I turn, dazed, as a woman my mom’s age firmly nudged me into the shelf that held some sort of food I couldn’t quite make out. It wasn’t until I was intentionally lying on the ground (this is a tactic POTSies use to ward off some symptoms and feel a little better, hence the “postural” in “POTS”) to get the blood to flow back to my brain moments later that it all clicked. I was the one with the “problem.”

Tears welled up behind my foggy eyes. I had never been “different” before, and I wasn’t used to having a disability. No one could tell by looking at me that I was sick, but my body reminded me every second of every day that I was ill. The room kept spinning, but somehow I kept thinking.

I was a heavy mix of angry, frustrated, and devastated. Why aren’t people more patient? Why can’t we have some sort of label for the chronically ill so that people would know I need extra help? But wait, why can’t people just be kind to others in general and realize that you never know what someone else is going through by of the way they look? 

These are questions I never really thought about before I got sick. I am guilty of complaining to friends about “slow walkers,” moody waiters, and distracted baristas. Having a chronic illness has taught me the very important lesson that just because someone looks fine doesn’t mean that they are. People can have a hard time for a number of different reasons, and instead of making their life any more difficult by making snarky remarks or getting frustrated, we should all take a minute to practice patience and kindness. After all, even if someone doesn’t need it, there is never any harm in being kind to others and treating them the way you would like to be treated.

Sure, people can be frustrating sometimes, but is the hustle and bustle and rush of life really worth hurting another human? Is whatever you are rushing to really worth upsetting anyone over? I think the answer for most of us, if we sat down and thought about it, would be “no.”

This story was originally published on Single in the Suburbs.

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Thinkstock photo by Kritchanut

College professor teaching to room full of students

To My Professor Who Encouraged Me to Take Care of My Health

I am, admittedly, a person who overworks myself, simply because I want to explore many different things all at once and experience as much of life as possible. I was an honors roll university student, leader, mental health advocate, author, and blogger. My life was rich and full, I was happy, and on my way to receiving a double degree in nursing and social work with the dream of opening a shelter in the future.

That was until, in my second year of university, as I soaked up the beauty of life’s wonders, my body also soaked up a large handful of chronic illnesses.

At the time, I ignored the symptoms to keep pursing school. While my seizures, syncope episodes, irregular heartbeat, critically low blood pressure, abnormal blood glucose levels, fatigue, chest pain, severe iron deficiency requiring infusions, and easily breaking bones refused to relent, I refused to acknowledge that I had a problem.

“It’s just the flu,” I’d say. Or, “It’s just a bad virus, it will pass.” I was a train wreck awaiting combustion, and all I wanted was to keep getting A+ plusses and checkmarks on my degree requirements list.

Then one day, I had a seizure in my class. Humiliated that 300 students watched me violently convulse and scream, I apologized profusely to my professor who had to cancel the lecture.

He replied, “The only thing you need to apologize for is if you don’t take care of yourself.”

I stood there stunned for a moment.

I realized that I couldn’t “be the sick caring for the sick.”

If my dream was truly to take care of others, how much more important was it to take care of myself first? Ultimately, I made the decision to take a break from school. I knew that if I kept going down my current path and pushing myself far beyond reasonable limits, I would only continue to suffer. I’d rather graduate a year later and be healthy, than graduate on time and be sick and miserable.

Although I had to say goodbye to many amazing professors, aides, and peers, those goodbyes means many more bright hellos in the future.

I am about two months into my break from school, and already there has been a massive upswing in my health. Because I took the time to see a myriad of specialists and undergo testing, I have greater diagnostic clarity now. During school, I had no idea what was going on with my body and didn’t want to pause my life to figure it out.

Last week, I was finally diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) and autonomic neuropathy, both of which essentially explain every symptom I’ve experienced this year. When I allowed neurology, cardiology, and internal medicine doctors to come into my life and take care of me, I found answers. With a very modified, strict diet, compression socks, as well as medication, my symptoms have subsided to an extent, and it’s only been a week! I can only imagine the improvement I will see over the next year as I dedicate it to my health and wellness.

Sometimes, the greatest lessons don’t come from a textbook.

So, to the professor who encouraged me to take a break from the books and take a look at my health, thank you.  I am rejuvenated, properly medicated, and on the road to even greater success now.

Oh, and I look forward to Acing your exam.

Next year.

