Tag: Chronic Illness

Chronic Hope

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At the end of last year I started to think and pray a lot about writing my own chronic illness themed Bible Study. It’s been a labour of love but here are weeks one and two of the study!

It is a 6 week study with something short to read each day and some reflection questions. If you want to join the Instagram channel I have set up for the study you can do so here: https://www.instagram.com/channel/AbZhRgYpHFwf3G7m/ or you can join the Facebook group ‘Christians with Chronic Illness’ here: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/1C1v8zPen4/?mibextid=wwXlfr

These are intended as safe spaces where you can discuss the study with other Christians and reflect a little as a group – we’re going to be starting with Week 1, Day 1 on Monday 8th September and would love to have you join us! There’s no pressure to join in or contribute, but sometimes it can be nice to be in an environment where you know other people ‘get it’.

Eventually, I am going to publish the study as a book on Amazon but wanted to do a soft launch here – any feedback would be hugely appreciated! I will add the remainder of the study to another post once I have finished editing it, so keep an eye out for the rest coming soon.

All my love,

Anna x

Bible Study Weeks One and TwoDownload
Chronic Hope – Week ThreeDownload

When God Doesn’t Answer “Why?”

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We’ve all been there. Collecting exam results, alone with a diagnosis we don’t want (either for ourselves or a loved one), sat in a waiting room for test results, living with a grief so sharp it leaves us breathless. Or, maybe we’re just walking through another day that feels heavier than we can carry, events around the world breaking our hearts. And the word “Why?” rises from somewhere deep within us.

Why did this happen? Why didn’t God stop it? Why me? Why am I not better? “Why?” is the question that haunts suffering and is so often one that we aim at heaven.

We ask God, “Why?” – but so often, we’re met with silence. Or answers that make no sense or don’t satisfy us. We want clarity. Resolution. A divine reason wrapped in a bow that makes everything okay. But more often than not, God doesn’t give us the answer we want.

Instead, He gives us something else: He gives us Himself.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” – Matthew 28:20

God may not explain every pain. But He promises to be present in it. And that is no small thing. The Creator of the universe doesn’t sit far away, looking down on our struggles and ignores them. He steps into them. He wraps Himself in our humanity. He walks through the fire with us. He suffers with us.

That’s why we call Him Emmanuel.

God with us.

Not God above us, or God far from us, or God explaining everything to us – but God with us.

And nowhere is that more clear than in Jesus.

On the cross, Jesus cried out words that many of us have whispered through tears:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – Matthew 27:46

Even Jesus – God in flesh – asked “why?”

That moment wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t failure. It was Jesus fully entering into the human experience. He didn’t skip the agony. He didn’t bypass the questions. He became like us, even in our confusion and anguish.

Which means your questions don’t scare God. Your “why?” doesn’t make you less faithful. It makes you human. And Jesus meets you there.

So often we think faith is about having all the answers. But maybe faith is about trusting that even when there are no answers, we’re not alone.

Because “why” may not always be answered in this life. But “with”?

That’s God’s eternal promise.

With you in the dark.

With you in the waiting.

With you in the ache that won’t let up.

With you to the very end of the age.

Maybe the better question isn’t “Why, God?” but “Where are you, God?” And the answer is always the same: Right here. Right beside you, still holding you, still faithful.

We don’t have a God who only gives explanations.

We have a God who gives presence.

We get Emmanuel.

And sometimes, that’s the answer we need most.

All my love,

Anna x

What You Don’t See in the Hospital Notes

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I’m back again! It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’ve spent the last 6 weeks in hospital which I think has inspired this post a little.

(Note: the hospital note ‘excerpts’ are fictional, though loosely related to my medical history)

Presenting Complaint

21-year-old female presenting with widespread joint pain, reported fatigue, and possible post-viral symptoms. Multiple prior admissions for unexplained symptoms. Patient appears anxious. History of suspected EDS and functional overlay. Further investigation not indicated at this time.

You don’t write that I had to crawl from the bedroom to the front door because I couldn’t stand upright. That I clung to the banister like it was a rope on the edge of a cliff. That the GP told me, again, it was probably stress.

You don’t mention the way I’d rehearsed my speech in the ambulance. “Don’t say you’re tired. Don’t say you’re scared. Say it hurts. Say you can’t walk. Say the fatigue is overwhelming. Say it like a symptom, not a feeling.” You don’t see the notes I wrote on mu phone because I was afraid I’d get flustered and forget.

You say I “appeared anxious.” As if that explains everything.

You don’t mention that I smiled to be taken seriously. That I didn’t cry because I knew tears are perceived as hysteria. That I lay on the hospital bed with my fists clenched under the blanket, whispering prayers to myself while a junior doctor asked if I might be exaggerating.

You didn’t see me pull on clean socks even though I couldn’t lift my legs. I didn’t want you to think I was dirty. You didn’t see the notebook where I tracked my pain every hour. The part of me still hoping I could prove it.

You wrote “further investigation not indicated.”

I called my mum in the waiting room, whispered, “They think I’m making it up again.” She said, “You’re still breathing. That’s what matters right now.”

That was the first night I started to believe I might survive this, even if the system didn’t believe me.

Mobility and Function

Uses wheelchair part-time. Patient encouraged to mobilise independently. No structural impairment observed. Advised that deconditioning may contribute to perceived mobility issues. Referral to physiotherapy provided.

Perceived mobility issues.

You watched me drag one leg behind the other and called it “perceived.” You watched me tip over sideways from standing and called it “anxiety.” You gave me physio exercises on a photocopied sheet and suggested I just needed to “rebuild confidence.”

You didn’t ask how it felt to move through a world that isn’t made for me. How I still take the longer route through town to avoid the hill, the stairs, the uneven curb. How I once sat outside a building at university in the pouring rain because there wasn’t a ramp out.

You called my wheelchair “part-time,” as if it’s a job I clock in and out of. As if that isn’t your language, not mine.

You didn’t notice how my shoulders dropped with relief when I finally sat in it. How it meant I could go to the shop again, to the library, to the park. How it gave me my body back. You didn’t hear the joy in my voice when I wheeled myself across the hospital car park for the first time in months.

You didn’t see the nurse who brought me a cup of tea and said, “Looks like you’ve done this before.” Like she saw me.

You didn’t write about the stranger in the corridor who told me, “You’re too young for that thing,” pointing to my chair. Or when I replied, “You’re too old to be that rude,” and rolled away smiling. You didn’t document the power I felt in that moment.

I didn’t lose mobility. I reclaimed freedom.

Nutrition and Feeding

Enteral nutrition via NG tube commenced. Patient demonstrated distress during insertion. Limited oral intake reported. Encouraged to increase hydration. Patient appears disengaged from treatment plan.

The first time they inserted the NG tube, I gagged so hard I bruised my own throat. The second time, I asked if I could hold someone’s hand. A junior doctor reached out wordlessly. You didn’t write about her.

You didn’t write about the tape rash on my face or how the pump beeped at 2am like a fire alarm. How I hated being tethered to a machine and loved it, too. It meant I didn’t have to explain, that my body was nourished. It meant I could rest.

You didn’t see me name the tube. Her name was Nelly. Because if I was going to let something live in my body, it might as well have a name.

You said I was disengaged. But I learned how to test the pH myself. I set up the feeds, monitored the pump, calculated the right overnight rate needed. I became a walking spreadsheet, ironic as walking wasn’t possible.

You never asked how it felt to be constantly fed but still hungry – for flavour, for choice, for something warm and familiar. You didn’t mention that I kept imagining my childhood favourite ‘tuna and rice’, picturing the way my mother always served it with a smile. How I wished I could just eat a normal meal but no longer had the energy.

You didn’t see the nurse who brought me stickers to decorate the pump, or the healthcare assistant who used to turn each feed bottle into a different smiley face each night. You didn’t talk about the friend who came to visit and made me laugh so hard until the tube kinked.

