Friends With (Medical) Benefits

When you’re chronically ill, it’s easy to get caught up in your own stuff. When you spend most of your days in some level of pain and discomfort, it’s easy to think you’re the only one struggling. But lately I’ve been thinking more about how my struggles with Crohn’s affect the people around me, and the ways caring about a sick person can make you feel kind of helpless.

While having a chronic illness is definitely a huge daily challenge, I can also easily see the challenge that comes from seeing someone you love sick with no light at the end of the tunnel. That’s why I don’t get offended (or at least I try not to) when people ask if I’m better. While I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never be “better” by traditional standards, I can’t necessarily expect my loved ones to come to that acceptance so quickly.

Luckily I’ve been surrounded by some exceptionally supportive people. My friends and family prove to me every day that even if not everybody “gets it,” I am at the very least blessed with people who care enough to try. I could easily write a novel about the many ways in which these people have helped me, and I hope I tell them enough how appreciative I am of them.

Kelsey (front and center) has been my best friend since I was 10, and she does  things like having her whole PA class wear purple for World IBD Day because she is a better friend than any human deserves.

So for anyone with a chronically ill person in their life, here’s the best advice I can give you on how to be a good friend to a sick person, as evidenced so flawlessly by my wonderful best friends.

Listen up. Honestly, the biggest thing you can do is provide a commiserating ear. One of the biggest issues I deal with in terms of my illness is guilt–– guilt that I’m bothering the people I love with my complaints about my symptoms. But when you’re going through a patch of bad health, new symptoms can seem like they’re popping up every day, and it gets incredibly lonely if you have no one to vent to. Luckily, I have a few friends who I know I can text no matter what with unsolicited complaints such as “My joint pain is making it hard to eat my cereal. Send help.”

Don’t Question Limitations. Listen–– people with chronic illnesses probably already feel guilty about the various accommodations they need. So if they tell you they can’t spend long amounts of time out in the heat, or that they need a certain amount of rest between activities, don’t question them or pressure them to push through.

Be a cheering up squad. People with chronic illnesses often suffer from depression, because having a chronic illness sucks. It isolates you and makes you feel like you aren’t in control of your own body or life. I’m very good at hiding my own bouts of sadness because I don’t want to burden anyone. That being said, it means the world when a friend sees through the facade and realizes I’m in need of some encouragement–– whether that means a care package from my mom or a nice note (I adore snail mail.) My best friend Sarah recently brought me back a stuffed Baymax from Disney World, and I was so freaking touched to have my own personal healthcare companion that I pretty much tear up every time I look at him.

Not only do I have my own Baymax friend, but I have evidence of his adventures at Disney!

Celebrate small victories. For the average person, going on a walk or staying up past 10 isn’t an accomplishment. But for a chronically ill person, these little things can be huge. I recently got the okay from my doctor to taper off my steroids, and my best friend Kelsey has texted me every. single. day. To wish me a happy taper day 5, or 7, or what have you. It means the world to know that someone cares enough to check in, and also that someone else gets how exciting this seemingly small step is for me.

If you’re grossed out, don’t show it. I have Crohn’s disease. Gross stuff happens. A good week for me during this flare involves not having internal bleeding. There are plenty of people in my life that I have to lie to in order to spare them from the unfortunate GI symptoms that are my daily life. You know who I don’t have to do that with? My best friends. If they ask me to hang out and I can’t because of some strategically gross Crohn’s symptoms, I now send them this video and no more questions are asked.

Show up. The amount of friends and family who came out to my CCFA walk was overwhelming and lovely. The amount of friends who have given up a Saturday night to watch movies with me on my couch until I fall asleep at 8 PM is heartwarming. I’m of the opinion that bar-hopping friends come and go, but the people who will hang out with you when you aren’t very fun are forever.

So if you’re the friend or family member of someone with a chronic illness, know that we love you. We love you when you get it, we love you when you don’t exactly get it, and we even love you when pain-induced insomnia makes us cranky jerks. So thanks for being extra kind in a world that needs it. And to my sister–– thanks for the cookies.

I've Accepted My Illness–– Now I Need Everyone Else To.