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Thinkstock Image By: kasto80

silhouette of a woman pumping her fist in the air

What It Means to Be 'Strong' as Someone With POTS

Today I would like to dissect what it means to be “strong.” This has been a word used to describe me by so many people since I graduated college, got POTS and went through a number of difficult trials, but it still feels kind of funny when I hear someone throw this adjective next to my name.

Dictionary.com defines strong as “mentally powerful or vigorous,” but it doesn’t offer any tips on how to be strong or what kind of trials make you strong.

I was made strong. I didn’t choose to be strong and I am in no way admirably resilient. Before getting sick I was used to a fairly comfortable life, and never in a million years thought of myself as tough or as someone who would face trials well.

Almost four years later though, here I am. I had a choice to make when I got sick. I could take what the doctors said, admit defeat and recognize that my life would never be the same, or I could fight for the best life I could possibly have. I quickly chose the latter. This involves keeping an open and optimistic mindset, being incredibly diligent with my doctor appointments, physical therapy and diet, and finally — learning how to rest.

When I first got my diagnoses I asked through tears whether I’d ever get better. The nurse laughed and told me I wouldn’t and my mind immediately went into a dark abyss, thinking about a long life of dizzy spells, fainting and feeling miserable. I was incredibly lucky to have my encouraging mother with me, who followed me to the parking lot and said the nurse didn’t know what she was talking about. She said I needed to take each day as it came to me, and think positive thoughts. To this day I believe this is one reason I am slowly getting better and have been able to make peace with my new life.

I’ve had POTS for three and a half years now and haven’t had a week off from going to visit some sort of doctor. I typically have two physical therapy appointments and either acupuncture or a massage to work on managing my chronic pain, as well as regular visits to my cardiologist, neurologist and endocrinologist. I go to the gym five days a week — even when I am feeling awful — because one of the worst possible things for a POTSie to do is get de-conditioned. My gym routine involves a short 30-minute recumbent bike ride, as I could easily faint if I am in an upright position. I get B12 shots every other week since I am deficient in it and B12 seems to be a link to chronic pain. Then I have to take a lot of time to rest so that my body can settle down a bit. I get worn out incredibly easy, and a trip to the grocery store turns into a long ordeal because of the recovery time afterward.

Lots of POTS patients develop adult allergies, so I can’t eat many of my favorite foods anymore. I have given up nightshade vegetables (potatoes are my favorite food and I miss French fries dearly!), gluten and I really limit my dairy and sugar intake. I don’t drink coffee at all, partly because I can’t have caffeine and partly because I just can’t have coffee, period, and I don’t drink alcohol at all anymore. The coffee is definitely a million times more difficult.

woman typing on computer at coffee shop

Lastly, I have had to learn to listen to my body and rest. This is such a hard thing for me to do, as my mind is incredibly active. Anyone who knew me before I got sick knows I love to work and play, so sleeping and rest were never really a big part of my vocabulary. I joke to my friends that I’m just catching up on all the time I missed in my life before, but it really is a difficult thing for me to wrap my mind around. I always have a million and one things I want to do and write about; however, my body isn’t very kind to me. Writing hurts after 10 minutes, and the dictation software I have used is grueling. I can’t sit at a desk chair very long without having a lot of pain in my shoulders, and some days I can’t stand without feeling dizzy. Sometimes all I can do is rest, and I’ve learned that it’s OK to spend time listening to podcasts and watching HGTV when I really can’t do anything else. Yes, I would much rather be working and making a living for myself. I wish I could live in New York and write for a magazine, I wish I could have a paycheck to save for a new car or fun wardrobe, but that’s just not in the cards for me right now. Right now it’s my job to focus on getting better, keep taking care of myself, and trust that God will make something beautiful out of my struggle. 

The best advice I could possibly give anyone going through something tough is to take each day as it comes to you. Worrying about things in the future that you cannot control won’t help you change them, and looking back on the past won’t make your present any more satisfying. I know what it’s like to feel helpless and I know what it’s like to feel like life isn’t fair. I have found that the greatest feeling when my world is crumbling in on me is learning to give my problems to God and let Him take care of the things that are outside my control.

If I can be strong, you can too. I’ve always thought I am an incredibly average person in most regards, which should offer an incredible amount of encouragement to anyone reading this. If I can do it, so can you.

This post originally appeared on Single in the Suburbs.

