The holidays are noisy. Not just with music and parties and people — but with proof. Proof that everyone else seems to be gathering, hosting, laughing, overflowing.
And then there’s your house. Quiet. Still. Too still.
You can be grateful and lonely at the same time. Those aren’t opposites — they’re roommates who don’t speak to each other.
You can know you’re lucky, blessed, resourced, safe… and still feel like something essential is missing. Like the volume of the world has been turned up everywhere else and muted where you are.
That disconnect messes with your head.
Because the messaging is relentless:
Be thankful.
Cherish this season.
Soak it all in.
But what if there isn’t much to soak in? What if you’re not ungrateful — you’re just alone?
There’s a particular kind of loneliness that shows up during the holidays. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet, creeping kind that makes you feel unworthy of love, like if you were easier, better, less broken, someone would be here.
And that’s the lie.
The truth is: Holidays magnify absence. They don’t create it.
Estrangement, distance, grief, illness, burnout — all the things you’ve been surviving all year don’t suddenly take December off. They just get wrapped in twinkle lights and judged harder.
If your house is quiet this season, it doesn’t mean you failed. It doesn’t mean you’re unlovable. It doesn’t mean you did something wrong.
It just means this season is asking something different of you.
Maybe survival instead of celebration. Gentleness instead of gratitude lists. Presence instead of performance.
You don’t have to force joy to prove you’re okay. You don’t have to fake cheer to earn rest. And you don’t have to minimize your pain just because someone else has it worse.
If the holidays are loud everywhere except your house — your quiet is still allowed. Your sadness still counts. And you are still worthy of love, even when no one shows up with cookies and matching pajamas.
Sometimes getting through is enough. Sometimes staying soft in a loud world is the bravest thing you’ll do all season. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!
When people hear “fibromyalgia,” they usually think of pain — aching joints, sore muscles, that constant feeling like you overdid it yesterday even when you didn’t. Pain is part of it, yes. But for many people with fibromyalgia, fatigue is the symptom that quietly dismantles daily life.
This isn’t the kind of tired that goes away with a good night’s sleep or a strong cup of coffee. Fibromyalgia fatigue is persistent, physical, and rooted in how the nervous system functions.
Common Fibromyalgia Symptoms (Beyond Pain)
Fibromyalgia is a multisystem condition, not a single-symptom diagnosis. Common symptoms include:
Chronic widespread musculoskeletal pain
Ongoing fatigue
Non-restorative sleep (waking up unrefreshed)
Cognitive difficulties (“fibro fog”)
Sensitivity to light, sound, temperature, or touch
Headaches or migraines
Gastrointestinal issues (often overlapping with IBS)
Muscle stiffness, especially in the morning
Mood changes linked to nervous system stress
Not everyone experiences every symptom, and severity can fluctuate — sometimes daily, sometimes hourly.
What Makes Fibromyalgia Fatigue Different?
Fibromyalgia fatigue isn’t simply being tired from doing too much. It’s tied to central sensitization, a process in which the brain and spinal cord become overly reactive.
In simple terms:
The nervous system stays partially “on alert”
Pain signals are amplified
The body burns energy just maintaining baseline function
Even rest can require effort when the system responsible for regulating stress, pain, and recovery isn’t working efficiently.
Think of it like running multiple background apps you can’t close. The battery drains faster — even on low activity.
Mayo Clinic explains that people with fibromyalgia commonly experience fatigue and disrupted sleep, noting that individuals often wake up tired even after sleeping for a long time, as pain and related sleep disorders can interfere with rest. Mayo Clinic
Why Sleep Doesn’t Fix Fibromyalgia Fatigue
One of the most frustrating aspects of fibromyalgia is that sleep doesn’t reliably restore energy.
Research shows that people with fibromyalgia often experience:
Disrupted sleep architecture
Reduced time in deep, restorative sleep stages
Alpha-wave intrusion during sleep, keeping the brain partially alert
Frequent micro-arousals caused by pain or nervous system activity
This means someone can be unconscious for eight hours and still wake up feeling unrefreshed, stiff, and exhausted.
Sleep happens — but rest doesn’t fully occur.
