Tag: Faith

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 Heals, He Heals Completely

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There are moments in life when the ache feels unending. It sits deep in the chest, like a weight you can’t shake off. Maybe it’s the grief of a loss, the sting of rejection, the fatigue of chronic illness, or the quiet loneliness that lingers long after the world has gone to sleep. We become experts at surviving – smiling through the silence, functioning while broken, convincing ourselves that this is just how life will be.

But the beautiful truth is that God doesn’t leave us there.

When God heals, He doesn’t just patch the wound with a plaster. He restores. He reaches into the hollow spaces we try so hard to fill ourselves and brings life where we felt empty. He doesn’t just silence the ache, He transforms it.

I’ve learned that healing often doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes it’s quiet and slow, like the sunrise creeping over the horizon after the longest night. There’s no fanfare, no sudden moment when everything is “fixed.” Instead, it’s the gentle awareness that you’re breathing again. You’re not just existing – you’re living.

And it’s not because we’ve figured out all the right prayers or because we’re strong enough to push through. Healing happens because God is faithful. He sees the cracks we try to cover. He knows the silent battles we fight and the tears no one else sees.

If you’re in that aching place today, don’t give up. Don’t believe for a second that God has forgotten you. He is near, even when you can’t feel Him. He knows every detail of your pain, and He knows exactly how to restore what’s been broken.

When God heals, it’s never halfway. It’s not just about survival – it’s about revival. It’s about turning the hollow places into something full of hope and beauty again.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147:3

But I also know this: healing doesn’t always look the way we imagine it will. Sometimes the ache lingers longer than we hoped. Sometimes the miracle we prayed for never comes in the form we expected. And sometimes, healing isn’t something we experience fully this side of eternity.

This is the tension we live in – the now and not yet of God’s Kingdom. Yes, God brings healing now – in our hearts, our minds, our relationships, our bodies. But we also wait for the not yet – the day when every tear will be wiped away, when all pain will cease, when we’ll be made whole in the fullest sense.

That doesn’t mean His healing isn’t real in the present. It just means we trust Him to carry us through the in-between. We learn to hold space for both: the hope. that He is healing us today, and the faith that one day, everything broken will be made new.

So if you’re still waiting, still aching, still asking – know that you’re not forgotten. You’re living in the middle of a promise, and God is faithful to finish what He started. Wholeness is coming. If not in this life, then in the one to come.

He did it for me. He’s doing it now. And one day, He will do it fully for you, too.

All my love,

Anna x

God, Remind Me I Still Need You – Even on My Best Days

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There have been seasons in my life when I have held onto God like a lifeline. Not because I was particularly faithful or holy, but because I was utterly desperate. Rock-bottom, no-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel, breathless kind of desperate. The kind of season where you don’t just want God – you know you won’t survive without Him.

And it’s a feeling I will never forget.

I remember crying in the middle of the night, not even sure if my prayers were coherent – just groaning out to God in the dark. I remember begging Him for strength to get through just one more hour. I remember reading Psalm 34 on repeat, clinging to the promise that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

And He did. He came close. Not always with quick fixes or instant answers, but with presence. With mercy. With enough grace to keep going. I needed Him every second, and I knew it. But here’s what I’m learning now:

It’s easy to remember your need for God when you’re drowning. It’s much harder to remember it when you’re dancing.

Healing Doesn’t Make Us Self-Sufficient

In recent months, my life has started to feel a little more stable, especially in regard to my mental health. Not perfect – far from it – but better. I laugh more. I breathe easier. I’m able to do things that once felt impossible. There’s more light, more space to rest, more reasons to hope. And I thank God for that – I truly do.

But I’ve also noticed something else: on the days when things go well, I sometimes forget how much I still need Him.

I forget to pray with urgency.

I forget to pause and listen.

I forget that grace is still what sustains me – not my own strength, not my own recovery, not my own resilience.

When things are chaotic, it’s easy to cry out, “God, help me.” But when life feels good, how often do I cry out, “God I still need you”?

The truth is, I still need Him just as much on my best day as I did on my worst. I always have, and always will.

