“I have this weird relationship with my chronic illness where I spend 75% of my time trying to pretend it doesn’t exist and the other 25% trying to explain that it does exist to a bunch of people who don’t believe me.”
When I first read those words, I laughed.
Then I paused.
Then I realized how accurately they describe much of my life over the years.
Not just with Myasthenia Gravis.
Not just with Crohn’s Disease.
But throughout my entire journey with chronic illness while simultaneously building a career, leading teams, supporting others, and trying to live a life that looked normal from the outside.
The Life Everyone Saw
For most of my adult life, work has been a huge part of my identity.
I have spent more than 25 years in property management.
I have built teams, solved problems, managed crises, mentored employees, developed leaders, and poured myself into my career.
To many people, I probably looked successful.
Confident.
Capable.
Strong.
The woman who could handle anything.
What they didn’t see was everything happening behind the scenes.
The hospital visits.
The procedures.
The medications.
The infusions.
The sleepless nights.
The pain.
The fear.
The exhaustion.
The countless times I questioned whether my body would allow me to keep going.
Looking Fine While Falling Apart
One of the most difficult parts of living with invisible illnesses is that people judge what they can see.
If you show up to work, you must be okay.
If you answer emails, you must be okay.
If you attend meetings, you must be okay.
If you’re smiling, you must be okay.
But chronic illness doesn’t work that way.
Some of my hardest days looked completely normal to everyone around me.
There were days I walked properties while struggling to breathe.
Days I sat through meetings wondering if anyone could tell how exhausted I was.
Days when my muscles felt like they were carrying hundreds of pounds.
Days when simply making it through the workday felt like an accomplishment.
There were days when I left one doctor’s appointment and went straight to work.
Days when I spent my lunch breaks scheduling tests, reviewing medical results, or speaking with insurance companies.
Days when I was quietly terrified about what was happening to my body while still expected to lead with confidence.
Yet I kept showing up.
Not because I wasn’t struggling.
But because I had responsibilities.
People depending on me.
Teams looking to me for guidance.
And like many chronic illness warriors, I had become very good at suffering in silence.
Fighting for Answers While Fighting to Survive
Before my Myasthenia Gravis diagnosis, I knew something was wrong.
I just didn’t know what.
I couldn’t breathe.
Walking short distances became difficult.
Simple tasks became exhausting.
Yet test after test seemed to create more questions than answers.
I saw pulmonologists.
Cardiologists.
Sleep specialists.
Neurologists.
I underwent countless tests and procedures.
I spent months advocating for myself while trying to convince medical professionals that something was seriously wrong.
One physician even suggested that my weight was the reason I couldn’t breathe.
I remember trying to explain that something deeper was happening.
That my symptoms didn’t make sense.
That I knew my body.
But sometimes when you’re searching for answers, you encounter people who see numbers on a chart instead of the person sitting in front of them.
At the same time, I was still expected to perform professionally.
Still expected to lead.
Still expected to produce results.
Looking back, I don’t know how I managed some of those days.
But somehow I did.
Because when you’re fighting for answers, giving up doesn’t feel like an option.
The Weight of Being the Strong One
I’ve spent much of my life being the person others lean on.
The fixer.
The problem solver.
The protector.
The confidant.
The person who listens when others need support.
What I rarely allowed myself to be was vulnerable.
I bottled up my feelings.
I rarely admitted when I was struggling.
I carried my burdens quietly.
And if I’m being honest, I often carried the burdens of others too.
I was there for family.
I was there for friends.
I was there for colleagues.
I was there for residents.
I was there for my teams.
Looking back, one question continues to surface:
Who was there for me?
That isn’t a question rooted in resentment.
It’s a question rooted in reflection.
Because somewhere along the way, I learned how to take care of everyone else while neglecting myself.
The Career I Refused to Quit On
There were moments when stepping away from work would have been understandable.
Maybe even expected.
But I chose to continue working.
Not because it was easy.
Because it gave me purpose.
Work reminded me that I was more than my diagnoses.
More than a patient.
More than medical records.
More than appointments and treatments.
I was still a leader.
A mentor.
A professional.
A woman capable of making a difference.
There were certainly days when I questioned whether I could continue.
Days when my body begged me to slow down.
Days when exhaustion consumed every ounce of energy I had.
But each challenge taught me something about resilience.
Not the kind of resilience people celebrate on social media.
The quiet kind.