I was never disengaged. I was just exhausted. I am. But I am here.

Pain Management

Patient reports widespread pain, self-rated 9/10. No signs of acute distress observed. Request for opioid medication declined due to potential for dependency and possible drug-seeking behaviour. Advised to manage symptoms with paracetamol and CBT techniques.

No signs of acute distress.

I’ve lived in this body for 21 years. I know how to keep my face still when everything inside me is screaming. I know how to breathe through muscle spasms and dislocations and the grinding, electrical throb in my spine. I know how to speak softly so you’ll keep listening.

You don’t see the hours I spent curled around a hot water bottle, willing the pain to plateau. The pain that doesn’t come in spikes but waves – tidal, relentless, cruel.

You declined my medication request and suggested mindfulness. I said, “Do you want me to breathe my way out of a subluxed knee?” You smiled like I’d made a joke.

You didn’t see the nurse who whispered, “I believe you,” and slipped me a heat pack.

You didn’t write about the laughing fit I had with my sister when I was trying to get up the stairs and we both fell down laughing. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because it did – and laughter was the only way through it.

You didn’t see the wall I decorated with song lyrics and pain scale doodles, keeping them within arms-reach in case I needed to put a number to my pain, again. Or the fact that every day I wake up and try. No matter how shitty I feel.

Not because I’m brave. Because I have to.

Discharge Plan

Medically stable. Fit for discharge. Patient advised to follow up with community team and contact GP if symptoms worsen. No additional interventions recommended at this stage.

Medically stable. That was your way of saying, “We don’t know what else to do with you.” Because I certainly didn’t feel stable.

You didn’t mention the way my heart raced as I crossed the threshold. Not because I wasn’t glad to leave, but because I knew I’d be back. Because stable doesn’t mean safe. It doesn’t mean well.

You didn’t see the way I curled up in bed that night, every joint aching from the journey, every nerve on fire. But also: the softness of my own sheets. The cat who lay on my feet. The way I whispered to myself: I’m still here.

I wrote my own discharge note:

Survived. Scarred. Unseen – but still fighting.

All my love,

Anna x

May 2025 Poetry Challenge

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Anyone who knows me, knows that I love poetry. I love writing it, reading it, analysing it – there is just something about it that helps to calm me and get my thoughts out on paper. I thought I’d do something a little bit different and start a poetry challenge. Please tag me in your poems (@recovering_my_ sparkle on Instagram) and use the hashtag maypoetrychallenge as well!

  1. A letter to your past self – what advice would you give the younger you?
  2. A place that feels like home – describe a location that brings comfort to you.
  3. Things left unsaid – write about words you never said out loud and what they mean to you.
  4. Roots and wings – write about growth and freedom.
  5. The language of flowers – choose a flower and let it ‘speak’.
  6. Firelight and shadows – explore warmth and fear in contrast using the metaphors of fire and shadows.
  7. Echoes of laughter – pick out a joyful memory and write about that.
  8. The love that changed you – whether it’s romantic or platonic, how did this love shape you?
  9. If your reflection spoke back – what would it say?
  10. A letter from the stars – what would they say?
  11. A scar tells a story – physical or emotional, what do your scars say?
  12. The first time you felt free – capture that moment and the emotions that you felt.
  13. A secret you never said – it can be real or imagined.
  14. A thunderstorm inside you – how does this feel?
  15. Love letter to a stranger – write to someone you’ll never meet.
  16. The ghost of someone still alive – a person who drifted away.
  17. The taste of nostalgia – capture a memory through tatse.
  18. A storm that never ends – what would it feel like to live inside this?
  19. The colour of loneliness – what colour would it be, and why? Is this something you can relate to?
  20. A world without fear – imagine it, describe it, paint a picture (through words) about what it would be like.
  21. If I could hold time in my hands… – Start by finishing this line, what would you do with it?
  22. A place you can never return to – physically or emotionally.
  23. A dream that felt more real than reality – what happened?
  24. Write a poem that ends with a beginning – a cycle, a rebirth, a new start.
  25. A clock that runs too fast (or too slow) – what would it change?
  26. The garden that only blooms at night – what would grow there? What things bloom and thrive in the darkness?
  27. The sound of healing – talk about what you believe healing, recovery, forgiveness, or peace sounds like.
  28. A conversation with the moon – what would you say? What would it reply?
  29. Tomorrow begins with… – finish the thought.
  30. The first line of a new chapter – what do you think is next for you in your life?

Let me know how you get on!

All my love,

Anna x

Is This What Safe Looks Like?

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I recently wrote, performed and shared this spoken word poem on my TikTok account and it seems that a lot of people could relate to it. If you can relate, I’m incredibly sorry, but I also hope you find some comfort in knowing that you’re not alone in feeling this way.

They say,

“Call for help.”

But I did.

And help came

with flashing lights

and cold stares

and hands too firm

for someone already breaking.

“Trust the system,” they said.

But I did.

And the system strapped me down,

spoke over me

called me non-compliant

when I was just

trying not to fall apart.

Safe?

You tell me what’s safe

about being told

your story is “too much”.

That your pain

needs a label

before it gets attention?

What’s safe

about uniforms

that make your skin crawl,

white coats

that feel like warning signs,

and police who ask questions

but don’t really want the answers?

I learned the hard way:

“Safe” is a lie

when you’ve been hurt

by the helpers.

When your cries

get translated into crazy.

When your trauma

gets brushed off as behavioural.

When your body

is treated

but your soul

is left bleeding in the waiting room.

You see,

no one tells you

how much bravery it takes

just to walk through the door

of a hospital

when the last one left scars.

No one talks about

how the ones with the power

can do damage

with a clipboard and a checklist,

with a shrug,

with a sedative

with a look that says,

“You again?”

This is what it’s like to be afraid

of the people you’re told to run to.

To flinch

when the sirens wail

in the streets.

To go quiet

in the presence of authority

because the last time you spoke –

it cost you something.

So don’t ask

why I didn’t tell you sooner.

Why I waited.

Why I lied and said “I’m fine.”

Because when “help” feels like harm

silence becomes survival.

And I’ve mastered the art

of sounding okay

just enough

to stay alive.

But I’m tired.

I want safe

to mean something again.

I want healing that doesn’t hurt.

I want care that listens before it labels,

that asks before it acts,

that sits with me

before it tries to fix me.

Because I’m not a problem.

I’m a person.

And I don’t want to be saved –

I want to be seen.

Here is a link to the original TikTok incase you want to hear it spoken rather than just reading it:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdYwQbUu/

All my love,

Anna x

When Healing Doesn’t Come: Trusting God in the Waiting

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This post is one that is hugely personal to me and is on a topic that I have spent a long time looking at and learning about. If you have ever prayed for healing – whether that’s mental health, physical health, or emotional wounds – you will know how hard it is when healing doesn’t come in the way you expect.

Perhaps you’ve cried out to God, but your depression still lingers. Maybe you’ve begged for relief from physical pain, but the symptoms persist. Maybe you’ve asked God to heal the wounds of trauma, but you still wake up feeling broken. When healing doesn’t come – or when it comes slowly – it’s easy to feel forgotten, discouraged, or even angry at God.

If you’ve asked God, Why haven’t you healed me? I want you to know that you are not alone. You only have to look through the Bible to see this. Some of the people we most associate with faith wrestled with this question.

Paul, for example, had what he called a ‘thorn in the flesh’. Whilst we don’t know what it was exactly – some people believe that it was a chronic illness, others think it was emotional suffering – but what we do know is that Paul pleaded with God three times to take it away. And God’s response?

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

That wasn’t the answer that Paul was looking for. He wanted healing. But instead, God gave him grace. And that’s hard to accept, isn’t it? Because when we pray for healing, we don’t just want grace to endure – we want relief. And when it doesn’t come, it becomes easy to wonder if God is even listening.

I think that one of the hardest things about faith is that we often expect healing to come in a specific way, but God sees the bigger picture.