“Apart from Me, you can do nothing”

Jesus said these words in John 15:5 and they’ve been echoing in my heart lately:

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.”

Nothing.

Not “a little.” Not “less than usual.”

Nothing.

This isn’t just about surviving the hard moments. This is about abiding – staying close, staying connected, staying dependent on Him whether the skies are stormy or clear.

When I’m thriving, when I feel emotionally strong, when everything is going “right” – I’m just as dependent on Him as I was in the pit. I may not feel that need as acutely, but it’s there. My need for God isn’t based on how difficult life is. It’s based on who He is – the source of every breath, every blessing, every bit of peace and purpose.

Don’t Let Me Drift

I think one of the subtler dangers in our faith is the slow drift that can happen when life gets easier. We stop pressing in quite as much, we let our guard down spiritually, we become a little too comfortable.

Not because we’re being rebellious – just because we’re tired. Or distracted. Or because life has finally given us a little bit of space to breathe, and we want to enjoy it. And we should. Rest is good. Joy is good. Healing is good!

But let’s not forget who gave them to us in the first place.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” (James 1:17)

If the good days are a gift, then the giver is still worthy of our full attention.

Remembering the Wilderness

Sometimes, I go back and reread old journal entries or prayer notes from the hardest chapters of my life. Not to reopen wounds, but to remember what God carried me through. I never want to romanticise the suffering – it was awful – but I also don’t want to forget the intimacy I experienced with God in the middle of it.

I want to carry that same dependence into the calm.

I want to love Him not just because I need Him to rescue me, but because I know I need Him to guide me, shape me, anchor me, and hold me – no matter what season I’m in.

If you’re in a hard season right now, I see you. Keep clinging to Him. He is near, and He is faithful.

But if you’re in a season of healing or peace – don’t forget your need for Him. You haven’t “graduated” from grace. You’re not supposed to. You don’t have to earn the good days or prove you’re strong enough without Him. Because the point was never to be strong without Him. The point has always been to walk with Him.

On your worst day, He was enough.

On your best day, He still is.

All my love,

Anna x

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

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

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

Diagnosed with Autism as an Adult

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Last year I was diagnosed with Autism. It was a diagnosis that had been brought up a few times in the past, but until recently I wasn’t open to the possibility of an assessment. I’d rather unpolitely told my key worker when I was under the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service to stick it. But last year I had my assessment as I decided that I’d lived long enough feeling like something was wrong with me and I needed answers.

For so many people, myself included, being diagnosed as autistic can feel like that one missing piece of the puzzle has finally slotted in to place. It is a moment of clarity that can explain years of feeling different and misunderstood. But it can also bring about other emotions – relief, confusion, grief, and sometimes joy. More and more people are finding out that they’re autistic as adults as we finally recognise what autism looks like and how it might present. This comes after years of trying to navigate a world that wasn’t built for them.

ASD is a historically under-diagnosed condition especially in women, people of colour, and those who don’t have obvious behavioural challenges. Many of us who are diagnosed later in life grew up at a time when autism awareness was limited and only really associated with children or those presenting with stereotypical traits.

For me, I spent years of my life feeling like something was wrong with me. I never seemed to fit into the typical mould that my peers did – I wasn’t interested in the same things as them, I preferred to spend time alone, and I really struggled with forming and maintaining friendships. So when I received my diagnosis I felt a huge wave of relief because there was finally an explanation for why I had felt different my entire life. It provided validation and allowed me to stop beating myself up for my difficulties.

I started to feel all the feelings – I felt sad, frustrated, angry and overwhelmed, with relief mixed in for good measure.

I was angry with myself that when CAMHS discussed the possibility of me being autistic, I told them to stick it and refused to discuss it any further. I felt angry with myself that I never went ahead with an assessment. I was frustrated that no one else noticed the signs prior to this, especially when everything began to feel incredibly obvious.

Why did I feel like this?

