Dear Diary,
I used to hope I looked good in pictures.
Now, I just hope the pictures my doctors are looking at do.
Funny how chronic illness changes your definition of picture perfect.
There was a time when I could look at a photograph and immediately find something to criticize.
My smile wasn’t right.
My hair wasn’t cooperating.
I looked tired.
I had gained a few pounds.
The angle was wrong.
The lighting wasn’t flattering.
I’d zoom in, overanalyze every little detail like I had been recruited by the FBI’s Photo Analysis Unit, and sometimes decide that absolutely no one needed to see that picture.
One crooked eyebrow, one stray hair, or one awkward smile, and suddenly the entire photo was deemed unfit for public viewing.
Now, I look at photographs a little differently.
Not because I’ve suddenly become more confident in front of the camera—but because Crohn’s Disease and MuSK-positive Myasthenia Gravis have completely rearranged my priorities.
These days, I spend far less time worrying about how I look in photographs…
…and a whole lot more time worrying about how I look on ultrasounds.
CT scans.
MRIs.
Chest X-rays.
Sleep studies.
Pulmonary function tests.
Blood work.
At this point, I’ve posed for so many medical images that I’m pretty sure the Radiology Department knows my good side.
📷 Smile for the Camera
People often ask if getting older has made me care less about my appearance.
Maybe a little.
But chronic illness has done far more than age ever could.
When you’re living from appointment to appointment, scan to scan, and lab draw to lab draw, you start measuring “looking good” a little differently.
It’s no longer about whether my makeup lasted all day.
It’s about hearing my doctor say:
“Everything looks stable.”
“No new inflammation.”
“We’ll see you back in six months.”
Those words are more beautiful than any compliment I’ve ever received.
“I stopped worrying about looking good in pictures when I started praying my pictures from Radiology looked good instead.”
🩻 The Pictures That Matter Most
One thing chronic illness has taught me is that success doesn’t always look exciting.
Sometimes success is…
A scan that hasn’t changed.
Lab work that’s delightfully boring.
An MRI that gives your doctor absolutely nothing new to talk about.
When you live with autoimmune diseases, boring is beautiful.
Stable becomes something worth celebrating.
It’s funny how life changes.
I used to celebrate promotions, birthdays, vacations, and new adventures.
Now I celebrate lab results that don’t come with an unexpected phone call from my doctor’s office.
Funny how the definition of “good news” evolves.
😂 My Camera Roll Is Confused
Don’t get me wrong…
My phone still has selfies.
Pictures of family.
Grandbaby photos that I’ll never delete.
Random sunsets.
Food I was brave enough to eat.
Plants that I absolutely didn’t need but somehow followed me home.
But if you scroll long enough…
You’ll also find screenshots of lab results.
Medication reminders.
CPAP reports.
Appointment confirmations.
Prescription refill notices.
And enough imaging appointments that I’m convinced the Radiology Department should have named a parking space after me by now.
At this point, I feel like my insurance company and I should just exchange holiday cards.
We’ve certainly spent enough time together.
💜 A New Definition of Beautiful
Living with Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis has taught me that beauty isn’t found in perfection.
It’s found in perseverance.
It’s found in another clear scan.
Another stable appointment.
Another treatment that works.
Another birthday.
Another family photo I was healthy enough to be in.
People living with chronic illnesses often talk about grieving the life they expected.
What we don’t talk about enough is learning to celebrate entirely different victories.
The mirror isn’t nearly as important as the monitor anymore.
Because while wrinkles, gray hair, and bad hair days are simply part of getting older…
I’d much rather hear my doctor say, “Everything looks good,” than hear someone tell me, “You look amazing.”
Although…
I’ll happily accept both.
🎵 Music Playing in My Head While Writing This
“I Hope You Dance” — Lee Ann Womack
Because even when my body slows me down, I’m still choosing to show up for life. I may not dance the way I once did, but I’ll never stop showing up for the music.
💭 Reflection Corner
Chronic illness changes your perspective in ways you never expect.
The best picture I’ve ever taken isn’t necessarily the one where my hair was perfect or the lighting was just right.
It’s the one taken on a day I felt well enough to leave the house.
To laugh.
To make memories.
To simply be present.
There were moments when I wondered if I’d ever feel well enough to enjoy those moments again.
Now, every photograph reminds me that I did.
So no…
I don’t really worry about looking perfect in pictures anymore.
I just hope the pictures my doctors are looking at continue telling the same story:
“Everything looks stable.”
I’ve learned that boring is beautiful.
Boring scans.
Boring lab work.
Boring doctor’s appointments.
Because after everything my body has put me through…
Boring has become one of my favorite words.
Maybe…
That’s what picture perfect looks like now.
❤️ Has living with chronic illness changed what “looking good” means to you?
Has your definition of beauty, success, or a “good day” changed over time?
I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Your experience may be exactly what someone else needs to read today.
Thank you for spending a few moments with me and for being part of The Dual Diagnosis Diaries community. Your support, encouragement, and shared experiences remind me that none of us walks this journey alone.
If this entry resonated with you, please like, share, and subscribe at TheDualDiagnosisDiaries.com. Together, we can continue raising awareness, finding humor in the hard moments, and reminding one another that sometimes the most beautiful pictures aren’t hanging on our walls—they’re the ones that remind us we’re still here, still fighting, and still making memories.
With gratitude,
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries 💜
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