I never planned to become someone who could explain ME CFS in detail. Like most people, I assumed chronic fatigue was just being tired all the time. I thought rest fixed things. I thought pushing through was the answer. I thought doctors would have clear solutions.

ME CFS taught me very quickly that none of that is true.

Trying to watch a scary, violent, gory film when you are an empath is its own strange experience. On the surface, it sounds simple. You either like horror or you do not. You either press play or you do not. But for me, it is never that straightforward. I want the story. I want the meaning. I want to understand the characters and the psychology and the why behind it all. What I do not want is the intense physical reaction that hijacks my body the moment things turn dark.

Pre-Chronic Illness, I used to look at people with chronic illness and feel a deep sense of admiration. I thought they were brave in a way I could never be. Strong in a way I did not possess. I would say things like there is no way I could ever survive being chronically ill. I hate taking paracetamol. Imagine needing pain medication every single day. I would fall apart.

Living with chronic illness in the UK is not something you ever plan for. It slowly becomes part of your identity, your routine, and your relationship with the world around you. One day you are managing life as you know it, and the next you are learning new words, new limitations, and a new way of existing inside a body that no longer works the way it used to. When chronic pain is involved, that adjustment becomes even more complex, more isolating, and often more invisible to everyone else.

As a chronic ill person living with chronic pain, my approach to self-care is significantly different from that of someone without a chronic illness. While self-care is important for everyone, those of us managing conditions like ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, spinal stenosis, or other chronic pain disorders have unique challenges and considerations that shape how we care for ourselves each day.

Living with ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia has completely changed how I experience everyday life. Things that once felt neutral now come with consequences, and cleaning is one of the clearest examples of that. Cleaning is often framed as a basic life task, something routine and unremarkable. For me,

When ME CFS was first mentioned to me, it wasn’t even in a dramatic or definitive way. It was more of a quiet suggestion, almost a passing comment, like something to tuck away for later. At the time I didn’t really know what it meant. I knew the words, but I didn’t understand the weight they carried. I went away and did what I always do when something doesn’t sit right in my head. I researched. I read.

Living with chronic illness has shaped my life in ways I never could have imagined. Over the years, I’ve navigated the unpredictable reality of ME/CFS, chronic pain, and fibromyalgia, facing challenges that tested my resilience and reshaped my priorities. One of the biggest shifts along this journey has been how I view friendship

Living with a chronic illness changes everything. It changes how you see your body, your mind, and the world around you. Conditions like ME CFS, chronic pain, or fibromyalgia aren’t just physical; they shift the very way you experience life.

Before my illness, I measured myself by what I could do.

Today I woke up and noticed something small but important. I felt a little lighter. Not fixed, not suddenly well, just lighter enough that the walls of the house did not feel quite so close. I have been mostly house ridden over Christmas, days blending into each other, measuring time by pain levels and energy crashes rather than clocks. This morning there was a quiet pull inside me that said I needed to get out

I was recently watching a series of Fibromyalgia group session videos on YouTube, shared by my pain nurse through our local NHS hospital trust. One video in particular focused on the idea of boom and bust, that familiar cycle so many of us with fibro live in. They talked about the mindset we often carry, the quiet determination that says, I’m not going to let fibromyalgia beat me.

As 2025 draws to a close, I have been thinking a lot about heading into 2026. For me, the new year is not just a fresh calendar, but a chance to reflect, reset, and plan ways to make life with chronic illness a little easier and a lot more joyful. I am waiting for a few important appointments and a jaw operation, but as always, I am left waiting. No dates yet, no confirmations, just the usual uncertainty. It can be frustrating, and at times it feels like life is on hold. But I also know that planning how I will navigate the year ahead, with the tools and strategies I have and those I hope to introduce, is empowering.

Mornings are… a lot. If you live with a chronic illness, you probably already know that the way your day starts can make or break everything that comes after. And when I say “start,” I don’t mean bouncing out of bed at 7 a.m. with a green juice and a jog. I mean that blurry, heavy, sometimes painful moment when you open your eyes, and your body hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s supposed to function today.

I’ve left this a bit late this year, but recently I found myself thinking about what item might help support me next year. That thought quickly turned into something else, a Christmas wish list. Because while wish lists are fun, when you live with chronic illness, they also become strategic.

I am eternally grateful for the speaker option on my phone, and that’s not an exaggeration. It’s not a convenience for me. It’s a lifeline. It’s the difference between being connected to the world and being shut out of it.

There was a time when holding my phone was automatic.