Does that mean we shouldn’t pray for healing? Not at all. Jesus himself healed people throughout the Gospels. God is a healer, and we should absolutely bring our needs to Him. But sometimes, it doesn’t happen in the way we expect.

Maybe healing is happening slowly, in a process instead of a miracle. Maybe healing isn’t just physical, but emotional or spiritual. Maybe healing comes in the form of endurance and peace in the middle of suffering, rather than the removal of the suffering itself.

One of my favourite reminders of this comes from Isaiah 43:2

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.”

God doesn’t promise we won’t walk through deep waters or fire. But He does promise to be with us in it.

Holding Onto Faith in the Waiting

So, what do we do when healing feels out of reach? How do we hold onto faith when we’re still in the middle of pain?

  1. Be honest with God – God isn’t afraid of your frustration, your disappointment, or your doubt. If you feel angry, tell Him. If you feel weary, cry out to Him. The Psalms are full of raw, unfiltered prayers – God invites that kind of honesty.
  2. Remember that suffering is not a sign of abandonment – one of the biggest lies we believe is that if we’re still suffering, it must mean God has forgotten us. But the cross tells a different story. Jesus Himself suffered, not because He lacked faith, but because suffering is part of life in a broken world. God’s presence is not proven by the absence of pain – He is with us in the pain.
  3. Look for small signs of grace – sometimes, healing comes in unexpected ways. Maybe you’re not free from illness, but you’ve found a deeper sense of peace. Maybe you still struggle, but you’ve built a community that walks with you. Healing isn’t always about the absence of pain – it’s also about the presence of God’s grace in the middle of it.
  4. Keep hoping, even in the unknown – it’s okay to wrestle with God’s timing. It’s okay to not understand. But don’t lose sight of this: the story isn’t over yet. We may not see full healing in this life, but as Revelation 21:4 reminds us, there is a day coming when:

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

And that is the ultimate hope we cling to. One day, all suffering will end. Until then, God walks with us through it.

I recently read Ruth Chou Simons book ‘Now and Not Yet’ and it changed my perspective completely. I highly encourage reading it if you have struggled with trusting God in the waiting. The book touches on seasons of waiting and when life isn’t what we have hoped or planned.

“I truly believe your current season is not wasted,” writes Simons. “God is purposeful about what happens between today and tomorrow, between right now and someday. My prayer is that we stop hiding behind simple platitudes and quick fixes to our unwanted right nows and bravely step into the ways God wants to change us… instead of staying busy trying to change our circumstances.”

All my love,

Anna x

God and Medication: Can Faith and Treatment Coexist?

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If you’ve ever struggled with your mental health or chronic illness and considered medication, I’m almost certain that you will have heard something similar to the following, at least once: “You don’t need meds, just pray harder”, “God is a healer – why rely on medication?” or “Medication is just a crutch; real healing comes from faith.”

These kinds of messages can make us feel guilty for seeking medical help, as if choosing medication means we’re somehow failing in our faith. But here’s what I want to explore today: Can faith and treatment coexist? Can you trust God and take medication? (If you want a quick answer and spoiler then here it is – yes, you absolutely can). So, let’s talk about why.

Let’s be real – there is still a lot of stigma around medication, just in society in general. Thankfully this stigma seems to be lessening over time, but that doesn’t mean it has disappeared. And here’s the thing – mental illness is not always a spiritual issue – but it is always a medical one. Just like some people with diabetes require insulin, mental health conditions sometimes require medication. This doesn’t mean you have a lack of faith, it just means that your brain needs medical support.

Consider this: if someone has high blood pressure, do we tell them to stop their medication and just pray more? No, we would encourage them to use the tools they have available to them – medication included – but to also trust God at the same time.

There is a misconception that if you take medication it means you don’t trust God enough. But look at it from this point of view – what happens if medication is one of the ways that God can provide healing? James 1:17 says:

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights.”

God has given the wisdom to doctors, scientists and researchers to create medication that can help people. If we believe that God can work through doctors and medicine for physical healing, why wouldn’t we consider this when it comes to mental health?

Faith and medication can work together in a number of ways:

  1. Medication can help stabilise you so you can work on recovery – it doesn’t mean that you are taking a shortcut or avoiding deeper healing. It can give you the stability that you need to do the deeper work.
  2. Seeking medical help can be viewed as a form of stewardship – in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, we are reminded that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. Taking care of our mental and physical health – including using medication – is a way of honouring God by looking after our bodies.
  3. God can work through science – God isn’t against medication – after all, he created the minds that develop it. Throughout history, God has used human knowledge and ability to bring healing.

I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you must try medication – it’s a personal choice and isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution. But there are things you can do when you are considering whether or not to try meds.

  1. Pray for wisdom – ask God to guide you. Philippians 4:6 reminds us to bring everything to God in prayer.
  2. Get advice from others – talk to doctors, family, friends and discuss your concerns and questions. If you talk to someone from your church, find someone who understands both faith and mental health.
  3. Remember that God can use multiple ways for healing – sometimes healing is instant (and this is what we all hope for, isn’t it?) but other times, it’s something that takes time, treatment, therapy, and spiritual growth. Trust that God can work through all of these options.

Jeremiah 30:17 says:

“‘But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord.“

God cares about your healing, in every sense – physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. If medication is part of that process for you, it doesn’t mean you lack faith. It means you are using the resources that God has made available for you.

All my love,

Anna x

Can you be a Christian and struggle with mental health?

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Before I dive into today’s post, I want to let you know that this blog is a safe space for anyone who is struggling or feeling isolated in their journey. Whether you’re dealing with mental health challenges, chronic illness, or just trying to navigate your faith in a difficult season of life, you’re not alone. This series is going to explore hard truths, share stories, and hopefully encourage you in a real, relatable way.

So, lets jump in!

It’s common in many faith communities to hear well-meaning phrases like, “If you just pray more, you’ll be healed,” or “Faith will fix this.” But, what happens when healing comes right away, or when the struggles feel too big for just prayer alone? Is there something wrong with your faith if you’re still battling anxiety, depression, or other mental health challenges?

I can’t speak for everyone, but I know I’ve struggled with this question. Growing up as a Christian, I have felt guilty for feeling anxious or depressed, as though it meant I wasn’t praying enough, or that somehow my relationship with God was lacking. But the truth is, struggling with mental health doesn’t mean we lack faith. Mental health issues don’t discriminate – they can affect anyone, no matter how strong their faith may be. It’s a misconception that if you’re truly trusting God, you won’t struggle with things like depression, anxiety, or even feeling overwhelmed by life. Struggling does not mean failing.

So, where does that leave us?

When we look at the Bible, we see that mental health struggles are acknowledged throughout Scripture. Even some of the greatest figures of faith faced dark, difficult times. The Psalms are full of David’s cries of despair – his deep sadness and his feelings of abandonment. Take Psalm 42, for example: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.”

David was honest with God about how he felt. And I believe God honoured that honesty. He doesn’t expect us to put on a mask and pretend that everything’s okay when it’s not.

And here’s the tricky part: many of us grow up with an idea that if we’re struggling, it’s because we’re not praying enough, or that God is punishing us for something. We see others who seem to have it all together – who are calm, confident, and free from anxiety – and we thing, “Well, what’s wrong with me?” And the guilt and shame can grow, making it even harder to seek help.

It’s that mindset that I want to challenge today. The truth is, just because we have faith doesn’t mean we won’t face challenges. Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) That verse doesn’t say “If you have enough faith, you won’t face difficulty.” It says that, even in the midst of difficulty, we can take heart because Jesus has overcome it all. He’s with us in our pain, our struggles, and our doubts.

And that’s something that’s been something so powerful in my own journey: understanding that God is with me in the struggle. He doesn’t leave us when we’re struggling mentally or emotionally. I’ve learned that struggling with mental health doesn’t mean we’re failing God or our faith – it means we’re human. And God knows what it’s like to be human. He became human in Jesus, and he understands our pain in a way that no one else can.

