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Hi Reader, When someone asks how you've been, how much of your answer is edited? I don't mean lying. I mean the quick pass most of us run before we speak: this version for a coworker, that one for the in-laws, the real one for the two or three people who've seen us on a bad day. That editing takes energy, and it's energy we were already short on. I rewrote an older post about chronic illness and identity to get at this. It covers why "don't let your illness define you" can make things heavier, what hiding actually costs, and how to be more open without turning every conversation into a medical history. You don't have to be inspiring to do it, either. That part matters to me. |
💪I create resources to help people adapt to living with chronic illness so they can thrive.
Hi Reader,A reader reached out and let me know the link to the blog post wasn't working - sorry about that! I've fixed the error and you can access the post now through this link:Letting Go of Expectations With Chronic Illness Without Feeling Like You're Giving Up Thanks for your patience and understanding, April SmithWebsite | Facebook | Bluesky | Pinterest
Hey Reader, I want to talk about a specific kind of guilt this week: the one that shows up right after you decide to stop expecting something of yourself that your body can't deliver anymore. If you've ever lowered a standard for your work, your plans, or your recovery timeline, and immediately felt like you'd given up rather than adjusted, this post is for you. I break down why that reaction happens, what the old expectation was actually protecting underneath the surface, and a few concrete...
Hi Reader, A while back, someone asked me the question everyone asks: "So what do you do for fun?" I opened my mouth and nothing came out. The honest answer had become "manage my body," and I knew that wasn't the answer she wanted. I stood there running through a mental list of things I used to enjoy, trying to figure out which ones were still true. That gap between the version of myself I could still name and the version I could actually live is where this week's post lives. Not the grief of...