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Thinkstock photo via kieferpix.

family of five posing at disneyland in front of the castle

14 Small Gestures I Appreciate as a Person With Chronic Illness

It’s got to be incredibly difficult to watch someone you love struggle with something as consuming as chronic illness. I’ve spent a lot of time in the past getting upset (and, at times, downright angry) when people make insensitive comments that I think they honestly believe are helpful – things like “but you don’t look sick,” “you’re too young to have that,” “it could be worse,” “you just need to be more positive” and the list could go on and on. But I recently realized that the problem isn’t so much that people don’t care or that they deliberately want to hurt me; it’s more likely that they really just have no idea how to be helpful! Chronic illness doesn’t come with a handbook. It’s confusing enough at times for me and I’m the one who experiences it directly, so it’s no wonder why others truly just don’t have a clue what to do. So I’ve decided to make a list of some simple things that I’ve come to appreciate most that may hopefully help loved ones better understand how to meet the needs of someone with a chronic illness.

1. Be there.

It’s as simple as it sounds. Sometimes I feel overly needy when I ask for anything because I need help so often that I worry I’m a burden. It’s extremely helpful to be reminded (and reminded often!) that you’re there for me anytime and that I don’t burden you. I know it’s got to be difficult to deal with the constant fluctuation in my health, but I need someone who can prove to me that they mean it when they say they’ll always be there; I need that consistency in my life!

2. Ask how I’m really doing and be prepared for the answer.

Many of us with chronic illnesses are brilliant actors and actresses. We often assume that people don’t really want to hear how we’re doing when they ask – it’s just a social nicety. That’s not to say they don’t care, it’s just that people don’t usually have the time, it makes them uncomfortable or they just want to hear that you got better. Ask how we’re doing and we might immediately say “OK” or “I’m getting by,” when in reality we could be screaming in our heads, “I’m miserable!” or thinking about how we spent last night in the emergency room but are back at work smiling today. So be persistent and make it clear that you want the truth. I always appreciate this, as small a gesture as it may be.

3. Listen.

Oftentimes acquaintances (and sometimes people close to us) think they know what’s going on in our bodies better than we do. I think they typically mean well, but the way people go about trying to help is often problematic. If you ask and want to know how we’re really doing and what’s really going on, we’ll tell you exactly what you need to know. The problem occurs when people assume they know what’s best and don’t actually listen to what we tell them, and frequently compare us to others and miss out on learning about our individual situations. No two people with a chronic illness are the same. Even if two people have the same disease, they have a different genetic make-up, they have a different psychological make-up, they’ve had a different childhood and they have completely different bodies with different reactions to the disease! My point is this: people often try to compare chronically ill people in the hopes that what helped one person may help the other, but to us it comes across as if you aren’t listening to our individual circumstances. You don’t even have to worry about trying to fix any problems we may discuss (see #4). Just having someone to listen is huge!

4. Don’t worry about fixing things.

I think loved ones often feel helpless when watching someone they love struggle, and they want to fix the problem causing the struggling (duh, right?). Unfortunately, with chronic illness there is no quick fix. Given that we don’t even know how to fix it ourselves, we would never expect you to fix it! Trust that your loved one is constantly trying new things and doing all they can to get better. I guarantee that is the case. So don’t worry about searching for “the cure.” The thought and effort is greatly appreciated, but in the end, I think it’s actually more helpful just to put more time and effort into the kinds of suggestions I’ve listed here than it is to keep searching for ways to fix an unfixable problem.

5. Ask questions.

I really appreciate it when people close to me ask questions about my illnesses. It shows that you respect me enough to listen and not assume that you know everything about what’s going on. It also shows that you care enough to want to learn more.

6. Believe me.

Please, please, please don’t doubt what I share with you! It is so difficult to be vulnerable and share such personal details of your life with someone and it’s soul-crushing to not be believed. Trust me, I know this from experience, be it with doctors, family, friends, significant others and so on. Many of us are probably hiding half our symptoms half of the time, often for the very reason that we’re afraid of being doubted, so if we choose to divulge something, know it’s really affecting us.