I’ve also found it hard to accept that, just because I’ve had therapy and take medication, it doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough. But, faith is not about denying reality or pretending that everything is okay. Faith is about trusting God through the hard stuff – through the things we can’t fix on our own. Faith is not a magic fix for our pain; it’s a relationship with a God who holds us, even when we’re at our lowest.

If you’re struggling with mental health today – whether that’s anxiety, depression, stress, or anything else – I want you to hear this: It’s okay not to be okay. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health. And God sees you. He cares about what you’re going through. And he wants to help you through it.

Another scripture that has brought me so much comfort in times of struggle is Philippians 4:6-7. It says “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer or petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Now, I know that verses like this can sometimes feel like a ‘quick fix’ that doesn’t address the depth of what we’re going through. But I want to highlight that the peace of God doesn’t mean the absence of struggle. It means that, in the midst of struggle, God’s peace can still hold us. It’s not about getting rid of the anxiety or pain, but about experiencing peace through it.

So, my takeaway message if this: If you’re struggling with your mental health, it doesn’t mean that you’re weak in faith, and it doesn’t mean that you’re doing something wrong. In fact, it might mean that you’re being brave enough to face something difficult – and that’s something that God honours. Don’t let shame or guilt keep you from getting the help you need. Whether it’s therapy, medication, or a supportive community, there is no shame in seeking help. Faith is about trusting God in the journey, not denying that we’re needing help along the way.

So, as I finish, I want to encourage you to take a moment to reflect on how God might be inviting you to trust him with your mental health. What steps can you take to care for yourself, body, mind, and spirit? Maybe it’s something small, like acknowledging your struggles or reaching out for help.

All my love,

Anna x

Flowers Grow in the Valley

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One of my favourite songs is called ‘Flowers’ by Samantha Ebert. It is a song that means an awful lot to me for a lot of reasons, but the main one is this: it is a song that God has used to show me his love and plan for my life on numerous occasions. Here is the story of the first time I listened to the song and how God spoke to me – for some context, this was during my admission to hospital last year whilst I was on the gastro ward just before my transfer back to my local psychiatric hospital.

The day before my transfer back to the psych ward, I had a visit from one of the hospital chaplains. She had visited me a few times during the seven weeks I was there and had always been kind to me, offering words of comfort and prayers during some of the hardest moments of my admission. That day, she told me about a song she had recently come across, one she thought I might like. “It’s called ‘Flowers’ by Samantha Ebert,” she said. “I really think you should listen to it.”

Later that evening, as I lay in my hospital bed, headphones in, I pressed play. The melody was soft, delicate, and the lyrics hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. “I’m a good God, and I have a good plan, so trust that I’m holding a watering can, ’cause flowers grow in the valley.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I listened. The words felt as if they had been written for me, a direct reminder that even in my lowest moments, God had not abandoned me. That He was still here, still holding me, even when I felt completely lost. I listened to the song on repeat until I fell asleep, letting those words seep into the cracks of my broken heart.

The following day, I was transferred back to the psych ward. It was an exhausting process, as hospital transfers always are. The endless waiting, the signing of forms, the final checks and cannula removals, before I was wheeled through the corridors, leaving behind the world of NG feeds and IV drips for another round of locked doors and psychiatric reviews.

I barely had time to settle back into my room before there was a knock at the door. It was one of the occupational therapists, someone I had always found easy to talk to. She smiled at me, holding out a small watering can and a packet of flower seeds. “You missed the group activity this morning,” she said. “We were planting flowers, but I thought maybe you’d like to do it with me now?”

I stared at her, my breath catching in my throat. A watering can. Flower seeds. Flowers grow in the valley. I felt my heart pound, an overwhelming sense of something greater than coincidence washing over me. I blinked back the tears threatening to spill over and nodded, unable to find the words to explain just how much this moment meant to me.

We sat on the floor of my room, scooping soil into small pots, carefully pressing seeds into the earth. As I watered them, I thought about how God had sent me a reminder in the most unexpected way – that I was still being nurtured, that even in this valley, something beautiful could grow.

I’ve included a link to the song here – I really recommend listening to it!

All my love,

Anna x

Myalgic Encephalomyelitis and me

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My journey with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME) is one that I could never have anticipated, and yet it has shaped my life in ways I am still trying to comprehend. It has been four years since I received the diagnosis, which, in the grand scheme of things, is not that long. But to me, it feels like a lifetime. A lifetime of limitations, of losses, of learning to navigate a world that no longer fits the way it once did.

Of all the chronic illnesses I have been diagnosed with, ME is the one I would get rid of in a heartbeat. It is cruel beyond belief. It strips away the ability to live life in any predictable or reliable way. There is no cure, no universally effective treatment – only management, and even that feels like a fragile balance. Some days, I can do more. Other days, even sitting up is too much. The unpredictability of it is one of the hardest things to live with. 

There have been times over the last four years where I have been completely bed-bound, unable to do anything but lie in the dark, too exhausted and in too much pain to even sit up. Those periods were terrifying, but I always held onto hope that I would find my way back to a more functional state. And, at times, it did. There were moments when I could leave my flat for short trips, where I felt like I was reclaiming slivers of my old life. But now, since sepsis, those moments are fewer and farther between.

I can now only leave my flat for essential appointments, the ones that must be attended in person. Anything that can be done from home, I do remotely. My world has shrunk in ways I never thought possible. I require a wheelchair to mobilise outside because my legs are too unstable to carry me for any meaningful distance. Inside my flat, I often rely on a walking stick to move between rooms. Even then, most of my day is spent in bed, waiting for the couple of ‘functional’ hours I am granted each day. Those brief windows of time where I feel somewhat capable of doing small tasks, of engaging with the world beyond my bed. 

One of the most distinct and cruel markers of ME is the way your body punishes you for overstepping its limits. When I push too hard, even slightly, I pay for it. The flares are brutal, and the warning signs are unmistakeable. When I have overdone it – whether that means sitting up too long, engaging in too much conversation, or even just focusing too hard on something – I feel it almost immediately. My legs burn as if they are on fire, a sensation so intense that it is impossible to ignore. It is my body’s way of screaming at me that I have no rested enough, that I have ignored its pleas for stillness.

The thing about ME is that it is not just about fatigue. That word does not do justice to the bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep can fix. It is like being weighed down by an invisible force, making every movement feel like wading through cement. It is pain that radiates through my muscles and joints, an unrelenting ache that never truly disappears. It is cognitive dysfunction – brain fog so thick that I forget simple words mid-sentence, struggling to focus, and sometimes feel as though my mind has simply stopped working altogether. It is sensory overload, where lights are too bright, sounds are too loud, and even the touch of fabric on my skin can feel unbearable.

Since sepsis, my body has become even more fragile. I used to have at least a little energy to ration throughout the day, but now, every action comes with a cost. The simplest tasks – brushing my teeth, getting dressed, making a cup of tea – feel monumental. I have to think about every movement, weigh whether it is worth the energy expenditure, knowing that if I push too far, I could be bedridden for days. My life has become a delicate balancing act between doing too much and not doing enough.

Sleep offers no relief. No matter how many hours I spend resting, I wake up just as drained as before. And even on nights where exhaustion consumes me, sleep doesn’t always come easily. The pain, the discomfort, the sheer weight of my body’s brokenness keeps me tossing and turning, desperate for rest that never truly arrives. When I do sleep, I wake up feeling like I have run a marathon in my dreams, my muscles aching as if I had been fighting through the night. 

The isolation that comes with ME is another layer of cruelty. I have lost the ability to maintain relationships the way I once could. I miss out on gatherings, on conversations, on simply being able to exist in the world in a way that feels normal. Friends and family understand to an extent, but unless someone has lived through it, they can never fully understand. My dad was actually diagnosed with ME when I was a baby and, though he doesn’t struggle any more, it means that my family have a very good understanding of my day-to-day life.