Because if I had been recognised as autistic 5, 10, 15 years ago I’d have probably achieved my degree. I’d have been able to understand myself better and make adjustments that may have made university and work more feasible. I might not have chronic mental health issues or have spent so long in environments that are so unsuitable for neurodiverse individuals. I’d have had years to wrap my head around it all. I began to feel like life could look so different for me.

But I also began to learn that autism isn’t something for me to fix. And I started to feel relief that at least I could start to make adaptations to my life that will benefit me from here on. I realised that I could start to embrace myself in an authentic way and that I could celebrate my strengths and skills.

Yes, receiving my diagnosis meant I had to make a huge shift in self-understanding. I had to begin unlearning societal expectations that I’d spent years trying to adapt to. I realised that my diagnosis didn’t change who I am – I have always been autistic and will always be autistic – and that is ok! I now get to try and build a life that allows me to honour my needs, strengths, and individuality.

All my love,

Anna x

Not Your Time

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Content Warning: This post talks about suicide. Although no details are given please be mindful of this and don’t read on if this is something that might be triggering for you!

Have you ever had someone say to you, “It’s clearly not your time,” after a suicide attempt? If you have, you probably know how cliche it sounds. Those words can feel empty, as though they’re meant to close a conversation rather than open one. Yet, as much as I’ve resisted the phrase, I can’t deny the weight it holds in my own life. After surviving multiple attempts to die – despite every intention to leave this world – I’ve been forced to confront the possibility that those words might carry a truth I hadn’t been willing to see.

I’ve tried. Many times. In moments of despair, I’ve done everything within my power to end the pain. And every single time, something has stopped in from happening. Maybe it was an intervention of a friend, the police or hospital staff, or a twist of fate that kept me alive. Maybe it was sheer luck, or as I’ve come to consider more and more, maybe it was because it wasn’t part of the plan that God has for my life.

The idea that survival is part of a greater plan is as difficult to accept as it is to dismiss. If I believe that God has a purpose for my life – and some part of me does – then surviving when I was ready to die suggests that my story isn’t over yet. If my time had come, wouldn’t I have succeeded? Wouldn’t I finally have found that escape?

But believing in that purpose doesn’t make the pain vanish. If anything, it complicates things. I’ve found myself asking why God would keep me here, struggling, when I was so ready to let go. What possible reason could justify the agony that led me to those moments in the first place? It’s a question I don’t have an answer to – at least, not yet.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve asked yourself similar questions. Maybe you’ve also faced moments when death seemed like the only way out. And maybe, like me, you’re still here, unsure of why. Here’s the conclusion I’ve started to reach: survival might not feel like a gift in the moment, but it’s an invitation to keep going. To keep searching. To keep asking what’s next.

When I think about the times I’ve survived, I realise that those moments weren’t random. They were filled with small interventions – a text from a friend, a hug from a family member that I so desperately needed, the police turning up at exactly the right moment to stop me doing something I wouldn’t be able to undo. Those moments weren’t the answers to all my questions, but they were signposts pointing me toward something bigger.

Wrestling with God’s Plan

If you believe, as I do, that God has a plan for each of us, then the idea that “it’s not your time” takes on a heavier, more significant meaning. If God has kept me here through all of this, then it would stand to reason that my time to leave this world is not now – because if it were, I would be gone. Period.

But it’s hard to reconcile the pain and hopelessness that drive someone to attempt suicide with the concept of a loving God who is guiding everything. It can feel cruel. Why keep me here, God, if it hurts this much? Why not let me go when I was so ready, so certain?

I don’t know exactly what God’s plan for me looks like. But I’ve started to think that surviving is part of it. Being here, despite everything, is part of it. And maybe writing this, sharing this, is part of it too.

“It’s still clearly not your time” still sounds cliche to me. It probably always will. But maybe the reason it’s such a persistent phrase is because there’s a deep truth buried in it. If you’ve survived something you didn’t think you could survive, it’s worth considering that there might be a reason for that. Not in a shallow, sugar-coated way, but in a profound, weighty way that calls up to look deeper into our lives and our purpose.

So here I am, still trying to figure it all out. Still asking questions. Still frustrated. But also still here. And if you’re reading this, you’re still here too. Maybe that’s worth something. Maybe that’s worth everything.