Accepting my illness has been a long and winding road full of denial and super powered laxatives.

But finally, over six years after my initial diagnosis and about a decade after suffering from symptoms, I feel like I’ve accepted it. Crohn’s disease doesn’t define me, but I’ve made space for it in my life. It’s a part of me, for better or for worse, like an extended family member you don’t particularly like but deal with because you have to.

I was diagnosed right after my 18th birthday–– arguably not the most responsible time in someone’s life. I was always a smart kid with a good head on her shoulders, but I was nowhere near ready to deal with the implications of a chronic illness that wasn’t going away. No one prepares you for being told “You’re sick now! Forever!” when you’re looking out on the rest of your life from high school.

Years of doing the bare minimum has put me in a bad health state since about a year ago, and now I am amidst a months-long flare. It’s awful, but as an optimist, I’ve chosen to look at what the experience has taught me. It’s taught me to cook, and to take care of myself, and to prioritize my health. It’s taught me that I need sleep, and that follow up doctor appointments are more than just mere suggestions. If anything, taking my health away in such a dramatic fashion has made me fight for it that much harder, which is something I won’t soon forget, even after this flare ends.

So I’ve (pretty much) accepted my illness at this point. I still have days where I cry, or complainathon to my sister about how unfair it all is, or when I get a medical bill that makes me worry for my financial future. But for the most part, I’ve carved out some space in my life for my Crohn’s, where I can do my best to manage it hands on. I stay in when I need to, even if that’s almost every night. I buy a lot of icy hots. I don’t eat all the delicious fried foods I used to inhale on a daily basis.

Oddly enough, the hardest part wasn’t my acceptance of my situation–– it’s everyone else’s. I spend wholly too much time worrying about how others will react to my symptoms. I worry talking about it will make them uncomfortable. I feel a pang of guilt every time I cancel a plan. I vacillate between wishing people understood better to knowing I need to cut them all some slack. This isn’t an easy thing to understand.

But sometimes, helping others accept the truth of my situation can get a bit exhausting. Explaining that yoga won’t cure me, and neither will a juice cleanse. Explaining that I can feel terrible one day and okay the next, in a seemingly random yet endless cycle, and that seeing me out doing something does not mean I am suddenly healthy. Explaining that asking me if I’m “better yet” or “still sick” just makes it harder for me to accept that no, I’m not, and yes, I am, and will be for the rest of my life, unless someone finds a cure. I know that people ask because they think they’re being optimistic or helpful, and that it’s hard for healthy people to swallow the fact that a 24 year-old girl is sick all the time. But if I can accept, and the tens of thousands of other chronically ill young people out there can accept it, so can you.

So what can you do? You can understand that this is for life, but that I’m learning to deal with that. You can offer a listening ear when I need to be angry or cry. You can indulge me when I want to grab lunch instead of bar-hopping. You can choose not to give up on me, even after I’ve had to turn down plans for the eight millionth time.

Here are just a few of the most thoughtful and helpful things my friends and family have done for me this year that show me they care and, even if they might not know what it’s like to be chronically ill, they’re trying to understand: mailing me toilet paper with Donald Trump’s face on it, because laughter is the second best medicine (morphine is the first). Texting me at 3 AM  while out at a bar because my insomnia was in full effect and I wanted to live vicariously through someone else. Sending me a cookbook of recipes I can eat. Surprising me with little gifts to put a smile on my face. Driving over an hour each way to my apartment to eat lunch with me because you knew I was feeling isolated. Giving up a fun Saturday night out to sit on the couch and watch a bad movie with me. Asking me, in a genuine way, how I am feeling on any given day. Making me feel like less of a burden.

Clearly, I have some amazing people in my life. My goal now is to make everyone as understanding about chronic illness as the people I’m talking about in that last paragraph. It would make the world a much nicer place, don’t you think?

On Lena Dunham, Endometriosis, and Feeling Represented.

