Generally speaking, I’m not big into selfies. I prefer to take pics of my son and my dogs. That said, friends on social media will likely be familiar with the “progression of mediocre selfies” series; multiple attempts at family self-portraits taken during our adventures. Our crappy selfie skills have become a family punch line. But truth be told, I adore their candid silliness. 😊
For the last 18 months, I’ve been sick enough that I’ve largely disengaged from my previous everyday life. I don’t have to tell you all that, of course, because I’ve been absent here. Pain and fatigue are quite a tag team, as many of you know. They’ve largely limited my ability to write in complete sentences. But I’m slowly writing a post on my continuing pharmaceutical roulette, and I hope to feel well enough to get back to a more regular rhythm soon. I cannot thank you enough for sticking it out with me.
At this point, you may be thinking “Girl, you weren’t kidding about not writing coherently. I mean, how do those two paragraphs even relate to each other?” But bear with me, because I took a mediocre selfie for this post.
My selfie skills haven’t improved, but the caption says it all. When you’re chronically sick and mostly homebound, you can feel invisible. When everyone around you is racing to work, you can feel invisible. When your daily accomplishments include “got out of bed”, “slept for more than 3 hours straight”, or “made it to the doctor”, you can feel invisible.
Much has been written about the frustration of the invisible chronic illness. But less is said about the invisibility we feel. We are so often forced to the sidelines, as the world spins around us. So, this selfie proves, to me and to you, that I’m still here. Even without a job. Even without makeup. And it’s no accident that I’m holding a crochet project. If I take it slow and use the right tools, crochet is good exercise for my joints. It’s also a calming influence on my mind. I feel accomplished when I complete projects — in crochet, in the kitchen, or with my writing. And that’s crucial for my type-A personality.
Is the feeling the same as closing a big deal or leading a strategy session with a business partner? As crossing a half-marathon finish line? As singing a solo in front of a crowd? Nope. But like my selfie, these hobbies remind me of where I am on life’s journey. They help me remember that I am here. And no matter what, I’m grateful for that. ✌️
4 thoughts on “The Other Side of Invisibility”
Hang in there, gorgeous! You are loved and thought of daily! I love you!
Thank you, sis. ❤️ The love and support I get from family and friends gives me extra strength just when I need it. I love you so much! Xxoo
What a wonderful, incredible point you’ve made! There is a huge difference in an invisible illness and the invisibility we feel. No one talks about that. I hope you don’t mind, but I may leverage this idea into a post (with credit to you for the brilliant inspiration, of course!). That’s the wonderful thing about the RA community — we’re not invisible to each other. Sending hugs.
Of course you can! Thanks so much for reading, as always. ❤️ Sending hugs right back to you!