7. Try not to assume things about my mental state or pain level, even on days I’m out and about.

There are some (OK, lots of) days where I force myself out of bed and out of the house when I’m in pain, depressed and/or anxious. That’s quite simply because I am in pain every day and depressed and/or anxious more often than not, so if I didn’t force myself I would do absolutely nothing. So while I appreciate the thought behind saying I look like I’m feeling better, know that it’s all a carefully crafted illusion created by lipstick and lots and lots of caffeine! This is important because I think the thing that creates the most doubt in people’s minds about my illness is my appearance and my ability to do some things. I can do things, but know that I pay for everything I do later in added pain and symptoms. My symptoms can also vary not only day to day but hour to hour, which makes planning difficult and can be confusing when I can’t do what I just did this morning by the afternoon. I try to have as normal a life as I can because, well, who wants to be sick all the time? But that seems to be really confusing to people (which is completely understandable because it’s difficult for me and it’s my life!). So just try to remember that while I’m trying my hardest to have fun and appear normal, I still have my limitations and may still need some help – even on “good days” when I appear fine.

8. Express how you’re truly feeling.

It’s actually comforting to me when people have told me that they’re scared or worried about me, which may sound strange, but it makes me feel a lot less alone. If you’re scared or uncomfortable or don’t know what to say, please don’t be afraid to tell me so! One of the things I’ve been forced to learn from being sick is to be more vulnerable, and that being vulnerable, while still scary, isn’t a bad thing. I feel that actually saying exactly what I’m feeling – even when it’s something considered negative like fear or discomfort – makes my relationships a lot more honest and meaningful. Please share your feelings with me! I know that my illness affects you more than you show me (which I think is often because you’re trying to stay strong for me), but there’s nothing weak about expressing your feelings, and it actually helps me feel validated knowing you’re feeling similar things.

9. Try to be patient with me.

Getting frustrated with me is understandable at times, but please remember that I’m even more frustrated with myself. Try to be patient when I need extra help or can’t go out again. Think about how I must feel: like a burden, like a let-down, like a bad friend, significant other or family member…so it makes it a lot easier to deal with the guilt that comes as an inherent part of chronic illness when the people around me are as patient as possible.

10. Continue inviting me to things even when I often can’t attend.

Like I said above, please trust me when I say that I absolutely hate having to miss out on things, and I feel extremely guilty and frustrated when I can’t go or have to cancel plans. I love it so much when people don’t forget about me and continue inviting me even though they know I likely won’t be able to go. I still desire to feel included and remembered.

11. Encourage me.

It is incredibly difficult to have hopes and dreams as someone who is chronically ill. Chronic pain truly alters your brain both chemically and structurally; it literally rewrites your brain to make you more depressed and anxious. Which, when you think about how pain makes you feel mentally, this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. But being constantly in pain wears you down so much that it makes you feel as though you’ll never escape and that there’s no point in trying to accomplish anything. It makes you feel that you’re a failure before you even begin. It’s also extremely discouraging to spend years hoping different doctors will help you, hoping different medications will help you, hoping different therapies will help you…only to have your hopes crushed almost every single time. You kind of learn not to get your hopes up anymore, as sad as that is. These things make it very hard to continue looking forward to the future and to follow your hopes and dreams. It even makes it hard to make new hopes and dreams, which are essential parts of creating motivation to stay alive! What I’m getting at is that many of us crave encouragement. Whether it’s something as simple as encouraging us to keep going to doctors, to keep up with our hobbies as best we can or just to make sure we keep getting out of bed each day and take care of ourselves, that feeling of being cared about and believed in is huge.

12. Acknowledge my victories (both big and small).

Another thing I absolutely love is when people tell me they’re proud of me. I know I sound like a 5-year-old, right? But for many of us, getting out of bed truly is a much bigger accomplishment than you’ll ever know, and it’s hard to know that nobody understands what it takes just to do the most basic things that make up a life. To understand what life is like for people with some chronic illnesses, here are a few comparisons that may help put things in perspective: People with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) have symptoms such as chest pain, trouble breathing, fluctuation in blood pressure, tachycardia and heart palpitations. Many people with costochondritis (inflammation of the cartilage of the ribs, occurring as a symptom of many chronic illnesses) fear they may be having a heart attack before it’s diagnosed because the pain is so severe. Doctors have said that the average, healthy person would have to stay up for three days straight and then try to function to understand the level of fatigue typical of someone with fibromyalgia.

And folks, one of my favorite chronic illness jokes is that chronic illnesses are like Pokemon – you gotta catch ‘em all! Most people have many comorbid chronic conditions, so imagine living with all of the above problems and trying to function. I don’t want pity, I just want awareness and acknowledgment. Really, all it takes is something as simple as saying, “I’m proud of you for making it through another day. I know it was hard for you.” What I see as accomplishments may seem silly to you, but to me it feels like I conquered Mount Everest by getting out of bed! I’m painfully aware that I don’t have as many big life achievements to celebrate, so I’ve had to shift my perspective a bit and I’d love it if you’d take part in celebrating my tiny victories with me!