I had just turned 18 when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. Eighteen is a weird age to be alive on the earth at all, but a particularly weird age to be told you now have a disease that is never going away. The first thing I did when I was diagnosed was inhale five and a half White Castles and a milkshake. Anyone who has ever had to do the prep for a colonoscopy knows–– you are damn hungry afterward. The second thing I did after I was diagnosed was google “celebrities with Crohn’s disease.”

“What a weird thing to do!” You’re probably thinking. But I am a good, practicing millennial, and nothing makes me feel more connected to the world around me than knowing someone with a lot of money and Twitter followers also knows my strife. Sadly, my search yielded very little. Kim Kardashian and Katy Perry are not secretly harboring intense digestive issues (at least not according to internet listicles–– the main authority of life).

So for years, I have had little insight into how a highly successful person and a Crohn’s-disease having person might live within the same body. I didn’t know any people in real life with Crohn’s–– just an occasional anecdote from a friend about how their cousin’s soccer coach has colitis, or something. But then Lena Dunham started getting real about endometriosis in a public setting.

Endometriosis and Crohn’s are totally different things, but they’re also similar in a lot of ways. Sufferers of both experience a lot of pain, have to spend a lot of time hanging out at the doctor trying to figure their insides out, etc. When in a particularly bad flare of endometriosis, it can be difficult for women to go about their daily lives.

So when Lena Dunham (whose work I admire immensely in general) posted on Instagram saying she’d be taking some time off from press for her show “Girls” to deal with her worsening endometriosis symptoms, something inside me felt understood. Here was this powerful young woman, who at an insanely young age has written a book, produced and starred in her own show, and started an awesome feminist newsletter–– and even she is not immune to the pull of her body’s illness. Even she has to know when to say “enough is enough” and just rest.

She also used the aforementioned newsletter to post a really eloquent piece on what it means to be young and chronically ill. I had always loved her for her emotional honesty as a writer, and I know many women identify with her stories of being young and figuring things out–– the “Girls” phenomenon. But to read a story of being young and figuring illness out, to me, felt revolutionary.

So while it may sound silly to need to hear “Celebrities! They’re just like us!” It honestly has helped me cope with my own limitations to see Lena speak so openly about hers. It’s a kind and necessary reminder that being sick doesn’t have to mean I can’t do the things I want to do–– and more so, that even the most successful and seemingly together among us are dealing with things behind the scenes, and taking care of yourself often has to come before everything else. People love that phrase “You have as many hours in a day as Beyonce,” but I kind of think that’s bullshit. We need more successful people out there who don’t keep up the front of always having it perfectly together. So thanks, Lena, for going public with your illness. Thanks for pulling back the Wizard of Oz style curtain and reminding sick girls with their laptops like myself that it’s okay if we don’t accomplish as much in a day as Beyonce–– as long as we take care of ourselves.

Why Is It Taboo To Talk About Illness?

There’s an old adage that tells us there are certain things we don’t talk about in polite conversation: religion and politics.

I’ve never been great at polite conversation.

There’s also a quote from the (best show of all time) Buffy The Vampire Slayer that eloquently states: “Tact is just not saying true stuff. I’ll pass.” Because I am an adult with a job, I understand that tact is often necessary in various situations, like in a professional meeting, or at the DMV. But in conversations with friends and family (or the ENTIRE INTERNET, hi guys), I like to think we can all let loose a little and say the true stuff.

And in addition to the squirmy topics of religion and politics, I would like to pose one more: illness.

Illness is not a comfortable thing to discuss because, like politics and religion, it’s personal. Talking about your experiences opens you up to judgment, which is a terrifying and vulnerable thing. I started this blog because writing is my personal catharsis, but sharing such specific details of my life does come with a certain amount of self-consciousness. Will this change how people see me? Will this affect opportunities in my life because I am now publicly putting myself out there as “the sick girl?” Will people quietly judge, and think I’m doing this for attention?

These are all great reasons not to talk about your illness, and just hole up with Netflix and your doctor’s phone number and try to deal with it solo. But the thing is, I’ve tried that. I’ve tried pretending the sickness isn’t there, and that I can do all the same things a perfectly healthy person can do. I’ve tried not talking about it so I don’t make anyone feel awkward or uncomfortable. And you know what? It felt super lonely. You can’t live your life in a bubble of cats and books and denial. (Just kidding–– that sounds great? Maybe just remove the denial part and talk to some friends about how you’re feeling. Keep the cats and books.)