Sleep research indicates that people with fibromyalgia often experience abnormal sleep patterns, such as reduced deep sleep and brain activity resembling wakefulness during sleep stages, which helps explain why rest does not always feel restorative. Sleep Foundation
The Role of the Nervous System
Fibromyalgia is increasingly understood as a disorder of nervous system regulation, not muscle damage or inflammation alone.
When the nervous system struggles to downshift:
Muscles remain tense
Pain signals remain elevated
Stress hormones like cortisol can become dysregulated
Energy recovery is impaired
This is why fatigue in fibromyalgia often feels disproportionate to activity levels — and why pushing through it usually backfires.
Why “Just Rest More” Misses the Point
Well-meaning advice like “get more sleep” or “listen to your body” often falls short because it assumes the system responsible for rest is functioning normally.
In fibromyalgia:
Rest helps, but it’s not a cure
Sleep matters, but it’s not always restorative
Energy management requires strategy, not willpower
Understanding this difference matters — medically, socially, and personally.
The Bottom Line
Fibromyalgia fatigue is not laziness, lack of motivation, or deconditioning. It’s a nervous system issue that affects how the body processes pain, stress, sleep, and recovery.
Recognizing fatigue as a core symptom — not a side effect — is essential to understanding what living with fibromyalgia actually looks like.
Because when the system itself is misfiring, exhaustion isn’t a failure. It’s feedback. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!
Hi friends! If your reading this, you are a friend. As all of you know, I do have a chronic illness, in fact a number of them lol, but you all know this season zaps even the best of us. As I have detailed here, December tends to hit my body and brain like they’re part of an obstacle course on a game show I never signed up for. And when you’re running full throttle and still falling short, something’s gotta give.
I don’t want to fall short here, especially because none of you are demanding anything from me. I can practically hear you saying, “We know all this,” with a dramatic eye roll (mostly my teen doing the heavy eye-rolling, let’s be honest — the rest of you are far too polite)
So here’s the deal: while I’ll absolutely keep sharing my random stories, chaotic life lessons, and general nonsense you didn’t ask for but still graciously read, I’m hitting pause on the menu/recipe posts until the week after Christmas. The holidays take a lot out of me, and if I don’t give myself extra gentleness, I end up wobbling like a Jenga tower in a windstorm.
That said, don’t be shocked if a cookie recipe sneaks its way in — December is long, and sometimes sugar is a coping mechanism. And for those of you navigating estrangement or heavy emotions this time of year, you get it. This season gets to the best of us… and I am very much not the best of us, so it does a number on me.
Thanks for sticking around, for reading, for being here. I appreciate you more than you know. There will be a George update soon as there is a family of them outside my window. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, for real be extra kind to yourselves, and each other!
Let’s be honest: pain flares deserve their own tier list. Not all suffering is created equal. Some flares are just a polite tap on the shoulder and others feel like they’ve traveled across lifetimes to personally drag you into the void.
So in the spirit of scientific accuracy (and by scientific accuracy, I mean vibes), here’s the ultimate ranking:
1️⃣ The Tiny Gremlin Twinge — A Mild Nuisance
This one pops up like, “Hey girl, just checking in!” It’s annoying, but you can still function… mostly. You limp a little, grab a heating pad just in case, and pretend it’s fine. It’s never fine — but we lie to ourselves anyway.
2️⃣ The Low-Battery Huff — You’ll Feel This Tomorrow
Your body starts sending strongly worded emails. It’s not enough to stop you, but everything feels… heavier. Slow. Foggy. You start rationing spoons like you’re preparing for a winter on the Oregon Trail.
3️⃣ The Surprise Stab — The “Who Threw That?” Pain
Sudden. Sharp. Personal. Like your muscles decided to reenact a crime scene with no warning. You freeze, gasp, and immediately question every life decision that led you here.
4️⃣ The Weather Channel Special — Barometric Betrayal
You wake up and instantly know a storm is coming. Your joints creak like a haunted staircase. Your spine predicts humidity better than any meteorologist. Honestly, you deserve a salary for this accuracy.