The kind that gets you out of bed when every muscle hurts.
The kind that helps you smile when you’re scared.
The kind that allows you to keep moving forward despite uncertainty.
Fighting Two Diseases While Leading Others
Living with Crohn’s Disease alone was difficult.
Adding Myasthenia Gravis changed everything.
Crohn’s taught me about pain.
MG taught me about vulnerability.
Crohn’s challenged my digestive system.
MG challenged my ability to breathe.
At one point, I watched my weight climb from 120 pounds to 280 pounds.
Then I watched it rapidly fall to 175 pounds as Myasthenia Gravis affected my ability to eat, drink, and function normally.
My body was changing.
My health was changing.
My future felt uncertain.
Yet every day I continued showing up.
Not because I wasn’t afraid.
But because I refused to surrender the parts of myself that chronic illness hadn’t taken.
What Chronic Illness Has Taught Me About Leadership
Ironically, chronic illness has made me a better leader.
It taught me empathy.
It taught me patience.
It taught me how important it is to listen.
It taught me that everyone is carrying something we may know nothing about.
Today, when someone tells me they’re struggling, I don’t immediately assume they’re okay because they look okay.
I know better.
Because I’ve lived it.
I’ve been the person smiling while fighting for air.
I’ve been the person saying “I’m fine” while silently struggling.
I’ve been the person carrying more than anyone realized.
And because of that, I lead differently today.
With more grace.
More understanding.
More compassion.
Learning to Show Up for Myself
One of the biggest lessons chronic illness has taught me is that I deserve the same care I freely give to everyone else.
For years, I pushed myself beyond my limits.
Rarely taking time off.
Rarely prioritizing myself.
Rarely resting unless my body forced me to.
I only seemed to take time off for procedures, surgeries, and doctor’s appointments.
Meanwhile, I continued pouring into everyone around me.
Today, I am learning something different.
I prioritize mental health days.
I schedule vacations and staycations.
I allow myself to rest without guilt.
I am learning how to show up for myself the same way I have always shown up for others.
And perhaps most importantly, I allow myself to feel.
I allow myself to cry.
To grieve.
To process.
Because tears are therapy too.
Why I Keep Sharing My Story
People sometimes ask why I’m so open about my health journey now.
The answer is simple.
Because there was a time when I felt completely alone.
A time when I wished someone else would share their story so I could feel less isolated in mine.
If sharing my experiences helps one person feel seen, understood, or supported, then every vulnerable word is worth it.
Because awareness matters.
Representation matters.
And knowing you’re not alone matters.
Final Thoughts
The truth is, I spent years pretending my illnesses didn’t exist.
Not because I was in denial.
But because I was trying to survive.
Then came the years of trying to explain symptoms people couldn’t see and experiences they couldn’t understand.
Today, I’ve stopped worrying about convincing everyone.
I know what I’ve lived through.
I know the nights I couldn’t breathe.
I know the fear of not having answers.
I know the strength it took to continue leading teams, building a career, and showing up for others while simultaneously fighting for my life.
And if you’re reading this while fighting your own invisible battle, I want you to know something:
You do not need to prove your illness to anyone.
You do not need permission to rest.
You do not need validation for your pain.
Your experience is real.
Your struggle is real.
And your strength is real.
Some days surviving is the accomplishment.
Some days simply showing up is the victory.
And if no one has told you lately, I’m proud of you for continuing to fight.
Because I know just how hard that fight can be.
A Thought to Leave You With
“Never judge someone’s strength by how easy they make it look. Some of the strongest people you know are fighting battles you’ll never see.”
Thank You for Reading The Dual Diagnosis Diaries
My mission is simple: to share the realities of living with Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis, raise awareness, advocate for those living with invisible illnesses, and remind others that they are not alone in their journey.
If this post resonated with you, I encourage you to share it with someone who may need the reminder that strength doesn’t always look the way people expect it to.
Whether you’re living with chronic illness, supporting someone who is, or simply trying to better understand the invisible battles people fight every day, thank you for being here.
Together, we can create more awareness, more understanding, and more compassion for those navigating life with chronic illness.
Until next time…
Keep fighting. Keep advocating. Keep believing in yourself.
And remember: Your diagnosis may be part of your story, but it does not define your ending.
❤️ Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries
Two Diagnoses. One Journey. Endless Reasons to Keep Fighting.
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries | Kia’s Journey 💜 
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