‘But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” – 2 Corinthians 12:9

All my love,

Anna x

It’s Been a While

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I don’t have many photos from the last few months but this is one of the happier ones, one where I was starting to feel a little more content with the situation at that time.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog, and so much has happened in my life – I could write for days about it all, but I’ll spare you. I thought, to ease myself back in, I’d share something I recently posted on Facebook – a testimony of sorts. It’ll give you some insight into where I disappeared to and the kind of things that have been going on. So here you are… enjoy!

(This post includes topics of suicide, hospital and acute illness (both physical and mental) so please don’t read on if this might affect you negatively in any way!)

It’s been a little over three months since I was admitted to hospital, yet it feels like a lifetime ago since the police intervened and took me to the local Place of Safety.

It’s a weird one, being suicidal and wanting life to end, whilst also believing in truths from the Bible such as the familiar verse, Jeremiah 29:11 where we’re told “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Those things are seemingly in contradiction with one another – because if I believe what God has to say, all of this is somehow part of his plan and I need to wait and see how it all slots into place. It’s just hard holding on to that when your mental health is at rock bottom as it feels like something that has to be so far removed from God’s plan for life. I know he doesn’t get pleasure out of it, that it breaks his heart when we are in situations like this – so why do we end up in them? It’s difficult to wrap your head around.

Just after Christmas I was transferred from the Psychiatric Hospital I was sectioned to, to the local general hospital. I was pretty physically unwell – depression has ruined my appetite lately and I’ve found it near on impossible to eat anything. When I was moved I had extremely low blood sugar and was ketoacidotic. And very soon the conversation turned to NG feeding. Most of you will know that I have a difficult history with tube feeding – I spent 6 months back in 2019 with an NG tube being fed against my will and it was the most traumatic, difficult 6 months of my life. When they bought it up I prayed ‘God, I can’t do this again. I need a sign that you’re here with me.’ Nothing. I carried on praying this over the next couple of days, even more so when the NG tube was placed. Still nothing.

On day three of NG feeding the doctors came round to see me and told me I had refeeding syndrome. This is when your body tries to metabolise nutrients again but there are severe shifts in body chemistry which are related to electrolyte deficiencies. It caused a whole host of problems for me including low phosphate levels, low magnesium levels, low potassium levels and caused symptoms including muscle weakness, nausea, abnormal heart rhythms, fatigue, muscle cramps and low blood pressure. Again, I prayed ‘why, God? I really can’t do this.’ Again, I got nothing.

But the icing on the cake for me, was on New Years Eve. All of a sudden I began to feel incredibly unwell, completely out of the blue. My temperature shot up to 40.3, my blood pressure dropped dangerously low and I felt like my heart was going to come out of my chest. Doctors came to see me and said that they suspected that I had Sepsis which, by that point, I think I thought as well. I was seen by the Intensive Care Outreach team multiple times a day and 2 days later my blood cultures came back showing that I did, in fact, have Sepsis again. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so unwell – I had the worst headache that radiated down to the bottom of my neck and for 3 days I couldn’t move at all. My blood pressure refused to come up and I was still spiking fevers. I continued to pray ‘God, I really need that sign because this just feels like one thing after another and I really need a break.’ Yet still there was nothing.

Then, as I was starting to feel a little more human I spoke to one of the hospital chaplains (and by spoke to, what I really mean is sobbed at). We had a really good chat and I explained that I’d spent the last 2 weeks asking God for a sign because it was the one thing I really needed. She asked me if I knew of the poem ‘Footprints in the Sand’ which I do. And all of a sudden things started to slot into place. She reminded me that the poem says “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.” So, that set me off into a crying mess again. Because that was my sign. Later that day, as I lay in bed I prayed, only this time it was different as all I could say, over and over again, was ‘God, thank you for carrying me through.’

Things aren’t somehow better now, I’m still struggling and still sectioned in hospital but I remind myself every day that even though things are hard, God is carrying me and will continue to carry me. And my prayer is still ‘God, thank you for carrying me through.’

All my love,

Anna x