But since I recently started talking publicly and openly about my illness, I have come across a million and one better reasons that you absolutely should talk about it. I’ve gotten supportive messages from friends and family. I’ve had old acquaintances and friends of friends reach out with stories of their own chronic illness struggles. I’ve gotten powerful advice and kind words and all kinds of encouragement. I’ve gotten, to appropriate a book title, the opposite of loneliness.

In sharing my experience, I am simply trying to normalize it. In sharing a photo of me getting a biologic infusion, or me in a hospital gown prepping for a procedure, I am not seeking attention or pity. The truth is, there are millions of people out there who spend a lot of their free time at the doctor, or the hospital, or the Walgreens picking up their latest prescription. And if we don’t recognize those stories, and talk about them, they become even more weird and taboo. So I’ll take one for the team and tell my stories–– plus, I find hospital gowns to be really slimming.

And it’s nice to know there are others out there sharing those stories too, and educating their friends and family on their day-to-day experiences of being ill. On a day when my symptoms don’t allow me to do what I like to call “normal people stuff,” the stories of others going through something similar comfort me. Not because they’re struggling–– in an ideal world, we would all be as healthy as that lady who lived to be 110 drinking only Dr. Pepper–– but because they’re getting through. Like me, they’ve got some stuff holding them back, but they’re getting through in spite of it all. And when you’re up with insomnia watching CNN at 3 AM, it’s kind of cool to know there’s a network of other people out there, whisper-yelling at the pundits with you.

The Dangerous World of Comparative Thinking

All of us have faced adversity in our lives. Whether it’s the death of someone close to us, a battle with a disease, bullying, or anything else, we all know what it’s like on some level to go through something difficult.

The thing is, we’re all special snowflakes here, so the problems we face are different. And even if they’re really similar, they’re still different because we as human beings experience emotion differently. The way you cope with the death of a family member may be entirely different than the way your best friend does.

And when people are facing hardships, it’s hard to know what to say. But here’s one thing I would actively advise not saying to someone going through a tough time:

“It could be worse.”

It could be worse is my biggest pet peeve when it comes to attempting to “comfort” someone. Of course it could be worse! A bomb could drop and kill all of us except the cockroaches! Paris Hilton could decide to start releasing music again! It could always be worse! You might as well say “the sky is blue” for all the new profound light you’re shedding on the situation.

Which is why I firmly believe “it could be worse” is a lazy thing to say–– you’re not empathizing, you’re just making the person feel guiltier for the emotions they’re experiencing. That person might now think “Yeah, it could be worse. So why do I still feel so shitty?” This just leads to a whirlwind of guilt over how we should feel versus how we actually feel. See? Not helpful.

I’m also guilty of thinking “it could be worse” in my own mind when I’m having a tough pain day or life just feels like a bit too much. You think it might make you feel better to put your problems in perspective–– like, at least my life is probably better than Jeb Bush’s? But comparing the hardships in your life to someone else’s doesn’t make your chronic joint pain go away. It doesn’t make your financial troubles disappear. It doesn’t bring anyone back from the dead.

So maybe next time you’re thinking of your own problems in comparison to others, do what Joey from Full House would want you to do and cut it out. Berating yourself for your emotions because someone else out there has it worse is not only silly and counterproductive, it’s potentially just bad for your own mental health. Life is not the Olympics of Suffering, and you don’t get a medal for having the worst problems of all, so maybe just let your problems exist as they are and don’t try to categorize or rank them.

And when it comes to chronic illness, it’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to feel like it’s not fair. It’s okay to feel like your bad day is bad, even if someone else’s bad day is worse. Sometimes the most cathartic thing we can do for ourselves is feeling what we feel, when we feel it, without piling on the guilt. And if you really need to think about someone having it worse than you to help you feel better, remember that men with really long ponytails exist. It usually helps.

Invisibility Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be

As a kid, I thought it would be awesome to be invisible.