5️⃣ The Sensory Riot — Everything Hurts and Also Everything Is Loud
Pain spike + fibro fog + sensory overload = a cursed smoothie. Clothes? Too much. Lights? Too bright. Air molecules? Too aggressive. You consider relocating to a dark, soft cave forever.
6️⃣ The “Cancel All Plans” Episode — Nope. Absolutely Not.
The flare that turns your day into a hostage situation. Suddenly every joint is negotiating its own peace treaty. Even sitting still is exhausting. Being alive? Optional.
7️⃣ The Full-Body Betrayal — Your Skeleton Has Filed for Divorce
It spreads. It radiates. It’s everywhere at once. Nothing helps. No position is comfortable. You do that weird slow shuffle walk that looks like your bones are taped in. Heating pads, meds, and prayers to whoever will listen.
8️⃣ The “Summon the Ancestors” Flare — You Have Exited This Plane
Oh, this one? You can feel your DNA screaming. Pain so intense it becomes almost spiritual. You’re like, “I see the veil… it’s thin… tell MawMaw I’m coming…” You contemplate your will, your life choices, and whether reincarnation offers better warranty coverage.
Final Thought
Pain flares are rude, unpredictable, and truly lack professionalism. But calling them out? Naming them? Ranking them like Pokémon? Sometimes that’s how we cope — with humor, honesty, and a little dramatic flair. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.
So picture this: you’re minding your business, taking your meds like a responsible adult, when suddenly—boom. Pharmacy delay. Doctor out of town. Prior authorization “pending.” Ah the setback of psych meds. And your nervous system? It’s like, “Cool cool cool… let’s panic about everything now.”
Let’s be clear right out of the gate: This isn’t addiction. This is what happens when your body gets used to something your doctor prescribed, and then it disappears faster than your motivation on a Monday.
For people managing chronic pain, ADHD, bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, anxiety—basically anything that makes life feel like juggling flaming swords—missing meds can wreck your whole week. Sometimes your whole month. It used to be pain meds were controlled, well I got off all them and then I find out one of my meds for my mental state is controlled too.
So here’s the practical, not-patronizing guide to surviving it.
🧠 1. Know What’s Happening — It’s Not “Just in Your Head”
Your body doesn’t care that you’re being responsible. It just knows chemistry changed. Withdrawal from meds like antidepressants, or mood stabilizers can cause:
Flu-like symptoms (the fever, chills, and “oh God, why” kind)
Dizziness or brain zaps
Stomach chaos (you know what I mean)
Anxiety that feels like being trapped in your own skin
Crying at car insurance commercials
You’re not crazy, dramatic, or weak. You’re literally detoxing from a medication your body depended on.
🩺 2. Call the Pharmacy and Doctor — Every. Single. Day.
Yes, it’s annoying. Yes, they hate it. Do it anyway. Sometimes the squeaky wheel really does get the refill.
Ask for:
A partial fill (even a few days’ worth helps)
Generic or alternative options
If your doctor can bridge it with samples or a similar med
If you can’t get through to your doctor, ask to speak to the nurse or pharmacist directly—they can often light a fire under the process faster than anyone else.
You can’t cure withdrawal, but you can soften the edges. Try:
Hydration like it’s your job. Electrolytes help your body flush junk out faster.
Protein and complex carbs. Blood sugar swings make symptoms worse.
Body temp tricks: cool showers for feverish restlessness, warm baths for muscle tension.
Magnesium and vitamin B supplements (if cleared by your doc).
Ginger tea or mints for nausea.
Noise + comfort TV. Distract your brain from itself. (“SVU’ or ‘Chicago’ shows is a favorite here.)
And yes, sleep whenever you can. Withdrawal can feel like a bad breakup between your brain and your body, and you’ll need rest to survive the drama.
🚨 4. Know When It’s Too Much
If your symptoms go beyond “ugh” and start looking like “dangerous,” it’s time to get help. Go to urgent care or call your doctor if you experience:
Suicidal thoughts
Chest pain
Severe confusion or disorientation
Tremors, seizures, or blood pressure spikes
No guilt, no hesitation. This isn’t weakness—it’s biology in meltdown mode.
