I’ve had a month where I’ve had a few days at a time where I’ve been able to get up and washed and dressed. A few days in a row. And then some days that were too hard to make it possible to keep that run of getting dressed ‘properly’ going.
When writing this I initially had a paragraph here over-explaining how this was possible. I’ve removed it. I’m trying to, where possible and where it isn’t really necessary, stop adding a caveat to everything I say.
It’s got me thinking about the insecurity of invisible illness. But also the validity of illnesses and disabilities that you simply cannot see (if you don’t know where to look!)
Something I’ve been struggling with this past year is how ‘well’ I come across to most people. How coherent and together and upbeat and smiley. I am smiley, but it’s weird when that gets used as a way to seemingly invalidate my health issues.
I shouldn’t have to be miserable, grumpy, or depressed for people to accept that inside my body, very serious and debilitating things are happening that restrict my life.
I’ve never had a stint in hospital (aside from the hysterectomy), never had a 999 call made over my ill heath; these things have always made me feel like I’m not a bonafide poorly person.
When the possibility of a hysterectomy came up in 2022 I was relieved and something akin to excited(?) that I would finally get hard proof that my health issues are real.
It’s just so messed up isn’t it; what seemingly invisible illness and disability can do to you. The external disbelief and the stigma, take you to a place of almost wanting to be more seriously unwell just to have proof of it.
(One from the archives, written in 2023 but never published)
IMAGE: A bird’s eye view of Anna’s legs as she stands on her garden patio. The hem of a red dress is visible. She has turquoise sandals on. She’s holding a mug of camera
'M.E. myself and I' by Anna Redshaw 