I miss spontaneity. I miss being able to say yes to things without immediately calculating the toll it will take on my body. I do not know what the future holds for me in terms of ME. It is scary waking up each day, not knowing how the day will go, what your body will cope with. And it is terrifying when you experience a decline – is this what is going to tip your body over the edge? Is it just a temporary flare, something that’s going to stick around for a long time, or, god-forbid, be permanent? 

What I do know is that, since sepsis, things have been worse than ever before. I have lost more than I ever thought I could, and I am still trying to come to terms with that. But I have also learned resilience in a way that few people understand. I have learned to exist within my limitations, to navigate a life that looks nothing like the one I imagined. And, most of all, I have learned that survival is not just about living – it is about adapting, about finding ways to exist within the cracks of what was lost, about holding onto hope even when it feels like everything is slipping away. 

My next post is going to talk about what people with ME want you to know, as well as exploring some of the ways other people with the condition describe it to others.

Until then,

All my love,

Anna x

“You will be found” – Lessons from the Musical Dear Evan Hansen

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I got to see the musical Dear Evan Hansen on their UK tour last month – it’s a show I’ve both wanted to see for a long time, yet also been sceptical about watching. I’d read the book and watched the film, both of which made me sob, and I didn’t hugely want to bawl my eyes out in the middle of the theatre. But it was absolutely phenomenal. Yes, I did cry a bit, but I didn’t make a fool of myself.

It is a show that isn’t afraid of the darker, more taboo subjects – when you hear the plot it seems strange that it would make a good show, but it absolutely does. It delves into the theme of mental health (in particular depression and suicide), loneliness, and the power of connection with others. It is an emotional show, that teaches the audience that, they too, can be found.

  1. You are not alone – the song that is most well known is “You Will Be Found” – a song I fell in love with the first time I heard it. It reassures people that even in their darkest moments, there is always someone who cares. Evan begins by feeling invisible, but he discovers throughout that others feel the same and also yearn for the same sense of connection that he does.
  2. It’s okay not to be okay – the mental health theme that is prominent portrays struggles with honesty and remind us that it’s okay to admit when things aren’t going well and to seek help. Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness.
  3. Authenticity matters – yes, Evan’s decision to fabricate a relationship with Connor in order to comfort his grieving family isn’t a particularly thought through thing, but it comes from a well-meaning place. We are shown that pretending to be someone you’re not has consequences, but that opening up and being true to ourselves helps to foster connections with others, and there will be people out there who accept us for us.
  4. Words and actions have power – the letter that Evan writes becomes a symbol of hope for so many people. Small gestures of kindness and honesty can make a significant impact. However, we also have to be mindful that our words and actions can hurt, as well as uplift, others.
  5. Connection heals – the characters in Dear Evan Hansen are all yearning for connection in one form or another. Their shared pain and support helps them begin to heal.
  6. Grief is complex and personal – there is no right or wrong way to grieve. The Murphy family all grieve in their own way and process what has happened in different ways – the song Requiem demonstrates this perfectly.
  7. Seek help when you need it – Evan struggles in silence for a lot of the show, but his journey demonstrates the importance of seeking support. We don’t have to face our challenges alone, even though at times it feels this way.
  8. It’s okay to start over – by the end of the show, Evan acknowledges his mistakes, embraces the truth, and is beginning to rebuild his life. It is never too late to grow, change or start again. Everyone makes mistakes and they don’t have to define us as long as we learn from them.

If you haven’t seen the show I thoroughly recommend it – or watch the film. I think there’s a lesson for everyone in it. Just remember to have some tissues handy!

All my love,

Anna x

“You’ll find that I’m unshakeable” – Lessons from the musical Six!

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It’s no secret that I adore musicals – I’d be sat in the audience of a different show every night if I could! I’ve been incredibly lucky to see a lot of shows both on tours and in the West End and I particularly love it when I can come away with a new perspective on things in my life. I’m a big fan of cheesy quotes and will apply them to my life whenever I can. The musical Six is a firm favourite (top 5 – I can’t narrow it down any more than that!) and it is a show that I come back to time and time again because of the lessons it teaches – it’s catchy, witty and empowering, but also teaches some valuable life lessons. So, in no particular order, here are some of my key takeaways from the show!

  1. You can own your story – your story doesn’t belong to the people who have hurt you. It’s yours to reclaim and reshape however you want. Each of the queens in the show reclaim their narrative and turn their status of ‘ex-wife’ into a platform for empowerment. They learn to embrace their past, even the messy parts, and rewrite their story for themselves and no one else.
  2. Don’t compare your struggles – the queens initially compete for who suffered the most, but they eventually realise this comparison is futile and that all their pain is valid. Invalidating someone else’s pain doesn’t make your pain more significant – most things in life are subjective and we can support one another, rather than fighting it out for who had it worst.
  3. Celebrate your strengths – each queen highlights her unique personality and skills. Catherine of Aragon is defiant and sticks to her morals, whereas Anne Boleyn uses humour and is a cheeky character – our individuality is what makes life exciting!
  4. There is empowerment through community – by the end of the show, the queens form a sisterhood as they realise they are stronger together. This demonstrates the importance of lifting each other up, especially in a world where people are often pitted against one another. The song “I don’t need your love” highlights the solidarity of women taking back their power.
  5. Challenge the narrative – history is often told by the victors, leaving others voiceless. In changing the narrative, the queens are reclaiming their agency, which is something we can do too. Catherine Howard is often remembered as being promiscuous, but Six reframes her story, showing people that she was actually a victim of exploitation, abuse and manipulation – not the side of the story people often remember. We, too, can question the narratives that have been told to us – whether thats in history, culture, or our personal lives.
  6. Find joy in your journey – despite their tragic circumstances, the queens find joy in their stories. Yes, life is hard, but finding humour and creativity in difficult times can help us heal and move forward.
  7. Learn from history, don’t repeat it – the show critiques the systems that oppressed the queens – patriarchy, toxic power dynamics, the erasure of women’s voices. The queens stories are cautionary tales in how we need to recognise patterns of injustice, speak up, and work toward a better future.
  8. Know your worth – the song ‘Six’ is a celebration of the individuality of each of the queens and their worth apart from Henry VIII. They declare “we’re one of a kind, no category,” rejecting the idea that they have to fit into anyone else’s box.

Remember: you are inherently valuable – not because of your relationships, your status, or anyone else’s opinion, but because you are uniquely you.

All my love,

Anna x

Debunking Common Myths About Therapy

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Therapy is a powerful tool that anyone can benefit from – it can help with personal growth, healing, self-discovery and compassion towards both yourself and others. Yet, despite more and more people speaking about therapy and what it entails, there are still myths surrounding it which can cause hesitation and doubts about whether it is something to consider.

Therapy is only for people with ‘serious’ mental health issues:

Therapy isn’t just for those with severe mental health issues or those in crisis. It is a resource that can be used by anyone facing life challenges, seeking personal growth, or wanting to understand themselves better. I had a Psychology teacher when I was studying for my A Levels who told me that she really strongly believed that everyone, mental health conditions or not, should have to have therapy at some point in their life – and looking back, I absolutely agree!

Talking to friends and family is just as effective as therapy:

I am absolutely NOT wanting to dismiss the invaluable support that friends and family can offer you – I have incredible support from my family and friends and I wouldn’t be able to do life without them by my side. Therapy, however, offers something different. Therapists are trained professionals who are there in a neutral, non-judgemental capacity. They use evidence-based techniques to help you process emotions, identify patterns, and develop coping strategies.

Therapy takes forever to work:

How long therapy takes to work is entirely dependent on your goals and needs. Some people find huge benefits within a few weeks, whereas others benefit more from long-term work. It’s something to discuss with your therapist as they are in the best position to help you determine what is best for you.