💬 5. You’re Not a “Druggie.” You’re a Human Being.
Let’s kill that stigma right now. There’s a difference between dependency and addiction—one means your body adapted to a med, the other means there’s misuse or compulsion.
If you’re following your prescription and life implodes when you miss it, that’s not moral failure. That’s chemistry. And it deserves compassion, not judgment.
🌿 Bonus: What to Do Once You’re Back on Track
Ask about tapering. Even a few days’ gap can make restarting rough.
Set up refill reminders. Calendar, app, sticky note, carrier pigeon—whatever works.
Request overlap fills (some pharmacies will fill a few days early if you ask).
Stock an emergency buffer once you can, even if it’s just a few days’ worth.
And most importantly: forgive yourself for the mess that isn’t your fault. Medication management in modern healthcare is like playing whack-a-mole blindfolded. You’re doing great just by surviving it. Dependency is’nt addiction. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!
From survival mode to regret, heartbreak to invisibly raging chaos, Taylor somehow finds the words for it all. These lyrics aren’t just clever turns of phrase — they’re mirrors for anyone struggling to be seen, understood, or simply to make it through another day. So the next time your body, brain, or emotions feel like they’re on fire, remember: Taylor’s got a line for that, and so do you. It’s not about whose pain is “worse” or more legitimate — it’s about being seen, validated, and reminded that even in the middle of your messiest moments, you’re still here, still trying, and still worthy of recognition.
“Balancin’ on breaking branches.” — Exile Tell me you live with chronic illness, ADHD, or bipolar disorder without telling me. That line is the daily tightrope walk — trying to look stable while everything underneath you is creaking. You’re functioning, technically… but one more unexpected email, flare-up, or emotional storm and snap. It’s the exhausted kind of resilience that looks impressive from the outside but feels like survival from the inside.
“I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t.” — Back to December, Speak Now Sometimes life leaves you with regrets that can’t be undone. Chronic illness, mental health episodes, or relationship missteps can haunt you, and all you can do is keep going forward while carrying those lessons with you.
“They told me all my cages were mental.” — This Is Me Trying, Folklore Living with invisible illness or neurodivergence can make people question your experience. Taylor nails the frustration of having your struggles minimized or dismissed, even when you’re doing your absolute best to keep it together.
“Love slipped beyond your reaches.” — Champagne Problems, Folklore For anyone navigating relationships while dealing with chronic pain, mental illness, or emotional turmoil, this lyric speaks to those moments when your best efforts simply aren’t enough — and you feel powerless watching connection slip away.
“Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?” — Right Where You Left Me, Folklore That’s literally trauma in a sentence. Perfect for describing being stuck in survival mode long after the danger has passed.
“When I was drownin’, that’s when I could finally breathe.” — Clean, 1989 Leave it to Taylor to turn a mental breakdown into poetry. That line perfectly sums up what it feels like when you finally stop pretending you’re fine — when the exhaustion, pain, or chaos finally knocks you flat, and somehow, that’s when you start healing. It’s not weakness; it’s the breath you take after holding it for way too long.
“You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter.” — Mine Generational trauma wrapped in a love song. It’s breaking the patterns you were born into, learning love without fear, and realizing being “the careful daughter” was never the same as being safe.
“Why’d I have to break what I love so much.” — Afterglow For anyone who’s accidentally hurt someone they care about — a child, partner, or even themselves. Chronic illness, emotional overwhelm, or mental health challenges can make us stumble in ways we never intended, and this lyric captures that ache of regret perfectly.
“The room is on fire, invisible smoke.” — The Archer This is what living with chronic illness, PTSD, or anxiety can feel like. Everything in you is alight — panic, pain, exhaustion — but the world sees nothing. Your body aches, your brain races, your emotions combust… and everyone else is just like, “You seem fine.” It’s invisible chaos, and that’s the cruelest part: no one can help fight a fire they can’t see.
“I guess sometimes we all get some kind of haunted.” — Midnight Rain The emotional equivalent of a PTSD flashback, chronic pain flare-up, or neurodivergent meltdown. It’s the moment when your past — trauma, illness, or just life — creeps up on you uninvited. It’s not about reliving the past; it’s about acknowledging that it still lingers.
