Dear Diary,
Living with chronic illness has taught me that people have very different definitions of the word support.
Some people think supporting me means telling me to stay positive.
Some think it means reminding me how strong I am.
Some think it means saying, “Call me if you need anything.”
And I appreciate the intention behind all of those things.
But after living with Crohn’s Disease for more than two decades and adding Myasthenia Gravis to the household, I’ve learned something:
The support that means the most to me usually isn’t loud.
It’s thoughtful.
It’s intentional.
And most importantly, it reminds me that I don’t have to navigate all of this by myself.
💜 Support Is Learning Without Making Me Teach
One of the most meaningful things someone can do for me is take the time to learn about my illnesses.
Not become an expert.
Not earn an honorary medical degree from Google University. 😂
Just…try.
Learn why MG can make something that seemed easy yesterday difficult today.
Learn why Crohn’s isn’t simply a “stomach problem.”
Learn why fatigue isn’t always fixed by sleeping.
Learn why I may look perfectly fine while my body is staging a full-scale rebellion behind the scenes.
There is something incredibly comforting about not always having to explain myself.
Sometimes support sounds like:
“I read something about MG today and thought about you.”
That sentence tells me you cared enough to step into my world for a minute.
And that matters.
🍽️ Support Is Remembering That Food Can Be Complicated
Food is supposed to bring people together.
But when you live with Crohn’s, every meal can occasionally feel like a negotiation I did not agree to attend.
Can I eat this?
Will I regret this later?
How far away is the bathroom?
Is this meal worth the potential consequences?
And just because something was perfectly fine the last time I ate it doesn’t necessarily mean Crohn’s has agreed to those same terms today.
Because apparently, the contract is subject to change without notice. 😂
So when someone asks me before an event:
“Is there anything you can’t eat?”
or
“What foods are safe for you right now?”
that means something.
It isn’t just about the food.
It tells me that my presence matters enough for someone to think about whether I’ll actually be able to participate comfortably.
🌻 Support Is Understanding When Plans Change
This one is huge.
Chronic illness doesn’t care about reservations.
It doesn’t care that tickets were purchased.
It doesn’t care that I’ve been looking forward to something for three weeks.
Sometimes my body simply says:
Absolutely not.
And believe me, I’m probably more disappointed about canceling than the person I’m canceling on.
So when I’m met with:
“Don’t worry about it. Take care of yourself. We’ll do it another time.”
instead of guilt, disappointment, questioning, or making me feel like I need to prove that I’m really too sick to go?
That is support.
Because I already spend enough time negotiating with my own body.
I don’t want to negotiate for permission to listen to it, too.
Sometimes grace is one of the greatest gifts you can give someone living with chronic illness.
🩺 Support Is Offering to Show Up
Doctor’s appointments and procedures have become such a normal part of my life that sometimes I forget they’re not actually normal.
Waiting rooms.
Testing.
Infusions.
Specialists.
Insurance battles.
More specialists.
And occasionally another specialist because apparently my body enjoys collecting them like Pokémon.
Gotta catch ’em all. 😂
I don’t necessarily need someone beside me at every appointment.
I’m pretty independent, and most of the time I can handle these things myself.
But there is something powerful about someone asking:
“Do you want me to come with you?”
The offer matters.
It says:
You don’t have to do this part alone unless you choose to.
There’s a big difference between recognizing that I can handle something by myself and assuming that I should always have to.
📱 Sometimes Support Is Just…“Hey.”
Not every conversation needs to be about my health.
Actually, please don’t make every conversation about my health.
I have chronic illnesses.
They are part of my life.
They are not my entire identity.
I am still Kia.
I still laugh.
I still love my family, the beach, Disney, baking, music, traveling, and entirely too many things that have absolutely nothing to do with autoimmune disease.
I don’t want to become the sick friend.
I don’t want every “How are you?” to secretly mean “How are your illnesses?”
Sometimes I want to talk about absolutely nothing important.
Send me the meme.
Tell me the gossip.
Ask me what I’m baking.
Talk to me about the trip we’re planning.
Let me be a whole person.
So sometimes one of the best forms of support is simply the random text:
“Hey girl, just checking on you.”
No medical update required.
No explanation necessary.
No pressure to give the socially acceptable version of how I’m doing.
Just someone reminding me:
I thought about you today.
Those little moments matter more than people realize.
💜 Support Doesn’t Mean Treating Me Like I’m Fragile
This one matters, too.
There is a difference between supporting me and treating me like I can’t do anything for myself.
I still want independence.
I still want adventures.
I still want to travel, work, laugh until my stomach hurts, make plans, try things, and occasionally do something that probably makes the people who love me wonder whether I’ve lost my mind. 😂
Having chronic illnesses doesn’t mean I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap.
Sometimes I need help.
Sometimes I need accommodations.
Sometimes I need rest.
And sometimes I need everyone to get out of my way because:
I’ve got this.
Real support learns the difference.
It allows me to be vulnerable without assuming I’m fragile.
💭 What I’ve Learned About Support
Chronic illness has taught me that support isn’t about having the perfect response.
It’s about paying attention.
It’s remembering.
It’s learning.
It’s making accommodations without making someone feel like an inconvenience.
It’s extending grace when their body changes the plans.
It’s showing up when things are hard.
And sometimes it’s simply sitting beside someone in the middle of something you cannot fix.
I don’t expect the people who love me to cure Crohn’s.
I don’t expect them to fix MG.
And I don’t expect anyone who hasn’t lived inside this body to completely understand what this life feels like.
I just need them to care enough to try.
Because here’s what I’ve realized:
Support doesn’t make me less sick. It makes being sick feel less lonely.
And there is a huge difference.
💜 A Note to the People Who Show Up
To the people who research because they genuinely want to understand…
Who ask questions instead of making assumptions…
Who remember the things I’ve explained…
Who ask what I can eat before choosing the restaurant…
Who don’t take my cancellations personally…
Who offer to sit beside me in waiting rooms…
Who check on me even when I’ve gone quiet…
Who allow me to be vulnerable without treating me like I’m fragile…
Who laugh with me about the ridiculous parts of this life…
And who still see Kia—not just Crohn’s, MG, appointments, medications, and diagnoses…
Thank you.
You may think you’re doing something small.
You’re not.
You’re making a life that can sometimes feel incredibly isolating feel a little less lonely.
And that may be one of the greatest forms of support there is.
🎵 Music Playing…
“Lean on Me” — Bill Withers
Because sometimes we don’t need someone to solve the problem.
We just need to know there is someone willing to stand beside us while we figure it out.
💭 Reflection Corner
Chronic illness may change what support looks like, but it doesn’t change how much connection matters.
Support doesn’t require understanding everything I’m going through. It requires caring enough to learn what I need while I’m going through it.
For anyone loving someone with chronic illness, don’t worry so much about finding the perfect thing to say.
Ask.
Listen.
Learn.
Remember.
And keep showing up.
Because sometimes the smallest gesture can carry more weight than you realize.
🌻 Your Turn
If you live with chronic illness, what makes you feel genuinely supported?
Maybe it’s someone learning about your condition.
Maybe it’s being included even when you sometimes have to cancel.
Maybe it’s someone remembering what you can eat.
Maybe it’s the friend who sends the random “Hey, thinking about you” text.
And if you love someone living with chronic illness, what have you learned about showing up for them?
Share your thoughts in the comments. Someone reading may discover a new way to support the person they love.
💜 The Dual Diagnosis Diaries | Kia’s Journey 🌻
Living, learning, laughing, advocating—and figuring it out one unpredictable day at a time.
Kia Lorice
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
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