When my ex-wife and I separated in 1999 and divorced two years later, I never imagined that we would one day spend a week together as friends.

Over the past quarter century, our lives had rarely crossed, except on the day our divorce was finalized and at our daughter’s wedding in 2012. Yet here we were, sitting across from each other, talking not just about the past but about the paths that had brought us here.

It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was an excavation. Over the course of our week together, I realized that my memories of our twenty-year relationship had become skewed over time, focused on the fractures that led us apart rather than the ties that had bound us together.

Through conversation, we began unlocking memories from our youth. She reminded me of the nine months we lived with my father after both of us contracted mono during our first year of college. Her stories filled in missing pieces and added new depth to my memories.

We also revisited the challenges and events we’d both experienced during our time together—moments of joy, struggle, and growth that had shaped us in ways we didn’t fully understand back then. Time and distance gave us the clarity to piece these moments together in ways we couldn’t have before.

For me, the first step back to friendship came about three years ago. I needed her permission to restructure an old pension, which required a detailed financial agreement. I sent her a carefully crafted proposal. Her swift response caught a mistake I had missed, but what stood out was her immediate assurance: “I trust you implicitly.”

That moment—her trust, so freely given—meant the world to me. It marked the beginning of a slow rebuilding of the mutual respect that had once been the cornerstone of our relationship.

Since then, life has brought us together in unexpected ways. Two years ago, our daughter asked for financial help, and I was the one who reached out to her mom on our daughter’s behalf. That conversation, the first in over a decade, felt like opening a door that had been closed too long.

More recently, I’ve been there to support her through her father’s passing and the end of a long-term relationship. In turn, she has listened as I’ve processed the unraveling of my second marriage and found my footing in a new relationship.

This week together felt like clearing away the rubble of a collapsed house to find that its foundation is still solid. We talked about the ways we had both changed, the lessons we had learned from failed relationships, and the new awareness that comes with time.

In helping each other process our shared past, we laid to rest ghosts that no one else could have exorcised for us. These were moments only we could give one another—unspoken truths we now had the tools and perspective to understand.

I’ve come to realize that healing isn’t always about finding closure—it’s often about finding new ways to hold the past with compassion. It’s a pattern so many of us fall into—hoping things will improve instead of addressing the reality. Recognizing this in ourselves isn’t easy, but it can be the first step toward living more authentically.

At sixty-three, I’ve come to see that life is rarely black and white. It exists in shades of grey. Relationships—whether marriages or friendships—are rarely all good or all bad. I carry immense gratitude for what we shared in our youth, the growth we’ve both achieved, and the chance to rediscover the friendship that lay beneath it all.

Reconnecting with my former best friend has been a gift. As the years pass, those who share our early chapters become rarer, making these connections all the more vital—not just as a link to our past, but as a reminder of how far we’ve come. These shared histories remind us  who we were and help us understand who we’ve become, anchoring us in ways that feel irreplaceable.

We’ve already begun planning the next chapters of this friendship. She’ll visit me in the US soon, meeting my current partner, and doubtless, we’ll spend more time together when I’m next in the UK. What we’re creating isn’t just a rediscovered connection—it’s a living, evolving bond that carries us forward.

Sometimes, healing doesn’t mean repairing what’s broken to its original state. Instead, it means clearing away what collapsed and discovering something new in its place—a friendship that can stand the test of time.

In clearing the rubble of our past, I found a friendship that could endure. I wonder how many of us might discover the same if we found the courage to begin.

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“The most powerful thing you can do right now is be patient while things are unfolding for you.” ~Idil Ahmed

When one door closes, another one opens, or so the saying goes. From experience, I know that the new door doesn’t always open right away. Often you spend some time in the hallway, the state in between what has been and what will be.

About two years ago I decided to quit my job. While I was in the process of making big decisions, I decided to give up my apartment and go abroad for a period. I didn’t have a super thought-out new plan, but I just felt like it was time to move on.

When my loved ones expressed their doubts about my plans, I waved them away, certain I would figure it out. And to be honest, I kind of expected the new plan to just happen to me as soon as I made the decision.

For most of my life, the phases between jobs, relationships, and living spaces followed each other neatly. I fully expected this time to be no different.

You can imagine my surprise when this time the new phase didn’t start immediately. Answers, opportunities, and big synchronicities didn’t just fall at my feet. What I got instead was a lot of confusion and self-doubt.

In the middle of all this, my long-term relationship ended, which added another element of uncertainty to my life. I was in the hallway, and it felt like I was waiting for the door to appear.

One way or another, most of us spend time in the hallway during our lifetime. The hallway is that phase between two chapters of life when nothing seems to happen. This in-between phase can take many shapes and forms.

Sometimes you end up there by choice, like when you take a sabbatical or choose to spend some time focused on yourself. Other times the decision is made for you: perhaps your physical or mental health forces you to take a pause. Maybe you are let go from your job, your business closes, or your partner chooses to end your relationship.

There is also the space between where we think of something we want to bring into our lives—anything from a business to parenthood—and where it comes into fruition. That period can also feel like an in-between phase, where we are not yet where we want to be, but we are very focused on getting there.

We want to be there and forget to enjoy that we are now here. Rather than enjoying the journey and all the little steps along the way, we focus on where we feel like we should be.

Most of us don’t want to spend time in the in-between. It can be a highly uncomfortable time, as there is a lot of uncertainty involved.

It can feel like being stranded in the middle of the desert: Everything looks the same, and nothing orients us in any direction. We don’t know how long the period will be or where we will go next. It can make us doubt everything we thought we knew and believed in, and that can be unsettling.

