Sugarcoated

Living with chronic illness isn’t always what people imagine. It’s not always constant pain or obvious disability. Sometimes, it’s just… friction. Quiet, invisible, but always there — especially when you try to move forward.

I have Type 1 diabetes and coeliac disease. One affects how I process food, the other affects whether I can eat it at all. Both are autoimmune. Both are invisible. Both demand relentless tracking, planning, reacting. It’s not something I think about every waking moment — but every time I change direction, try something spontaneous, chase momentum — I’m reminded.

If I stay still, I forget I’m limited. I feel fine. But life isn’t meant to be lived at rest. And when I move, that’s when it hits: the calculations, the risks, the sudden lows or gut flares that pull me out of whatever I was trying to do.

I know others have it worse. I also know I work really hard not to make this the centre of my identity. But the truth is, even when it’s not visible to others, it’s there — shaping my choices, stealing time, costing energy. I’ve learned to carry it, but I still grieve the simplicity others have without even noticing.

Chronic illness takes many forms. Some are visible. Some are not. Some you’re reminded of constantly. Others, only when you try to live fully — and then you remember exactly what you’re carrying.

A shout out to those who get it — the quiet warriors navigating invisible battles. And to my loved ones who’ve walked with me, helped me process, and shared the burden: thank you.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28