Living with multiple chronic illnesses has left me bound to a never-ending rollercoaster ride of uncertainty. But since learning to listen to my bodyβs needs, Iβve managed to set better boundaries within my fitness career and with those who surround me β as well as with myself.Β
Iβve been in pain since I was nine years old. To date, being painfully honest with myself about my chronic conditions and how they impact my overall health has been one of the most liberating acts.
My first memory of physical pain was with gastroenteritis, which was quickly succeeded by menstrual pain. I vividly remember getting my period and silently feeling conflicted about it for a long time.Β
Despite my momβs advocacy in my late teenage years and, eventually, my own as an adult, health specialists did little to aid my pain management. Over the years, I experienced several miscarriages and lost jobs when chronic pain hindered my ability to show up.
At one point, I was subjected to a (not so random) drug test from an employer. My βquestionable attendance,β requests for breaks, and βperiod excusesβ were suspicious despite my transparency.Β
To many, I didnβt look sick and my conditions were written off as laziness. Without specialized medical treatment or a diagnosis, I allowed others to reduce my pain and gaslight me.Β
The pain relief suggestions I received ranged from weight loss to stronger pain medication and birth control pills to help regulate my cycle. If all else failed, it had to be something I was doing wrong with my body.
I was also able to rule out birth control as a potential remedy after experiencing stroke symptoms within ten days of receiving an initial prescription. As a result, in 2015, I went from completing a half marathon in Central Park to, less than a week later, struggling to walk up two flights of stairs.
Pain controlled every aspect of my life, until May 2013 when I decided I was tired of missing out on lifeβs greatest joys because of my period. By this point, I had also been diagnosed with sciatica (a herniated disc) and had grown frustrated with what seemed like my bodyβs limitations.
I took up running, cycling, mobility work, and fell in love with the physical and mental layers of my yoga practice. I significantly altered my diet β somewhat with the intention of weight loss β and felt relief in the short term. While being physically active did temporarily improve my back and menstrual pain, the pain worsened in the long term.
This served as an important reminder that weight loss wouldnβt remedy my pain. In turn, I stopped obsessing over the number on the scale and continued to be active simply for the joy of movement.Β
It took me a long time to no longer mask my pain in social settings, particularly in the fitness space. Slowly but surely, I learned that my self-worth was not dependent upon my physical performance or mental grit. Itβs okay to be honest about feeling pain, to take breaks and alter plans.
Most chronic pain warriors can attest to the woes of having an uncertain schedule. For me, this involves making contingency plans for my fitness regimen. Despite the initial discomfort, Iβve grown accustomed to being direct with friends, clients, and loved ones about my physical and mental limitations.Β
Some days are an uphill battle with imposter syndrome but, mostly, I prefer to propel myself forward. Iβve learned that Iβm filled with glee when I try my best and remain open about my situation instead of succumbing to the shadows illness can place on my relationship with my body.
At times, I think Iβve adapted to the pain, but during flare ups Iβm reminded that itβs truly a daily process. A few years ago, when I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), rectovaginal endometriosis, fibromyalgia, depression, and C-PTSD, it was frightening and overwhelming β but it was also empowering to learn what was going on with my body.
My diagnoses provided me with a sense of validation about my pain. It gave me permission to be kinder to myself. Learning about my physical ailments also allowed me to mend my mental health. Coping with long term conditions β especially ones without a cure β can weigh on you and your support network.
These days, Iβve found harmony with my bodyβs physical limitations. Since my diagnoses, Iβve felt empowered to share my story on several platforms. When I published an essay with The Root, I received hundreds of emails and direct messages from people suffering with chronic pain.
I never imagined being transparent about my health issues would change my career trajectory or the way I use my voice. Iβm far from being the first to be this forthcoming, but I love contributing honesty and humility to discourse about invisible conditions.
Through my social media platforms and blog, Running Fat Chef, I like to talk about taboos with hints of humor and rawness. Creating content surrounding how my reproductive issues and chronic conditions impact my physical performance as an ultra-runner makes me feel like Iβve tapped into my superpowers.
If you have a chronic illness, itβs often coupled with others that can further complicate your journey. It can be isolating and difficult to locate the exact source of your pain β or to explain it to others. It can be exhausting to discuss the cycle of pain with new people or those who want to help.
On days when I have the mental fortitude, I initiate discussions about everything from chronic fatigue to urinary incontinence and fears surrounding being an athlete with unique health challenges. My goals are simple: I want to eradicate stigma for everybody, while emancipating myself from the toll of living in silence for years.Β
When people engage me online, it feels like a love letter reaching across a keyboard to remind me Iβm not alone. Being able to offer a virtual hand-hold to others experiencing chronic illness nurtures my spirit.Β
It may not be a cure, but it helps knowing we are powerful beyond our physical limitations. By having hard conversations about chronic illness, we can build the inclusive world everyone deserves to inhabit.