“Most people fake being sick. I fake being well.”
Dear Diary,
This morning started like so many others.
Before my feet ever touched the floor, I was already negotiating with my body.
“Can we please cooperate today?”
Can I breathe without feeling like someone wrapped a belt around my chest?
Will my muscles remember they’re supposed to work?
Will my stomach behave long enough for me to get through the day without interrupting every plan I’ve made?
Will today be a Crohn’s day, an MG day…or one of those overachieving days when they decide to tag-team me?
My immune system has clearly never learned the meaning of sharing is caring.
Some mornings, it insists on both.
Before I’ve even made my coffee, my body and I have already had our first meeting of the day—and unfortunately, I’m rarely the one running it.
Then I do what I’ve become remarkably good at doing.
I get dressed.
I put on my lip gloss.
I fix my hair.
I smile at the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
And I walk out the door looking like everything was perfectly fine.
That’s when the thought crossed my mind.
Most people fake being sick.
I fake being well.
The more I thought about those words, the more I realized they describe my life better than almost anything else I could say.
People often tell me,
“You don’t look sick.”
They’re right.
I don’t.
Because I’ve spent years becoming an expert at looking well.
Not because I’m trying to fool anyone.
Not because I’m embarrassed by my diagnoses.
But because life doesn’t stop just because my immune system decided to rewrite the script.
The residents still need me.
My team still needs leadership.
Emails still need responses.
Meetings still happen.
The bills still expect to be paid.
Family still needs me.
So…
I show up.
What people don’t see are the calculations happening every single minute.
“How much energy do I have left?”
“Can I make it through one more meeting before I need to sit down?”
“Is this fatigue…or is my Myasthenia Gravis trying to tell me I’ve already done enough?”
“Where’s the closest restroom if my Crohn’s Disease decides it has other plans?”
They don’t see me wondering whether the tightness in my chest is just another difficult moment or something I shouldn’t ignore.
They don’t see me silently conserving energy while trying to look engaged.
They just see me smiling.
A few days ago, I boarded a plane to attend my family reunion.
Everyone saw the hugs.
The laughter.
The photos.
The joy of being surrounded by family.
What they didn’t see was that less than twenty-four hours earlier, I had been sitting in an emergency room receiving IV antibiotics for an infected parotid gland.
They didn’t see me wondering if I was well enough to travel.
They didn’t see me packing medications alongside my clothes.
They didn’t see me praying my body would cooperate long enough for me to make memories.
They only saw the pictures.
That’s what invisible illness looks like.
People see the moments.
They don’t see what it took to live them.
The same thing happens every day.
People see the Regional Property Manager leading meetings, solving problems, coaching teams, and putting out fires.
They don’t see the woman wondering whether her eyelids are starting to droop.
They don’t see muscles growing weaker by the hour.
They don’t see the fatigue settling into every movement.
They don’t hear the conversations happening inside my own head.
I’ve learned to smile through abdominal pain.
I’ve learned to laugh while my muscles quietly wave a white flag.
I’ve learned that saying,
“I’m okay,”
is often easier than explaining everything that isn’t.
But if I’m honest…
Sometimes the hardest part isn’t the pain.
It isn’t the fatigue.
It isn’t even the uncertainty.
It’s carrying the responsibility of making sure no one else feels uncomfortable because of what my body is going through.
So I smile.
I reassure people that I’m okay.
I make jokes.
I change the subject.
Not because I don’t need support.
But because I’ve spent years trying to make my illnesses easier for everyone else to carry…
Even when they’ve become heavier for me.
Sometimes I miss the woman who never had to calculate whether she had enough strength to make it through an ordinary Tuesday.
The woman who worried about Friday night plans instead of medication schedules.
The woman who trained for a half marathon without wondering whether breathing would become today’s biggest challenge.
I still miss her sometimes.
But I’ve also learned to appreciate the woman I’ve become.
Because this version of me has discovered strength I never knew existed.
Living with chronic illness teaches you how to perform.
Not because your illness isn’t real.
But because you’re trying to make sure it doesn’t become the only thing people see.
The truth is…
Pretending comes at a cost.
Every ounce of energy I spend looking okay is energy I can’t use somewhere else.
And some days…
I’m tired of performing.
Not because I’ve given up.
Because even the strongest performers deserve an intermission.
🌻 Reflection
For a long time, I believed strength meant never letting anyone see me struggle.
I believed being “strong” meant pushing through.
Working harder.
Smiling bigger.
Resting less.
Now I understand something different.
Strength isn’t pretending I’m okay.
Strength is recognizing when I’m not.
Strength is asking for help.
Strength is resting before my body forces me to.
Strength is accepting that surviving some days deserves just as much celebration as thriving on others.
My body doesn’t owe anyone proof.
It doesn’t owe anyone visible symptoms.
It doesn’t owe anyone an explanation.
The battles happening inside me are real, whether anyone else can see them or not.
If you live with an invisible illness, I hope you’ll remember this:
You don’t have to prove you’re sick.
You don’t have to earn compassion.
You don’t have to apologize for taking care of yourself.
And you certainly don’t have to feel guilty for protecting the little energy you have.
Maybe that’s the greatest misconception about invisible illness.
We aren’t pretending to be healthy.
We’re doing everything we can to keep living while carrying illnesses the world cannot see.
Most people fake being sick.
I fake being well.
And tomorrow morning… I’ll probably do it all over again.
🎵 Today’s Soundtrack
“Rise Up” – Andra Day
“I’ll rise up, in spite of the ache…”
Not because every day is easy.
Not because every day is pain-free.
But because every morning brings another opportunity to choose courage over surrender, hope over fear, and life over limitation.
💜 Thank You for Reading
Thank you for taking the time to read this entry from The Dual Diagnosis Diaries | Kia’s Journey.
If this diary entry resonated with you, reminded you that you’re not alone, or helped you better understand the reality of living with invisible illnesses, please consider liking, subscribing, and sharing.
Every share helps someone feel seen.
Every conversation helps increase awareness.
And every story reminds another warrior that they are never fighting alone.
Until next time, take care of yourselves—and each other.
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries 💜
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