“I miss who I used to be.” — Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve When life steals pieces of you. Chronic illness, mental health struggles, or trauma can leave you staring at the mirror wondering if you’ll ever recognize yourself again. Taylor nails the quiet heartbreak of missing the “you” that existed before pain, betrayal, or illness started rewriting your story.
“How much sad did you think I had in me?” — So Long, London Nails the emotional extremes of bipolar or just being completely maxed out emotionally. That mix of exhaustion, overwhelm, and “I’m still standing, barely” is instantly relatable to anyone with intense mood swings or chronic emotional strain.
“I can go anywhere I want — just not home.” — Exile The heartbreak of estrangement in one line. You build a life, you heal, but that door you once knew as “home” doesn’t open anymore. It’s grief with no funeral, just echoes.
From survival mode to heartbreak, estrangement to invisible chaos, Taylor somehow finds the words for it all. Each lyric shows us we’re not alone in our experiences, that even invisible struggles — chronic illness, mental health battles, neurodivergence, estrangement — are valid and worthy of recognition. So the next time your body, brain, or emotions feel like they’re on fire, remember: Taylor’s got a line for that, and so do you. It’s not a contest about whose pain is “worse.” It’s about being seen, being validated, and acknowledging that even in the middle of your messiest moments, you’re still here, still trying, and still worthy of recognition.
Til next time, gang: take care of yourselves, and of each other.
PTSD isn’t one-size-fits-all, and it definitely isn’t one-story-fits-all. Some people develop it after combat. Others after a car crash, a hospital stay, a toxic relationship, or years of just surviving things that weren’t survivable. The point is — the body doesn’t know why it’s scared. It only knows that something hurt it, and now it refuses to let its guard down again.
And for a lot of us? That means living in a constant state of alert — hypervigilance.
When the Body Becomes the Alarm System
Hypervigilance isn’t about being “paranoid” or “dramatic.” It’s what happens when your brain gets stuck in survival mode. People with PTSD often show increased activation of the amygdala and insula (the brain’s threat detectors), and reduced regulation from the prefrontal cortex (the part that manages logic and fear control). https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9682920
This creates a brain more prone to automatic threat response and less able to override it.Over time, your body forgets what calm even feels like. It treats peace like a setup.
You start scanning for the next problem, the next crisis, the next disappointment — because deep down, your body doesn’t believe it’s safe unless it’s braced for impact.
What That Does to the Mind
Living that way rewires your thinking.
You might second-guess every decision, waiting for the fallout. You’re never wrong if you argue both sides of the problem.
You may feel detached or foggy — a kind of emotional autopilot. Fibrofog is bad enough but a bad brain day on top of it means no one is getting anything done today lol.
Focus gets harder because your brain is too busy running background security checks on your environment. You spend so much time doing your background checks you miss all the good things.
Even joy feels suspicious, like the quiet before a storm. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a terrible way to go through life because you have no time to dwell on the good.
Over time, it’s exhausting. Not just “I need a nap” tired, but that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from being on guard 24/7.
What That Does to the Body
Hypervigilance isn’t just mental — it’s physical. When your nervous system keeps sounding the alarm, your body floods with stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. That’s great if you’re outrunning a tiger, not so great if you’re just trying to grocery shop.
It can lead to:
Muscle tension (especially in your neck, shoulders, and jaw)
The body doesn’t heal well under constant fight-or-flight — it’s too busy defending.
Headaches and chronic pain Studies show that people with hypervigilance scan their surroundings more, fixate more broadly on ambiguous scenes, and show enlarged pupil responses even when no actual threat is present https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4211931
Stomach issues or IBS
Insomnia or restless sleep In PTSD, sleep architecture often gets altered: more light sleep, fragmented REM (dream) sleep, and difficulty getting into deep, restorative sleep https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9682920
Fatigue that doesn’t go away even after rest Also, individuals with PTSD have been shown to keep a higher resting heart rate even while sleeping — signifying that the body never fully “turns off.”