The therapist will judge me or think that I am broken beyond repair:

Therapists are there to provide empathy and understanding, not to judge you. They aren’t there because they think you are broken and need fixing – they just want to help you work towards your goals in a partnership with you.

Therapy is all about your childhood experiences:

For some people, talking about their childhood is absolutely necessary. And for most people, looking at past experiences can be helpful, but therapy isn’t solely focused on the past/your childhood. The therapeutic process should be tailored to address your current concerns, whether they stem from past or present experiences.

My therapist will solve my problems for me:

As nice as this would be, it’s simply not possible for the therapist to do the work for you. Ultimately, change has to come from you – the therapist can help you and give suggestions and guidance, but you have to be the one to make those changes. One of my most commonly used phrases in my therapy sessions used to be “but I’m paying you to agree with me” which would inevitably result in an eye roll and being reminded that she definitely is NOT there to agree with me – it would be nice if she did, but then no progress would be made and therefore it would be a huge waste of time – for me and for her.

Believing myths like the ones discussed here can prevent people from seeking therapy when they need it most. So it’s important to challenge these misconceptions so that people are informed and have an accurate depiction about what therapy is like. If you’ve been hesitant about therapy, remember: it is a tool for everyone! Taking that first step could be the start of the rest of your life and provide the transformation and growth that will turn your life around.

All my love,

Anna x

I Met My Younger Self

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I met my younger self for coffee this morning.

She arrived on time, I was 10 minutes early.

She ordered a skinny, zero sugar vanilla latte. I ordered a caramel latte – no ‘skinny’ or ‘sugar free’ in sight.

She said she worries that she’ll never get back to work, is sad that she is missing out on all the life experiences she was looking forward to because chronic illness is cruel. I said I agreed, but that at least she’d learn there’s life beyond an eating disorder.

I tell her that it’s ok to feel lost and alone – because it’s not a feeling that will last forever.

She tells me that she’s scared she’ll always feel like an outsider or that something is ‘wrong’ with her. I tell her that she’ll find her people. People who love her and understand her, and that she’ll finally learn there is nothing wrong with her after all.

She told me that she feels on edge and frustrated whenever she has to use a walking stick or wheelchair. I tell her it’ll become second nature and people won’t care about it.

She asked me if I believed that God has a plan for her life. And for the first time in a long time, I could tell her I did.

I hope I can meet her for a coffee again soon.

All my love,

Anna x

Fowler’s February – Q&A

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As February is Fowler’s Syndrome Awareness Month, I decided to find out what some common questions were that people have about Fowler’s, as well as asking others with the diagnosis what they wish they had asked when it was first brought up for them. One of the things I’ve been asked the most is ‘what is your fowlers story?’ but I’ve decided to leave this for a separate post for now as it’s pretty long!

What are the main symptoms and what were your initial symptoms?

The main symptom is an inability to urinate – this can either be a partial inability or full inability. Sometimes people may have to strain to empty their bladder, or take a long time to fully empty their bladder. Bladder spasms can be a huge issue for people with the condition as well.

Often, people are unable to feel when their bladder is full. I rarely have bladder sensation unless I have an infection (which is when I often feel like I constantly need to go to the toilet).

Stomach, bladder and pelvic pain are common side effects of Fowler’s. Pain can increase with specific movements and activities. Frequent infections can also exacerbate pain levels. Infection is also common – this can be because having a catheter is something that can increase susceptibility to infection, or being unable to fully empty the bladder can also increase the risk.

My initial symptom was a kidney infection – it sent me in to full retention. When it was treated the symptoms appeared to resolve, though it’s likely that I was in partial retention. I then went back into full retention again, and so this, along with increased pelvic pain, were my initial symptoms.

How is it diagnosed?

Fowler’s Syndrome is a difficult condition to diagnose, but the gold standard test is a specialist one called ‘concentric needle electromyography’ (an EMG). Abnormal electrical activity on this test signifies Fowler’s. It’s a pretty uncomfortable test as a needle is used to record from the sphincter.

Other tests that can be carried out include looking at flow rate, residual bladder volume scanning, urethral pressure profile, and ultrasound sphincter volume. However, these tests depend on whether you pass urine naturally or not.

Urodynamics are often the first test that is given as it is commonly carried out in urology departments – if you are in full retention it is unlikely that there will be any useful results, although it can show whether or not your detrusor muscle (the main bladder muscle) is functioning at all.

How long did it take for you to get a diagnosis? Are there any common misdiagnoses?

I was incredibly lucky to get my diagnosis within 4 months of the initial onset of symptoms. On average it takes people seeing 8 professionals before diagnosis and it can take years before a solid treatment plan is given.

The most commonly given first diagnosis is Detrusor Failure (Acontractile Detrusor) as this is a diagnosis that can be given after urodynamics which is the go to test for urological problems. However, when the EMG is done this then highlights the problem with the sphincter muscle and allows the diagnosis of Fowler’s to be given.

When it was first mentioned to you as a diagnosis/given as a preliminary diagnosis how did that make you feel?

In all honesty, I didn’t know what to think. I’d never heard of Fowler’s so it was a lot to get my head around. I didn’t know what to expect, I thought I’d need a catheter for a matter of weeks or months, and certainly didn’t expect to still have one 6 years later! But it was also a relief. No one was telling me that I was making it up or that they didn’t know why my symptoms had started, they could say ‘we might not know a lot, but we do know this’ and that felt reassuring at a time when I didn’t know what to expect next.

What treatments are there? What have you tried in the past? Are there any treatment options you hope to try in the future?

There isn’t a cure for Fowler’s but there are treatments that can be tried. Treatments are still being researched and developed.

The one that a lot of Fowler’s patients try is Sacral Nerve Stimulation – this is particularly good for patients who are in full retention. Those in partial retention may benefit, but their symptoms are more likely to respond to self-catheterisation in order to fully empty the bladder. SNS is the only treatment that has been shown to restore voiding in patients who are otherwise in full retention. In short, SNS is like having a pacemaker for your bladder – it sends electrical signals to your sacral nerves (the nerves that control the bladder). You usually have a trial first to see if it is effective enough and if it is then the full device is implanted.

A Suprapubic Catheter (SPC) is a surgical catheter that is inserted into the bladder through your lower abdomen. This can be better for those with Fowler’s as they bypass the urethra and so there are often fewer urethral spasms when a SPC is in situ rather than a urethral catheter.

Bladder botox has been used for years for people with overactive bladders. It has been used for Fowler’s patients and has shown improvements in bladder emptying for some, as well as reducing bothersome symptoms like spasms and pain. The botox is injected directly into the sphincter and is usually effective for between 3-9 months.

There are two more drastic options as well:

Mitrofanoff surgery is a form of urinary diversion. The purpose of this is to form a man-made channel between the bladder and abdominal wall to allow intermittent self-catheterisation through the abdomen rather than urethrally. Often, it is made using the appendix, but when this isn’t possible part of either the small or large bowel can be used. This option means that you don’t need to have a catheter permanently in place or be attached to a bag.

A Urostomy is a type of stoma and is another form of urinary diversion. A small section of bowel is used to form the stoma and this is connected to the ureters (the tubes that are connected to the kidneys). You then have a stoma bag that collects the urine and needs to be emptied throughout the day and changed regularly.

Both of these are options that are seen as a last resort due to the complexity of them and the recovery time that is needed.

I currently have a SPC (I’ve had it for 4 years now!) and have tried SNS but was told the trial wasn’t effective enough. I’m currently waiting to see if I can have another trial through pain management as it was very effective for my pain levels, and I should find out about this at the end of the month. I’ve been told by one consultant that Mitrofanoff or Urostomy surgery is my only option now, but this isn’t something that has been discussed further.

What is one thing you wish people knew about Fowler’s Syndrome?

