There is something people living with chronic illness understand that can be surprisingly difficult to explain:
Sometimes a good day comes with an invoice.
And unfortunately, my body does not accept payment plans. 😂
You may see me cleaning the house, running errands, working a full day, going out to lunch, traveling, laughing with friends, wandering around somewhere I probably had no business wandering around, or simply enjoying my life.
You see me doing things.
What you don’t always see is what it took for me to do them.
And you definitely don’t always see what happens afterward.
The exhaustion.
The muscle weakness.
The pain.
The shortness of breath.
The bathroom issues.
The extra sleep.
The canceled plans.
The day—or sometimes two—spent doing absolutely nothing because my body has officially submitted its complaint to management.
And apparently…
I am management. 🙄😂
💜 A Good Day Doesn’t Necessarily Mean I Feel Good
This is one of the hardest things about living with Crohn’s Disease and Myasthenia Gravis.
Sometimes what you call my “good day” wasn’t actually a day when I felt good.
It was simply a day when I had enough capacity—or enough determination—to do something anyway.
There is a difference.
My health isn’t a straight line.
Some days my roommates are relatively quiet.
Some days one of them decides to act up.
Some days they apparently hold a roommate meeting and decide they’re both going to participate in the day’s activities.
Without being invited, of course. 🙄😂
And some days I have enough energy or strength to do the things I want to do despite whatever they’re up to.
That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m getting better.
It means today was different from yesterday.
Tomorrow may be different again.
💜 A good day is not proof that I’m getting better. Sometimes it’s simply tomorrow’s energy, spent early.
That’s the part you don’t see.
You see the activity.
You don’t see the recovery.
You see me walking around the store.
You don’t see me lying down afterward.
You see the pictures from the trip.
You don’t see me calculating where the bathrooms are, how far I have to walk, whether my muscles are getting tired, or how much energy I have left.
You see the good day.
You don’t see what the good day cost me.
🥄 Tomorrow’s Energy, Spent Early
Spoon Theory gives people living with chronic illness a way to describe limited energy and the choices we sometimes have to make about how to spend it.
Some activities cost one spoon.
Some cost several.
And some apparently require me to take out a small personal loan. 😂
Because there are days when I absolutely know I don’t have enough spoons for everything I want to do…
…and apparently I swipe anyway.
Declined?
Not today.
Insufficient funds?
Mind your business.
Possible consequences?
We’ll discuss those tomorrow. 😂
Except tomorrow eventually arrives.
And Crohn’s and MG—my two extremely persistent roommates—are standing there holding the receipt.
Crohn’s: Remember all that stuff you did yesterday?
MG: Yeah. About that…
Me: Can we not?
Both of them: Absolutely not.
And just like that, the bill is due.
Apparently my roommates believe in collecting interest too.
Because of course they do. 🙄😂
💜 The Recovery Is Part of the Activity
This is something I am still learning myself.
If cleaning the house takes two hours but recovering from it takes the rest of the day, then cleaning the house didn’t really cost me two hours.
It cost me two hours plus the recovery.
If an outing requires me to spend the next day resting, that recovery time belongs in the equation too.
If traveling means I need several days afterward before my body feels remotely cooperative again, those days are part of the trip—even if they aren’t included in the pictures.
I’ve had to change the way I think about rest because of that.
Rest isn’t something that happens because I failed at the activity.
Rest isn’t punishment for doing too much.
Recovery doesn’t erase the fact that I accomplished something or enjoyed myself.
Recovery was part of the activity all along.
That’s the hidden cost people rarely see.
And recognizing that cost has taught me something else:
I can’t judge what my body will be capable of tomorrow based solely on what it managed to accomplish today.
Neither should anyone else.
💜 What You Saw Was a Moment, Not My Medical Record
Because here’s where a “good day” can become frustrating for someone living with an invisible or fluctuating illness.
“But you were fine yesterday.”
Yes.
You saw yesterday.
Maybe you saw me working.
Maybe you saw me shopping.
Maybe you saw me traveling.
Maybe you saw me laughing.
Or maybe you saw a picture of me smiling somewhere and assumed the smile told you everything you needed to know.
It didn’t.
You didn’t necessarily see what it took for me to get there.
You didn’t see which symptoms I was managing while I was there.
You probably didn’t see what happened when I got home.
And you definitely don’t know what my body charged me the following day.
A photograph captures a second.