Like any superpower, it had its theoretical perks. I could spy on my parents while they wrapped Christmas presents. I could sneak into R-rated movies. I could stay up past my bedtime and watch “Law & Order.”

As an adult, ironically, I have an invisible illness–– and the invisibility thing isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. “Invisible” refers to diseases and disabilities that can’t easily be seen or noticed from the outside. They’re illnesses that ravage your insides but leave you looking just “normal” enough for everyone else’s standards that it’s sometimes hard for people to believe you’re really sick.

Wearing hoop earrings to my infusion because you can be sick but still look fLy~*

I don’t have a walker to denote that I’m in ill health. I don’t have an oxygen tank, or a big scar. Some days the circles under my eyes may be a bit more pronounced, or my prednisone may be making my hands shake, but for the most part I look like your run-of-the-mill 24 year-old girl. For this I am blessed. I don’t need a walking aid, or something to help me breathe. I haven’t lost a worrisome amount of weight. But that’s where things get tricky–– because I am still sick, appearances be damned. And sometimes when you don’t look as sick as you are, people have higher expectations of what you can and can’t do.

Even though you can’t see it with your eyeballs, on a bad day, I may be too weak to carry some bags up to my apartment without becoming super winded. Standing for long periods of time may be difficult for me. My stomach may be in so much pain it’s hard to focus. But because you can’t physically see it, I tend to keep it under wraps as much as I can–– which sometimes means pushing myself to do too much because I want to feel as healthy as I look, and I’m bitter that I don’t.

The biggest problem in all of this is that it’s often hard for people to believe that patients with invisible illnesses are actually sick. It’s easy to be skeptical of something you can’t readily see, even if it is real (like GHOSTS, guys. Or aliens.) This leads to stress for the sick party. What if your work gets fed up that you, a seemingly healthy person, has to keep missing shifts because you’re sick or have yet another doctor’s appointment? What if a friend is upset that you missed out on an important event because of your illness when you look perfectly fine? What do you say to the acquaintance who drops the classic line “but you don’t look sick?”

Yesterday was a really bad pain day for me–– one of my safe foods backfired on me and I was feeling dehydrated, shaky, and in immense abdominal pain. Luckily when I got on the bus to go home, there were a few seats left, so I snagged one. Being able to sit on my commute home made a huge difference, helping me feel not quite so faint. But a middle-aged woman did heavily sigh when she saw me seated while others were standing. I understand where she’s coming from–– I look like a kid, aren’t I healthy enough to stand and let a 40-year-old woman take my seat? But the problem with those kind of assumptions is that they aren’t always true. You know what they say about assuming? It makes an ass of you and me. And my ass is the one that’s gonna go on that bus seat, lady.

So in honor of all those struggling on through the invisible illness game, try practicing some judgment-free empathy in your own life and hopefully, over time, that good karma will come back your way. If you see someone who you assume is healthy using a handicap spot or taking the last seat on the bus, don’t let your mind automatically go to a place of assumptions. If you have a coworker or friend who’s always flaking because of illness, try not to question their motives or look for “signs” that they’re really sick. “Sick people” come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and ability levels. They look just like you–– they just also happen to have a slightly overrated superpower.

Make 'Em Laugh

Comedy has always been an integral part of my life. From the early days of staying up late to watch "Saturday Night Live" with my dad to high school nights spent doing weird bits with my best friends, I’ve always leaned toward the more sarcastic side of life.

Sometimes jokes are just for fun, but they’ve also always been a great coping mechanism for me. Some people might call it a crutch, but those people are just well-adjusted assholes who can’t be trusted. Whether it was a fight with a friend or my parent’s divorce, joking about it has always made the bad stuff feel a little bit more manageable. If you can take something that hurts you and use it to make other people laugh, you’re turning it into something kind of beautiful.

When it comes to chronic illness, arming myself with a good sense of humor has been the greatest tool in my arsenal. Don’t get me wrong–– I have bad days where I just want to sit and wallow about how shitty things might be at that particular moment, no jokes allowed. And conversely, there are people who deal with their illness with unending positivity about silver linings and how things could be worse. But on most days, I opt for a different approach: making a joke out of the seriousness. And with Crohn’s, it’s easy to do–– doctors have literally stuck a camera up my butt on multiple occasions. If that doesn’t lend itself to comedy, I don’t know what does.