13. Take care of yourself.

I think this is something a lot of caretakers and loved ones forget or don’t think about (I’m especially thinking of my parents who are incredibly selfless). As the saying goes, you can’t pour from an empty cup. You can’t help me if you aren’t taking care of yourself properly. Taking care of yourself is a necessity and is not selfish in any way.

14. Remember that a relationship is a two-way street.

This is a good time to point out that my relationship with you is still a relationship regardless of me being sick, which means I’m here to help you, too! It feels great to help out others. When you need some time to take care of yourself, let me help in any way I can! When you are going through something tough, don’t downplay it or feel bad complaining because you think that my situation is somehow worse. Everyone’s pain is equally valid and difficult. When you have something to celebrate, I want to express how proud I am of you! Our lives may differ vastly, but a relationship is about supporting each other. Chronic illness changes a relationship, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to take care of you in whatever ways I can.

family of five posing at disneyland in front of the castle

These may seem like small, simple suggestions, but it’s these little gestures that have meant the most to me. It can be difficult to maintain a relationship with someone who has a chronic illness, but I think the struggles that are faced make these relationships stronger and more essential. It’s by no means easy, but I hope that the unique challenges brought on by chronic illness may help you come to appreciate your loved ones and your life even more, as they have for me.

This post originally appeared on What It’s Really Like to Be Sick.

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When My POTS Anxiety Prevents Me From Responding to Messages

My phone buzzes once. Twice. Three times. My heart beats quickly as I wait for the buzzing to stop. I look down- four missed calls, two voicemails, five emails, and seven Facebook notifications. A wave of anxiety rolls over me looking at all the things I have missed, and I feel overwhelmed. What if the missed call was a doctor with bad news? What if my Facebook messages are friends who need advice I can’t give? What if I forgot something I was supposed to do? I haven’t checked my messages in days, what if I missed something, what if someone is upset I didn’t answer their call? What if, what if, what if. The stress takes over, and even though I know none of those things are likely, I put my phone away.

Over 40 million American adults are affected by anxiety, and it can be caused by a multitude of things. People see counselors, practice meditation, take antidepressants or anxiety medication or do whatever they can to help manage the symptoms. I struggle with the general anxiety and depression that often comes along with being chronically ill, but I also have another type of anxiety.

I have a condition called Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which can come with many different comorbid conditions. One of those conditions is called dysautonomia. I have a type of dysautonomia called hyperadrenergic postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (or hyper-POTS). This syndrome causes many symptoms: nausea, dizziness, fainting, fatigue, migraines, brain fog, palpitations…and severe anxiety. Many people with POTS are in fact misdiagnosed with anxiety disorders first, as the symptoms are so similar.

Hyper-POTS can cause something called adrenal fatigue. This condition can cause your body to not produce enough of certain hormones, which we rely on to physically handle stress. These hormones also control your fight-flight-or-freeze response, so when it is out of balance, it makes you feel on edge all the time.

It is so hard to manage the symptoms of anxiety when you have these conditions, as traditional medications often don’t help, and talk therapy does little when the problem is a physical response in your body. When you couple the POTS anxiety with the problems faced by many with chronic illnesses – isolation, depression, anger, frustration, disappointment, physical pain, coping with the “sick” feeling all the time, managing doctors, medications, treatments, the constant uncertainty of how each day will go and trying to participate in “real life” – it can all be overwhelming. Overwhelming to the point you are frozen. I feel so frustrated with myself when I am overcome with anxiety, and guilty when I ignore and shut out the ones I love. And each day I ignore the things that are causing anxiety, they build up and the anxiety worsens. Sometimes it can take a week or more to come out of an episode. To start to function. To feel OK again. To breathe.

So, I am sorry I didn’t answer my phone. It isn’t because I don’t love you or don’t care. It isn’t because I am mad or upset. I’m sorry I ignored your Facebook message – it does matter. It doesn’t mean you aren’t important to me. I hope you can understand that every day I am doing the best I can. It’s just that some days, pushing through is easier than others, and I am learning new ways of coping all the time.

So on my bad days, please love me and be patient. I just need some time and space. Know that good days are coming, and know I love you.

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Thinkstock photo via Ridofranz.

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