Walking a Mile Down a Painful Past

Sassy Little Hippy
May 5
5 min read

Welcome to my Chronic Health Journey series. While most of these are meant to be read in chronological order, starting with Roots of a Chronic Health Journey (Age 0-25), this particular blog can be read as a stand-alone.

This blog is dedicated to the friends, the family, the co-workers, the medical professionals, and anyone else that has a relationship with someone suffering from chronic conditions.

The Invisible 9 to 5

Have you ever wondered what it's to be in the shoes of someone with chronic illness while they are working a 9 to 5? Chances are, it's nearly impossible to fully imagine—unless you’ve lived it yourself. Our imaginations are often limited by what we can see or have experienced firsthand, and chronic illness is renowned for being invisible.

But chronic illness is a very real thing. While I experienced it during a time when the diagnoses were few and far between, and it was still a mystery to much of the professional medical community, it's very prevalent today. According to the CDC, Chronic diseases are the leading cause of illness, disability, and death in America¹. And the number of people (aged 50 years and older) with at least one chronic disease is estimated to increase by 99.5% from 71.522 million in 2020 to 142.66 million by 2050². But you don't really see this topic circulating around headlines...just in the shadows. Well, I'm here to help it take a step OUT of the shadows.

Walk A Mile

One of the companies I worked for, used to offer a program called "Walk-A-Mile," (or WAM) where we could shadow a person in another role, to see what a day in their life was like. I always found this so enlightening, so what better way to help others understand a day in the life of the silent sufferers. Will you join me for a short walk?

This is a glimpse of what an average day looked like for me in the workplace:

3-4 Hours of Sleep - Tossing and turning all night because lying in one position too long felt like lying on a bed of needles. No number of pillows could save me from the pain.
The Perfect Outfit - Nothing tight. No underwire bras. No rough fabrics. Anything abrasive made my skin feel like it was on fire. Shoes had to be flat, soft-soled, and extra cushioned—otherwise, my ankles would swell so badly I’d need help getting out of the building.
The Drive to Work - A sharp, shooting pain would travel from the arch of my driving foot up through my leg, making it unbearable to stay seated. Shifting my weight sometimes helped... until it didn’t. Many times I resorted to driving with my rear-end held high above the seat to get my body as straight as possible to ease the pain.
Purses & Backpack - Wearing anything on my shoulder for more than a few minutes ignited stabbing pain. Only a deep massage could help, and even then, relief was fleeting. The pain returned the moment the massage ended.
Standing - More than 30 minutes of standing—or just a few on a hard surface—sent bolts of pain shooting from my feet up through my spine. The only relief? Sitting. Imagine managing a tradeshow booth where sitting wasn’t an option.
Sitting - Yes, even sitting was a problem. After just 30 minutes—or mere moments on a hard chair—the pain would jolt me to my feet. Imagine that in a crowded meeting room. I also learned the hard way how many restaurants offer nothing but hard seating (EVERY SINGLE RESTAURANT IN ASHEVILLE)! Huge shoutout to the inventor of inflatable cushions.
Walking - Even a brisk walk or short hike could end in searing pain. My hips and knees would stiffen until they refused to bend. Imagine trying to sprint through an airport, racing to keep up with coworkers, while hauling luggage. Your shoulders are on fire, your knees lock mid-stride, and your hips threaten to seize with every step. You’re moving—but your body is screaming to stop. And don’t even think about folding into a cramped plane seat afterward. Your legs won’t bend, so they stay stubbornly straight, shoved awkwardly under the seat in front of you.
Handshakes - There's a special place in hell for the hand-crushers—those overly enthusiastic grips left me with throbbing pain for hours. Establish dominance some other way, please.
Meetings - Participating in meetings (be it in person or via phone) felt like wading through mental quicksand. I'd open my mouth to contribute, only to forget the simplest of words, like “barcode,” and would resort to describing the word instead. Imagine saying "the thing with a bunch of straight lines that can be scanned" in a meeting! It wasn’t that I didn’t know—I just couldn’t reach the words. And in those moments, I didn’t look like someone battling chronic illness. I looked like someone who didn’t belong in the room.
Human Contact - A pinch, a poke, even a hug could feel like an electric shock. The pain was felt twice as intense as it would be for a normal person, and lingered long after the contact ended. When I was first diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, the lightest touch felt like fire across my skin. A friendly pinch? Absolute torture.
Computer - Typing or using a mouse with arthritis? Every click, every key, a fresh wave of pain.
Round-the-Clock Pain - There wasn’t a single moment of any given day that I wasn’t in pain—except, briefly, during a massage. I constantly felt like I had the flu, aching throughout my bones. People often commented on my habit of massaging my own shoulders during the day. I didn’t even notice I was doing it. It was the only way to survive from one moment to the next.

And that’s just the baseline. Add to that the monthly torture of my Moon Cycle with Endometriosis, quarterly chronic sinus infections that dragged on for two months at a time, the daily indigestion, the migraines—and you start to get the picture.

"And in those moments, I didn’t look like someone battling chronic illness. I looked like someone who didn’t belong in the room."

Finding Compassion in the Pain

When it comes to Chronic Illness, there’s no one-size-fits-all experience. Some wear it on their face, express it through words, or quietly disappear from the public eye. Others suffer in silence—showing up with a smile, masking their pain behind laughter and determination. I was the smiler. The optimist. The one who pushed herself to keep pace with everyone else. But that’s not everyone’s story.

If you struggle to understand chronic illness, just know this: compassion is the most powerful medicine you can offer. Give people the space to exist as they are, to express themselves however they need. It’s within that space that healing begins. Lend a patient ear. Show up with grace. And if you see them slipping into a spiral of negativity, be their lifeline to hope. Because without hope, the light inside them begins to fade.

And if you are personally experiencing chronic illness, please know that healing IS POSSIBLE. No matter what the doctors tell you. I am proof. I healed myself from multiple chronic dis-eases, and I am on a mission to help other's find their own path to healing as well. Join my community. Follow my blogs. And stay tuned, because I have some magical plans in the works for those that are ready to heal. ✨