Saying something gross to strangers

Disclaimer: this approach probably isn’t for everyone. Sometimes, joking about a serious illness can offend, which is totally fair. But there’s a really great quote from the movie “Garden State” said by Natalie Portman’s character, who suffers from epilepsy, and it’s always stuck with me:

“What do you do? You laugh. I’m not saying I don’t cry but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously.”

I’ve always tried to take this same approach. Let yourself feel your feelings–– if what you need that day is a good cry, do it. It feels great sometimes. But if you feel the need to make light of something heavy, lean in to that feeling. It can be really cathartic.

I have been blessed with a group of wonderful weirdos that I have called my best friends since about the age of ten. Nothing is really off limits for us to joke about, which has made my Crohn’s experience so much lighter and easier to handle. I don’t have to worry about burdening them, or grossing them out, because they’re the first ones to crack a joke about my messed up colon. During this most recent flare, one of my best friends sent me toilet paper with Donald Trump’s face on it. Best “get well soon” gift ever.

My best friends. They are impossible to out-gross.

Being able to joke around with the people you love makes talking about your symptoms a lot less alienating. That’s why it’s important to set the tone with the people in your life. It’s hard to know what to say when someone tells you about their medical problems. Do you say you’re sorry? Do you say it’ll get better? Do you ask questions, or respect their privacy? It honestly all depends on the person, so it’s up to us (the sick persons involved) to lead the way. I like answering questions about my disease because it raises awareness, and I like joking about it because it helps me and others cope. So I always try to set that tone early, so people know it’s okay to ask, and that it’s okay to joke.

So when you see me making light of something like hand tremors or painsomnia, I promise I’m not just being a terrible human being, or feeling sorry for myself. I’m trying to come to terms with some no-fun stuff by making it fun in any way I can. I’m not looking for pity, or a reassuring platitude about how it gets better. I’m just looking for some understanding, and maybe some more friends who can get down with a poop joke.

Namast'ay in Bed... Indefinitely.

It’s time to talk about chronic fatigue!

I know what you’re thinking–– that’s just a fancy way to say “tired.”

Extreme, chronic fatigue is a lot like love–– until you’ve experienced it yourself, it’s hard to really “get it.” That’s probably where the comparisons to love end, though. Fatigue sucks.

As a kid, I always thought migraines were just really bad headaches. Then I started getting chronic migraines and I was like “wow, this is a whole different universe of pain.” That’s how fatigue is–– it’s hard to conceptualize the extreme nature of being that physically exhausted until you’ve been there. But I’ll do my best to help explain!

Unless you’re a robot, you probably know what it’s like to feel tired. If you are a robot and are reading this, please email me. I would like to be your friend, like in the movie Bicentennial Man, until I die but you never die and instead just mourn me forever.

For all the non-robots out there, you know what it’s like to be tired. Whether it’s from not getting enough sleep, or a long day at work, or helping a friend move, you’ve maybe been tired a lot! Life is busy! It’s 2016! People always want us to answer all of our emails so promptly!

But take that level of physical exhaustion and now double it a few times, so it’s not just “tired,” but something that alters your thoughts and your joints and your whole being. It makes your body ache and it makes you lose your train of thought when you go to speak. And humor me for a second and imagine that no amount of rest would make that tired go away. You could nap, put your feet up, “rest your eyes” as my grandma would say, but you would still find yourself just as tired. That’s kind of what chronic fatigue is like.

Suffice it to say that sucks, amirite? And a lot of people suffering from chronic fatigue have it as the result of another illness, like Lupus or Endometriosis. For me, I experience chronic fatigue because of my Crohn’s disease, but I’m also treating my Crohn’s with a steroid that gives me insomnia. It’s like the medical life cycle of hell.

