I’ve gotten really good at acting normal while feeling horrible.
Not “a little under the weather” horrible. I mean the kind where your body feels off from the second you wake up, but life keeps moving anyway so you just… move with it.
There are days I answer texts, laugh at jokes, post online, go out to dinner, or sit talking to people while my joints hurt so badly I can feel it in every movement. Days where my head is pounding behind my eyes and I’m trying to act like light doesn’t physically hurt. Days where I’m nauseous before I even get out of bed but still force myself to brush my teeth, put clothes on, and pretend I’m part of the world that day.
Sometimes my vision gets weird. Blurry. Spotty. Like my eyes can’t fully keep up with what’s happening around me. Sometimes I’m standing in the middle of a conversation trying so hard to focus on what someone is saying while quietly wondering if I’m about to get sick.
And most people around me have no idea.
That’s the strange part about being sick for a long time. You learn how to hide it without even realizing you’re doing it.
You learn how to smile while your stomach is turning.
You learn how to keep talking while pain shoots through your back or your hips.
You learn how to say “I’m okay” automatically because explaining the truth feels exhausting.
And honestly, after a while, you stop knowing how to explain it anyway.
How do you explain what it feels like to never fully relax inside your own body?
How do you explain the mental exhaustion of constantly checking in with yourself all day long? Wondering if a symptom is normal. Wondering if it’s getting worse. Wondering if today is going to turn into a bad day out of nowhere.
Healthy people get to wake up and just live.
I wake up and immediately start assessing damage.
Can I eat today?
How bad is the nausea?
Is this a regular headache or a migraine?
Why do my knees hurt this bad?
Why are my hands aching today?
Can I push through this or is my body about to force me to stop?
It’s exhausting in a way that’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived it.
And I think that’s why so many sick people become good at pretending.
Because we still want to feel normal sometimes too.
We still want to go to dinner and laugh with our friends without becoming “the sick person” for the entire night. We still want to go grocery shopping without talking about symptoms. We still want moments where our bodies are not the center of every conversation.
So we adapt.
We crack jokes while trying not to throw up.
We push through migraines because life doesn’t pause for them.
We sit through plans we were excited about while silently counting down until we can go home and collapse in bed.
People see the obvious moments. The hospital visits. The scans. The bad days.
They don’t see the smaller invisible ones that slowly wear you down.
The nausea while replying to messages.
The joint pain while folding laundry.
The dizziness while standing in line somewhere.
The migraines during normal conversations.
The way you smile through things because you don’t want everyone worrying all the time.
There are days I look completely okay while internally feeling like my body is losing a fight I can’t fully explain to anyone else.
And maybe that’s why it means so much when someone notices the small things.
When someone can tell by your face that you’re struggling.
When someone says, “You don’t have to pretend around me.”
When someone understands that looking okay and feeling okay are two completely different things.
I don’t think people realize how many sick people are walking around acting normal simply because they have no other option.
And honestly, sometimes I sit there looking completely fine while using every ounce of energy I have just to hold myself together.
But we still show up anyway.
We still try.
Still laugh.
Still love people.
Still make plans.
Still keep going.
Even on the days our bodies make it really, really hard.
If this post made you feel seen, understood, or a little less alone in what your body puts you through, you can subscribe to Mojo & The Mess for more honest writing about cancer, chronic illness, survival, and the messy parts nobody talks about enough.
And if you’ve been supporting my writing, sharing these blogs, reading the book, or simply showing up here with me… thank you. Truly. It means more than I can explain.
Stay messy.
Izzy & Mojo
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