Your body ends up running a marathon it never trained for, with no finish line in sight.
Important Note
This is not about comparing kinds of trauma. PTSD is real whether it came from a battlefield, a hospital bed, a car crash, or a childhood that never felt safe. The source may differ — but the physiology of trauma is remarkably similar. If your nervous system is stuck in fight-or-flight, it deserves care, not comparison.
How to Calm the Body That Won’t Relax
You can’t logic your way out of hypervigilance — trust me, we’ve all tried. The goal isn’t to “calm down,” it’s to teach your body that safety is possible again.
Some small but powerful ways to start:
Name it when it’s happening. “I’m safe right now, but my body doesn’t believe it.” It sounds simple, but naming it gives your brain a choice other than panic.
Release one muscle group. Shoulders, jaw, stomach — anywhere you’re braced. I try and take a shower because my whole body locks up tight.
Temperature reset. Cool water on your wrists or neck, or a cold drink, can nudge your nervous system out of fight-or-flight. I’ve started putting a cool cloth on my neck, if that helps some but I’m still plagued with thoughts I need a break from I’ve started sticking my feet in warm water
Ground through your senses. Notice what you can see, hear, touch, or smell right now. It pulls your brain back to the present. Name all the things you can.
Predictable rituals. Same mug every morning, same playlist before bed — consistency tells your body, “this is safe, this is familiar.”
Gentle movement. Rocking, stretching, or walking helps process the adrenaline your body keeps making. (My movement of choice is rocking, often thats how hubby and monkey know when I am stressed a lot of time I dont realize I’m doing it. Sometimes I start to rock but whatever my pain is stops me)
Healing doesn’t happen in one “aha” moment — it happens in these small, repeated acts of safety. Over time, they teach your body it doesn’t have to live like the worst thing is always about to happen.
Final Thought
If you recognize yourself in this — you’re not weak, dramatic, or broken. You’re someone whose body learned to survive. And now you’re teaching it to live. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!
Your heart’s doing the cha-cha at 130 beats per minute. Your chest tightens. The world tilts. Your hands shake. Your brain starts whispering, “Hey, are we dying or just freaking out again?”
Is it POTS? A panic attack? A flashback to that one time your body really did betray you? You’ve got about thirty seconds to figure it out before the anxiety of not knowing makes everything worse.
Welcome to the impossible diagnostic puzzle that is living with chronic illness and PTSD from medical trauma.
When Your Body Is Both the Scene of the Crime and the Witness
People with chronic illnesses are statistically more likely to develop PTSD-like symptoms—but the kicker is, it’s not from a one-time event. It’s because your body is an ongoing threat to your own sense of safety.
Unlike classic PTSD, where the trauma is technically in the past, medical PTSD means the trauma could literally happen again. When you live with something like POTS, EDS, or MCAS, your body is both the suspect and the alarm system. The hypervigilance isn’t paranoia—it’s pattern recognition. You’ve learned that symptoms can mean something is seriously wrong.
But here’s the nightmare twist: those same symptoms—heart racing, shaking, dizziness—are also identical to a panic attack.
The Overlap That Makes You Want to Scream Into a Pillow
Let’s play a fun game called “Spot the Difference” between POTS and panic attacks:
POTS Symptoms:
Rapid heart rate (120+ bpm)
Dizziness or lightheadedness
Shortness of breath
Chest tightness
Trembling, sweating, nausea
Feeling like you might pass out
Panic Attack Symptoms:
Rapid heart rate
Dizziness or lightheadedness
Shortness of breath
Chest tightness
Trembling, sweating, nausea
Feeling like you might pass out
Yeah. Exactly the same.
So you sit there, pulse pounding, trying to decide if you need electrolytes or grounding exercises. And the longer you try to figure it out, the more anxious you get. Which—you guessed it—makes your heart race even more.
Congratulations, you’ve just triggered both conditions at once.
The “Is It My Body or My Brain?” Spiral
Heart rate spikes.
You think, “Is this POTS or panic?”
The uncertainty feeds the anxiety.
Anxiety makes your heart rate climb higher.
PTSD brain jumps in like, “Hey, remember the last time this happened?”