A past, flare-free and fun~ life

So why am I telling you all these depressing things about fatigue? Is it so you’ll feel bad and donate to a GoFundMe I’m creating for a new, bionic body that doesn’t get tired? More logically, it’s because it’s important to know these things if you have a fatigue sufferer in your own everyday life–– which many of you probably do.

I’m 24 years old, I live in the third biggest city in America, and I really love to go out with my friends. When I’m not in a Crohn’s flare, my social life often involves 24 hour diners, requesting Beyonce at 4 AM bars, and occasionally puking on my own stylish ankle boots. I tell you all of this because after over a month of being in a flare, I really feel the need to remind the world that I CAN BE FUN, GODDAMMIT.

The problem is that when I’m sick like I am now, the fatigue takes all of that and pretty much says “nope!” For a while I couldn’t even go to work, and now I’m super proud of the days where I can make it through a whole work day and almost immediately pass out when I get home. That energy level makes it a bit hard to do things like go to happy hour or attend a friend’s party.

Life in a flare? More naps, more Netflix, more icy hots.

So if you know someone who suffers from chronic fatigue, or any chronic illness that may be accompanied by it, cut them some slack if they have to leave the party early or can’t make it to whatever cool thing is happening this weekend. Believe me–– they wish they could. They want to be able to do all the “normal” things, but being young and sick isn’t normal. So sometimes it’s important to make allowances and realize that while a night in with Scandal and some tea may sound like a homebody cop out, fatigue isn’t a made up symptom, and it doesn’t just mean you’re “over tired.” Your body physically needs the rest like it needs medicine.

Living with fatigue means constantly fighting your own internal clock for a few more hours to get things done. It means anxiety and feeling like a bad friend when you have to cancel plans because you physically can’t make it out. So fight on, fellow fatiguers! Take a break when you need it! Invest in a onesie and a lavender scented candle! I see you, I support you, and I will now be going to sleep.

My Jeans Are Too Loose, And For This I Am Conflicted.

This morning I put real pants on for the first time in three weeks.

Living that “Crohn’s disease flare and also having the flu” life, I’ve stuck mainly to leggings, if not straight up pajamas for weeks now. I’m lucky in that I work at a web startup where leggings and big sweatshirts are the norm, so I’ve gotten away with stretchy pants that don’t push down on my intestines for far too long now. But today, Chicago weather had other ideas, and I knew real jeans would be necessary.

I went to reach for my loosest pair of jeans as to not push it, and put them on to find they are way looser than normal. I am now, as I type, wearing what was formerly my tightest pair of jeans–– only they’re not anymore. They’re too big.

Now, as just a regular 24-year woman, this whole blog post probably sounds like a really awful humble brag. We get it, Sam. You lost weight. Good for you! Also, maybe go to hell?

But as a chronic illness-having woman, weight loss is a bit more complex, and usually comes as a result of being super sick for a period of time (at present, my diet consists mainly of foods that look like they were already digested by a mama bird). Not that we really need something to complexify body image for women in 2016. We’re living in a whirlwind of messages. Fat shaming is rampant. Skinny shaming is a thing. Love your body, but also maybe go paleo and gluten free or better yet only eat seeds? It’s honestly hard for even 100% healthy women to keep up with all the bullshit.

Point being, weight is complex, and something we should probably stop trying to put into convenient boxes and infographics for Pinterest consumption. Some women are skinny and healthy. Some women are bigger, but still healthy. Some women are gaining weight for reasons beyond their control, like medication or thyroid issues. Some women like myself are losing weight for reasons beyond their control. Am I happy every time someone tells me I look like I’ve lost weight? Of course, I want to be Kendall Jenner as much as the next person. But do you know what’s better than compliments on my thinness? LITERALLY ANYTHING DIPPED IN CHEESE SAUCE.

So maybe what I’m saying is this: if you’re in decent health, cut your body a break. Skinny doesn’t always equal healthy. Keep an eye on things like blood pressure and cholesterol levels, but don’t beat yourself up over that one picture your mom posted on facebook where it kind of looked like you maybe had an extra chin. Chock it up to lighting and enjoy your life and also a hot dog.

Because as a reminder, people who say “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” are liars. Really hungry liars.