A productive afternoon captures a few hours.
A vacation picture captures a smile.
None of them are a complete medical history.
💜 You witnessed a moment of my life. You did not witness the absence of my illnesses.
That’s an important distinction.
Because my good days should be celebrated.
They should never become evidence used against me on my bad ones.
My ability to do something yesterday doesn’t mean I’m capable of doing it today.
And my inability to do something today doesn’t mean I was pretending yesterday.
Both days can be real.
Both experiences can be true.
That’s chronic illness.
🌻 But I Still Want to Live
And this is where things get complicated.
Because knowing something may cost me tomorrow doesn’t automatically mean I won’t do it today.
Sometimes I will still take the trip.
Sometimes I will still go to lunch.
Sometimes I will still spend the day with people I love.
Sometimes I will still walk around longer than I probably should.
Sometimes I will still clean my entire house because apparently doing one room at a time occasionally feels like a personal attack on my personality. 😂
Sometimes I will spend tomorrow’s energy today because today matters too.
Chronic illness already takes enough from my life.
I refuse to voluntarily hand over every joyful experience simply because there might be consequences afterward.
That doesn’t mean ignoring my body.
It means continually learning the difference between pushing myself and hurting myself.
And I won’t pretend I always get that calculation right.
Sometimes I absolutely overspend.
Sometimes the bill is much higher than expected.
Sometimes I look at the metaphorical receipt the next morning and think:
Girl. What were you THINKING? 😂
But there are also times when I know exactly what something might cost.
And I choose it anyway.
Because sometimes the trip is worth it.
The lunch is worth it.
The laughter is worth it.
The memory is worth it.
The time with the people I love is worth it.
Living is worth it.
That doesn’t mean every activity is worth the consequences.
It means chronic illness has forced me to become more intentional about deciding which ones are.
💭 Reflection Corner
One of the strangest lessons chronic illness has taught me is that two things can be completely true at the same time:
I can genuinely have a good day.
And…
I can genuinely need two days to recover from it.
Neither cancels out the other.
My good days are real.
My difficult days are real.
My limitations are real.
My illnesses are real.
And the life I am determined to continue living alongside them is real too.
So when you see someone with chronic illness having a good day—traveling, working, laughing, cleaning, shopping, dancing, eating out, spending time with family, or simply looking perfectly fine—please don’t assume that means they’re suddenly better.
You may only be seeing one side of the transaction.
💜 You saw what I did. You didn’t see what it cost. A good day is not proof that I’m getting better—it may simply be tomorrow’s energy, spent early.
Sometimes today’s smile was purchased with tomorrow’s energy.
Sometimes today’s memory means tomorrow needs to be spent resting.
Sometimes a few hours of living means giving my body considerably more time to recover.
And sometimes?
It was worth every spoon. 💜🥄
🎵 Music Playing…
“Good Days” — SZA
There is something almost perfectly fitting about a song called Good Days playing in the background of a conversation about what a “good day” actually means.
Because for me, a good day doesn’t have to mean symptom-free.
It doesn’t have to mean cured.
It doesn’t mean I’m suddenly getting better.
And it certainly doesn’t mean my roommates packed their bags and moved out.
Trust me.
Those two are still on the lease. 😂
A good day can simply mean I found some joy in the middle of all of it.
And I’ll take those days whenever I can get them.
💬 Your Turn
If you live with chronic illness, have you ever had an amazing or productive day only to need a day—or several—to recover afterward?
Have you ever had someone use one of your “good days” as proof that you must be feeling better?
And what is something you’ve knowingly decided was worth spending the spoons on anyway?
💜 Share your experience in the comments. Someone else may need to hear that they aren’t the only person paying the hidden cost of a good day.
💜 Until next time, remember:
A good day does not invalidate your diagnosis.
A productive day does not erase your limitations.
Rest does not erase what you accomplished.
Recovery is not failure.
And needing time to recharge does not make the joy you experienced any less real.
Keep advocating. Keep learning. Keep giving yourself grace. And when you can, keep living—because chronic illness may influence how you spend your energy, but it doesn’t get to decide what makes your life worth spending it on.
Some days I save my spoons.
Some days I spend them carefully.
And every once in a while, I apparently hand over tomorrow’s entire energy budget and tell Future Kia:
Good luck, girl. 😂💜🥄
With love, laughter, and probably a few borrowed spoons,
Kia Lorice
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries
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