Your body floods with stress hormones.
Symptoms worsen, clarity vanishes, and you’re stuck in a full-body loop of chaos.
Sometimes grounding doesn’t work. Sometimes standing makes it worse. Sometimes everything makes it worse. The mental gymnastics of self-triage would exhaust an Olympic athlete, and that’s before you even factor in the fatigue that both conditions bring.
When Hypervigilance Isn’t a “Coping Issue”
In classic PTSD, hypervigilance—constantly scanning for danger—is something therapy tries to reduce. But when you live with a chronic condition that can cause fainting, cardiac issues, or anaphylaxis, that vigilance might literally save your life.
So how do you tell your brain to “calm down, you’re safe” when sometimes… you actually aren’t?
This is the impossible bind of trauma plus illness: PTSD therapy says, stop monitoring every sensation. Your medical team says, monitor every sensation. Neither is wrong. Neither fully works.
The Medical Gaslighting Cherry on Top
And just to make it more fun: when you do seek help, you get hit with the “it’s just anxiety” script.
Even though POTS isn’t caused by anxiety, and even though research shows anxiety rates are about the same as the general population, you’ll still have doctors waving off your physical symptoms because your chart says PTSD.
You start to lose faith in professionals. You stop asking for help. You learn to rely only on yourself for triage—because nobody else seems capable of telling the difference either.
Which means you’re back to square one, again, sitting in the impossible space of trying to figure it out alone.
The Treatment Contradiction
PTSD therapy often involves exposure work—facing the thing that scares you until your brain chills out about it. Except in this case, the “thing that scares you” is your own body.
You can’t just take a break from having a body. You can’t “gradually reintroduce” the experience of dizziness or tachycardia when those things are daily realities that might require medical intervention.
Worse, some PTSD therapies intentionally raise your heart rate to help you practice staying calm through physical sensations. That’s great… unless you have POTS, where that heart rate spike might actually make you faint.
So you end up in a no-win situation where treating one condition can trigger the other.
What Actually Helps (Sometimes)
There’s no perfect fix here. But there are ways to soften the edges:
💡 Look for patterns, not moments. Track triggers over time. Are symptoms linked to posture, temperature, dehydration, or specific memories? Zooming out can help reduce panic in the moment.
💡 Build a “both/and” plan. Sit down? Yes (helps POTS). Ground yourself? Yes (helps panic). You don’t have to guess which one it is to respond with compassion instead of chaos.
💡 Find trauma-informed doctors. You need providers who understand that your nervous system and your medical symptoms aren’t separate universes.
💡 Accept uncertainty. Sometimes you just won’t know—and that’s not failure. That’s reality.
💡 Validate yourself. You’re not dramatic. You’re not broken. You’re reacting appropriately to a wildly confusing body situation that most people can’t imagine.
The Unspoken Truth
Living with medical PTSD and chronic illness means constantly trying to interpret a body that lies to you and tells the truth at the same time.
It means your hypervigilance is both too much and not enough. It means your body is both the warning sign and the danger.
You’re not failing to cope—you’re surviving something that isn’t designed to make sense.
And honestly? That’s nothing short of heroic.
Til next time, gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!
🧠 Research Toolbox
American Psychological Association. Medical trauma and PTSD in patients with chronic illness (2020).
Raj, S. R. (2022). Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS): Pathophysiology, Diagnosis, and Management. Cleveland Clinic Journal of Medicine.
Löwe, B. et al. (2021). Trauma, PTSD, and chronic illn
Chronic illness is the world’s most aggressive “skills training program.” Except instead of a certificate and a raise, you get brain fog, pain, and an ongoing relationship with your heating pad. Still, I’ve picked up some unique skills along the way—stuff I never knew I’d need but now couldn’t live without.
1. Mastering the Art of Fake Smiling
I could win Olympic gold for pretending I’m fine while my joints are staging a coup. Do I want to collapse in a heap? Yes. Am I going to grin like I just won a cruise? Also yes.
2. Human Calculator for Spoonie Math
“Can I shower and cook dinner today, or is that too ambitious?” I can do the math faster than you can open your planner. Spoiler: the answer is usually “nope.”