That it is so much more than not being able to pee! It’s infections, sepsis, pain, leaking catheters, blood, more pain, spasms, medications, repeat hospital appointments, lack of understanding from professionals and those around you. It causes fatigue and can completely turn your life on its head. It’s a lot.

What is the hardest part about having Fowler’s Syndrome?

For me, it’s the catheter. I have very specific reasons why this is difficult – I have C-PTSD and my catheter is a huge trigger for me and so I find it incredibly hard to live with a catheter that causes such difficult emotions and thoughts to come up. I find catheter changes incredibly difficult because of this and it made self-catheterising near on impossible for me.

Have you had any positive experiences with medical professionals about it, and if so, how has that impacted you?

I have! My first urology nurse was incredible. She was very empathetic and understanding, and I really felt listened to by her. She is actually the reason I started sharing my journey more openly. I had spoken to her about how I felt like I must be the only person in the world my age to be experiencing symptoms like I was, and she sat me down and told me that it was so much more common than people thought. She said she’d love there to be a young urology ‘poster-girl’ (as most leaflets I got given featured pictures of old people on them) and it was after that appointment that I decided to open up more and raise as much awareness as possible.

I’ve also been really lucky to have some incredibly district nurses coming out to me for catheter changes. They’ve held my hand, reassured me when I’ve had flashbacks, stayed at my flat for far longer than they should in order to make sure that I’m ok after a change. They’ve had cups of tea with me and listened to me play the piano, told me about their lives – treated me like a human and not a number. They’ve let me get to know them as much as possible so that I really feel like I have trusted relationships with them, which due to past trauma is something that means a huge amount for me.

If you could change just one aspect of Fowler’s Syndrome, what would it be?

The pain. Definitely the pain. I think I could come to terms with the catheter if I didn’t have to put up with such debilitating pain and spasms.

If you could speak to med students, what is the most important thing you would want them to take away from the conversation?

I actually spoke to some med students about Fowler’s last year! I was an inpatient on a psych ward (so I doubt they were expecting me to start talking urology at them) and they asked if they could have a chat with me and listen to my story. I told them that if there was one thing I wanted them to take from our discussion it was to remember what Fowler’s Syndrome is and to share it with fellow med students and lecturers. I appreciate that it is a rare condition, but it has such wide reaching effects and it still deserves attention and awareness.

If anyone ever has any questions about Fowler’s Syndrome or bladder health in general, I’m always open to answering anything you want to know about!

All my love,

Anna x

Loneliness in Chronic Illness

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Living with chronic illness is a journey that is full of challenges – physical, emotional, social – you name it, it can be a challenge. Among these, loneliness is something that is incredibly common but is also underestimated by a lot of people. Chronic illness fundamentally reshapes your entire life – activities that one brought you joy may no longer be possible due to pain or fatigue, friends and family may struggle to understand your limitations which also leaves you vulnerable to feelings of loneliness.

Social events often require energy and effort that a lot of people with chronic illness are unable to participate in. Spoon theory is a good way to describe the energy limitations that are imposed on someone with a chronic health condition, and often we simply lack the ‘spoons’ needed. This can lead to feelings of isolation as being around friends and family is how we feel connected and is something that people need – we use solitary confinement in prisons as a punishment because it removes that connection that all humans need.

As well as this, when people misunderstand our illness or limits that we have, it can lead to a lack of empathy or patience. It’s understandable that, unless you’ve got a chronic health condition yourself, you can’t fully comprehend what life is like. And as chronic illnesses are so unique and symptoms vary drastically from person to person there can be misunderstanding between individuals with the same condition. It often feels like no one understands what life can be like, and this is a lonely place to be!

Loneliness doesn’t just stem from chronic illness either – it can actually worsen it. Social isolation can exacerbate feelings of depression, anxiety, and hopelessness, which can, in turn, amplify physical symptoms. It can feel like a never-ending cycle that is impossible to break.

But despite the loneliness that you may feel, there are other ways to connect with people. I have found communities online that have allowed me to connect with and speak to other people with chronic illness who understand what life can be like. For me, social media is my connection to the outside world – if I didn’t have access to it then life would feel even more isolating for me. I sometimes take breaks from social media as it can feel overwhelming at times, but I do miss the sense of community and understanding when I am away from those groups.

If you know someone who is living with a chronic illness, remember that your understanding and patience can make all the difference. Reach out, listen without judgement, and offer support in whatever way your loved one needs. Offer to pop round for a cup of tea or to go to drop off some shopping. Ask if they want to chat on the phone or over facetime. Find out if they need help with jobs around the house and offer to go over and help them get some bits done. Whatever is needed at the time – knowing that they have people who love and care about them will undoubtedly make the person struggling with chronic illness feel valued and connected to you!

All my love,

Anna x

Managing Guilt – When Chronic Illness Impacts Relationships

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Chronic illness doesn’t just affect you, the person experiencing it – it has a ripple effect that spreads out to family, friends, colleagues. Something that I know a lot of people struggle with is the feelings of guilt that can arise because of this. Guilt can stem from feeling like a burden, missing out on social or work related events, or needing additional help from others. While this is a natural way to feel, it can have a long-lasting impact on mental health and relationships.

There are numerous reasons that you might feel guilty when struggling with chronic illness. Often people describe feeling like a burden as they require more support with things like shopping, cooking, cleaning or even washing yourself. This leads people to feel badly about the amount of time and energy that is being spent on your care. The nature of chronic illness is that they are unpredictable. This can mean that you have to cancel plans last minute and therefore feel like you are letting others down. It can also impact family dynamics and impose limitations on what you can do in terms of work – both of these can cause guilt as you feel like you are disrupting people from living their life or not pulling your weight.

I think it’s important to remind yourself regularly that needing help from others doesn’t mean that you are weak or less valuable. Relationships are mutual and those closest to you want to help you in any way they can. It can help to talk about your feelings of guilt – it may not be obvious to others that you are feeling this way, and talking to them means that they can reassure you that they are happy to help. They say a problem shared is a problem halved, right?

Even if you can’t contribute to things in the same way that you did pre-illness, you can find other ways to show your support, care and appreciation for those around you. Chronic illness is not your fault, and guilt won’t change your circumstances. Think of all the brain space you might free up if you’re not constantly berating yourself for what you can’t do!

Having healthy boundaries can help prevent resentment and allow your relationships to blossom and thrive. Remind yourself frequently that letting other people help isn’t weakness or a sign that you are no longer independent – you can be independent and still ask for help.

Remember this: guilt is a natural response to the challenges of living with chronic illness, but it doesn’t have to define your relationships or self-worth.

All my love,

Anna x

The Power of Being Different – Finding Yourself in Elphaba and Glinda

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The last time I was lucky enough to see Wicked on their UK tour – I treated myself to front row seats and loved every second!

It’s no secret that I love the musical Wicked – I’ve been lucky enough to see it 7 times and seen 5 amazing Elphaba’s and 6 incredible Glinda’s perform. I used to dream of performing in a West End pit orchestra (and still do if I’m being honest) and Wicked would definitely be my dream show. I absolutely adore every part of it.

When we think of Elphaba and Glinda, it is easy to see them as opposites. Elphaba, the misunderstood outsider stands in direct contrast to Glinda, the sparkling picture of popularity. But the truth is far more nuanced than this. I think everyone has an inner Elphaba and Glinda – often one side more pronounced than the other, but there nonetheless. They’re not just fictional characters; they are symbols, mirrors for the parts of ourself we often hide or struggle to embrace.

Elphaba: For the Misfits and the Rebels

Elphaba is for every person who has felt like they don’t belong, like they’re too much or not enough all at once. She is for the ones who see the world differently and refuse to accept it as it is. She represents the misunderstood, the outcasts, and the rebels who dare to question the rules.

She is for:

  • Every undiagnosed autistic girl who never quite fit in
  • Every child who was labelled “too much” for simply being themselves
  • Every loner who found refuge in books, dreams, or the stars
  • Every person who stood up for what’s right, even if it meant standing alone
  • Everyone who has learned to find power in the very things other people tried to shame them for

Elphaba reminds us that being different isn’t a curse – it’s a gift. Her story is a testament to the strength it takes to stay true to yourself in a world that demands conformity.

Glinda: For the Dreamers and the Evolving

Glinda, on the other hand, is for the ones who thought they had to play by the rules to be loved. She represents the perfectionists, the people-pleasers, and the dreamers who eventually learn that authenticity matters more than appearance.

She is for:

  • Every girl who thought fitting in was the only way to matter
  • Every person who hid their insecurities behind charm and a dazzling smile
  • Every perfectionist who learned that growth comes from vulnerability
  • Everyone who discovered that true power lies not in being adored, but in being brave
  • Every friend who realised that love isn’t about staying the same, but growing together

Glinda shows us that it is never too late to rewrite your story. She reminds us that even the most sparkling facade can hide a heart searching for something real – and that transformation is possible.

Elphaba and Glinda teach us that there is no single way to be strong, no one path to belonging. Elphaba’s defiance shows us the power of staying true to ourselves, while Glinda’s evolution reminds us that growth and change are part of the journey. Together, they challenge us to embrace both our shadows and our light, our flaws and our potential.

Whether you see yourself in Elphaba’s fierce independence, or Glinda’s journey to authenticity – or perhaps a little of both – their stories are for all of us. They remind us that the labels the world gives us don’t define who we are. What matters is how we choose to rise, love, and grow despite them.

So, who are you today? The rebel standing tall against the storm? The dreamer learning to let go of perfection? Maybe, like Elphaba and Glinda, you are a little bit of both – and that’s where the magic truly happens.

All my love,

Anna x

Mourning the Life You Expected

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I’ve written about the grief that accompanies chronic illness before, but it’s a topic that I often come back to because it is something that has been so prevalent in my life.

Living with chronic illness often comes with a deep sense of loss. It isn’t just the physical symptoms that affect your day-to-day life, but also the realisation that the life you imagined for yourself might never come to fruition. This feeling of loss can manifest as grief, a complex emotional process that many people with chronic illness experience.

Grief isn’t just something that is limited to the death of a loved one. People often grieve the loss of:

Physical abilities – the things you once took for granted like running, dancing, walking, might now feel or become impossible.

Independence – it’s hard when you have to suddenly rely on other people for help doing tasks that you would have previously handled independently with no problems. This is something that can feel incredibly vulnerable.

Future plans – you might have to give up on career goals, travel plans, or family aspirations, or at the very least, adjust your expectations of what you can realistically manage.

Sense of identity – chronic illness can force you to redefine who you are and how you see yourself. This is something that I have struggled with a lot – who am I without the things that I can no longer do. Who am I if I’m not studying or working?

Grief doesn’t follow a linear pattern at all. There are stages of grief that people go through but the order and time it takes varies massively from person to person. The five stages that people are said to experience are as follows:

Denial – “This can’t be happening to me.” You might ignore symptoms or resist a diagnosis.

Anger – “Why me?” It is completely natural to feel frustration and resentment about your situation!

Bargaining – “If I do everything that the doctors are telling me to do, maybe I’ll get better.” This stage also often involves clinging on to the possibility of a cure or treatment that will make life bearable.

Depression – “What’s the point?” Sadness and hopelessness can feel incredibly overwhelming.

Acceptance – “This is my reality but it doesn’t have to define me.” Accepting your situation doesn’t mean that you like your situation, rather that you are finding ways to move forward despite your diagnosis and struggles.

So, what can you do help cope with these feelings of grief?

You should allow yourself to feel your feelings. Don’t try to bury them because this isn’t going to help and will likely make things more difficult in the long run. It can also help to connect with other people who understand what life with chronic illness is like – I’m very lucky to have found communities on Facebook and Instagram that have allowed me to meet other people in similar situations to myself.

Therapy can also be a very helpful tool. I have been seeing a counsellor for 4 years and she has been my lifeline, offering me a safe space to explore my feelings around my illness. Through therapy I have learned how to be more compassionate towards myself and to respect my body’s limitations. I now respond with kindness when I’m having bad days as I’ve learned that punishing myself is not going to be beneficial.

Grief doesn’t mean giving up – it means making space to acknowledge your losses but also the new opportunities that might arise as a result. Chronic illness may alter your life dramatically, yes, but it doesn’t erase who you are as a person. And it doesn’t have to get rid of your potential for growth, connection, and happiness.

All my love,

Anna x

An Invisible Battle: How Chronic Illness Affects Mental Health

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Living with a chronic illness is like trying to work your way through the maze from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – there are new obstacles at every turn, and just as you think you know where you’re going a dead end springs up in front of you and you have to try and start again. Whilst the physical impacts of chronic illness can, at times, be readily apparent, the impact that illness has on your mental health is often overlooked. It’s a complex interaction – an invisible battle that so many people face daily.

One defining characteristic of many chronic illness is their invisible nature, leaving no outward signs of the suffering that goes on. As a result of this many individuals living with chronic illness struggle with feelings of isolation and invalidation. There is often a huge psychological toll because of this, especially when there are attitudes of disbelief from others as they struggle to understand the extent of the pain and suffering that goes on below the surface. This lack of understanding is something that increases feelings of alienation, which just adds to the psychological impact that chronic illness has.

Something that I really struggled with, and, if I’m being honest still struggle with, has been the loss of my previous life. The loss of many things that felt like ‘Anna’. The loss of my degree, the job I had, the hobbies I enjoyed. I could suddenly no longer study or work, and things like running and going to the gym were unattainable because of the harsh limitations that were so quickly imposed on my life. And I know that this is something that so many other people struggle with too. As well as the loss of life, the stigma that accompanies chronic illness also impacts our self-esteem. We live in a society that values busyness and speed, productivity and independence. It becomes easy to internalise these messages, and to feel like everyone else is living their best life, which can exacerbate struggles with our mental health. 

And chronic illness life is STRESSFUL. That might be the understatement of the year. We have to deal with symptoms, flares, appointments and treatment, as well as the questions about the future that hang over us. Experiencing unpredictable symptoms and  flare ups is something that definitely makes me feel out of control. I really struggle with not knowing if things will get better or worse, and wish that I could somehow control everything in my own way (yes, I am a control freak and perfectionist and probably always will be). It becomes easy to feel like you’re constantly watching your back, trying to anticipate the next wave of symptoms that will appear. And this is exhausting, both physically and emotionally. The never ending feelings of stress have been studied and shown to contribute towards anxiety, depression and other mood disorders.

However, whilst it’s true that there is little those with chronic illness can do to ease the challenges that they face, dealing with these challenges day in, day out, means we also start to become very resilient people. And the more resilient we become, the more we can accept what is going on in our lives which can make the mental toll feel lighter. Additionally, this resilience can help us to try and develop a strong support network, trying to seek out others who understand what life is like, who make us feel less alone in our journey. 

Trying to reach out of help from others is something that’s really difficult, yet also something that everyone should try to do. It can be invaluable in providing additional support for the emotional impact that chronic illness causes. Engaging in therapy or counselling can help you develop skills and coping mechanisms that will help you in the day to day struggles, and support groups can give connection and help you form relationships with people who truly get it. All of this can also help you begin to feel more compassionate towards yourself, can help push you more towards acceptance of your situation.

Living with chronic illness is a journey full of obstacles, but is also testament to the resilience of those who struggle. It’s completely understandable that having a long-term illness has a big impact on mental health and can cause huge struggles – I think anyone who suddenly lost their sense of self and their previous life would start to struggle too. 

Finally, to anyone trying to navigate the unpredictability of chronic illness life, remember this: your struggles are valid, people do see your pain (and are exactly the kind of people you need in your life), and you have more resilience than you think you do. You are not defined by your illness, even when it dominates your life, but by the courage that you show when you get up and face life day after day.

All my love,

Anna x