3. Expert in Improvised Heat Therapy
Rice sock? Check. Heating pad? Check. Sitting on my kid’s warm laundry fresh out of the dryer because I can’t wait for relief? Double check. Pro tip, heat rises, I sleep ON not UNDER an electric blanket it has made a world of difference.
4. Planning for Chaos Like a Pro
You know how event planners can handle weddings with 200 guests? Try managing your day when you don’t know if you’ll wake up with a migraine, a hip flare, or zero energy. I don’t plan weddings. I plan for chaos.
5. Napping Anywhere, Anytime
Airports, doctor’s waiting rooms, my car in the school pickup line—I have the gift of nap. If there was a frequent napper punch card, I’d have earned a free mattress by now.
6. Doctor Jargon Translator
I can translate “mild discomfort” into “you won’t walk tomorrow” and “we’ll keep an eye on it” into “we have no idea what’s wrong.” Basically, I’m bilingual.
7. Black-Belt Level Boundary Setting
When you’ve got limited spoons, you learn real quick how to say, “No, I can’t go to your cousin’s friend’s birthday barbecue three towns over.” Honestly, it’s a superpower.
✨ Chronic illness may have wrecked my body, but hey—it gave me some weird little life skills along the way. Your turn: what weird skill has chronic illness forced you to master? Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.
Sleep isn’t just about closing your eyes and drifting off. For some of us, it’s like trying to land a plane in a thunderstorm with three different copilots all fighting over the controls. ADHD, bipolar disorder, and fibromyalgia each mess with sleep in their own ways—and when they show up together, it’s no wonder rest feels more like a negotiation than a guarantee.
ADHD: A Brain That Won’t Clock Out
With ADHD, the brain doesn’t exactly come with an off-switch. Racing thoughts, late-night hyperfocus, or the dreaded “second wind” make it easy to miss sleep windows. Research shows people with ADHD often experience delayed sleep phase syndrome—meaning their internal clock is naturally shifted later.
What helps:
Keep a consistent bedtime routine (same order, every night, like brushing teeth → skincare → reading).
Use a “wind-down timer” alarm to remind you when to step away from screens.
Try body-doubling for bedtime (texting a friend “logging off now” helps hold you accountable).
Bipolar Disorder: Sleep as a Mood Swing Marker
Sleep disruption isn’t just a symptom of bipolar disorder—it’s also a warning sign. During manic episodes, people may need little to no sleep and still feel wired. In depressive episodes, hypersomnia (sleeping too much) or insomnia are both common. Clinicians even track sleep patterns as a way to gauge where someone is on the bipolar spectrum, because sleep disturbance is that central to the condition.
What helps:
Stick to a strict sleep/wake schedule—even on weekends.
Limit caffeine, alcohol, and late-night stimulation, since they can trigger swings.
Track sleep with an app or journal to catch changes early (your future self and your doctor will thank you).
Fibromyalgia: The Non-Restorative Sleep Thief
Fibro brings its own brand of sleep sabotage. Studies point to “alpha wave intrusion,” where the brain doesn’t stay in deep, restorative stages of sleep. Combine that with pain flare-ups and restless legs, and even if you technically sleep for eight hours, you wake up feeling like you pulled an all-nighter.
What helps:
Prioritize pain management before bed—stretching, warm baths, or heat pads can calm flare-ups.
Create a cozy sleep space: blackout curtains, white noise, supportive mattress.
Try gentle sleep hygiene aids, like calming teas or magnesium (if your doctor approves).
The Triple-Whammy Effect
Now imagine all three at once: ADHD pushing bedtime later, bipolar flipping the switch between insomnia and oversleeping, and fibromyalgia making whatever sleep you do get feel useless. No wonder mornings feel brutal and exhaustion never really leaves.
Why It Matters
Poor sleep isn’t just a nuisance—it worsens mood swings, flares up pain, and makes executive function even harder. But knowing the “why” behind your exhaustion is powerful. It means you can stop blaming yourself and start stacking small, realistic strategies that give you a fighting chance at rest. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves and each other.
WannaBeNormal 