There are different strategies to take in the in-between phase. I know, because I have tried all of them, with mixed results.

You may choose to frantically knock on all doors until one of them opens. The problem with this strategy is that, while understandable, this is a fear-based approach. Rather than deciding from a deep sense of trust in yourself and life, you become attached to the door that opens.

There’s also the option of lying on the floor and waiting for the door to present itself. While that works at times, it is not the most empowering strategy. It is also a slippery slope into a bit of a victim mentality when things take longer than you expect.

And then there’s the option to see this period as an opportunity. A chance to get to know yourself better and become familiar with your own fears and doubts, hopes, and longings. If you let it, this phase can bring you closer to yourself and allow you to move forward in a more authentic, aligned way.

It took me a little longer than I care to admit to move from strategy one and two into the third, but when I finally did, these were some of the lessons I learned.

1. When you lose something that feels essential to your self-worth, you learn who you are without that part.

Most of us feel quite attached to certain parts of our identity, whether it is our job, relationship, or an idea we have about ourselves. The more we attach our self-worth to a door that has been closed, the more uncomfortable this phase will feel. And the more we probably need this time.

The in-between phase gives you a chance to see who you are without all the things you thought you were. In that process, you are invited to recognize that your worth is so much more than those identities.

I had always seen myself as someone who followed her intuition and was courageous enough to follow her own path. In my relationships, I had taken on the role of encouraging others to do the same. When I felt neither certain nor courageous, I learned that I was still a caring friend and family member. Opening up about my feelings made other people feel safe about sharing their deeper feelings as well.

No one is meant to take on one role; we are all multifaceted beings, and all of our parts are valuable.

2. A period of uncertainty gives you the chance to become more resilient to fear.

At times, your biggest fears come true in this in-between phase. And that is truly frightening. But it’s also a great opportunity. When what you deeply fear is happening, you have a chance to integrate that fear so that you are no longer so controlled by it in your day-to-day life.

It gives you a chance to process it rather than just simply hoping it never happens. And with that, it can give you great freedom. If this happens, and you can handle it, then perhaps you are capable of more than you thought.

When I was in limbo, I realized I had this deep fear that my life wouldn’t really go anywhere, and that I would never be able to live up to my potential. It made me feel deeply afraid of failure and rejection, as I felt that these experiences would confirm my core fear.

In the process of creating a new path, I faced my share of failure and rejection. Initially, the feelings that came up would overwhelm me, and I would want to give up trying. But gradually, as I learned to process these feelings, I found a deeper sense of safety within.

As uncomfortable emotions come up, learn to feel them in your body. Become familiar with the sensations and just breathe. Implement tools to calm your nervous system—like deep breathing or listening to calming music—so that you can regulate yourself back to safety.

The more comfortable you become with uncomfortable emotions, the more resilient you become to them. You then no longer have to avoid the things you fear, which could potentially bring you great happiness.

3. An in-between period is a chance to move forward in a different way.

There is usually a paved path in relationships, career paths, and life in general, with a logical next step to take. So often in life we take that next logical step, rather than reflect on whether that aligns with our deepest longings.

It is challenging to go off that paved path and into the wilderness, but it is greatly rewarding as well. An in-between period forces you to make a conscious choice: Do you want to keep going as you did before, or are there changes you would like to make moving forward?

As you learn to find safety in the uncertainty and let go of your attachments to things that weren’t quite right for you, you open space to move forward differently. With a newfound trust in your resilience and a deeper knowledge of yourself, it becomes much easier to make decisions that are deeply aligned with you.

4. Change is often gradual and can only be seen clearly in hindsight.

There are moments that propel you into a new stage of life from one moment to the next. But often, there is not one big earth-shattering moment that changes everything. The hit-by-lightning breakthrough moment where you suddenly know exactly what to do does not always come.

Rather, change is often a gradual process that you can only fully see when you look back on it. It is a combination of lots of little steps and lessons and a gradual integration of the emotions that the change brings up. When you fully embrace that, it is powerful.

It means that you don’t have to dig for answers or figure everything out at once but learn to trust that the things you do every day matter. Life has natural rhythms and seasons, just like nature does. Some seasons are big and exciting, while others are slower paced.

Looking back now, I can see that I learned to gradually replace my fear-based choices with options that felt more aligned. It started with seemingly small things, like my morning routine and the recipes I cooked, and evolved into starting my own business and deciding to move closer to the ocean. In the stillness, I learned to sit with my feelings and take tiny steps towards sustainable change.

And so perhaps, as we move toward the door that will inevitably show up at some point, we notice that the hallway isn’t just a space between the two doors. It is a room all by itself, a necessary and fruitful phase of life. We learn that we are never in-between, as we are always growing, evolving, and simply living.

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“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” ~Maya Angelou

What if the person you’re trying hardest to please is you?

For years, I wore a mask—a professional, composed, always-on version of myself that I thought everyone expected.

My need to please and perform was deeply rooted in my earliest experiences. I was born three months premature, and doctors called my survival a miracle. Separated from my mother and placed in an incubator for weeks, I was surrounded by love but deprived of touch and connection.

Though my parents adored me, this experience created the foundation for a limiting belief that I had to prove myself to earn love. Then, later in life, my drive to be “enough” led me to push aside my own emotions in favor of pleasing others.

I thought if I could just keep moving fast enough—working harder, being more present, looking more composed—then my feelings would eventually settle. But the truth is, every time I tried to avoid them, my emotions only became louder and more persistent. They didn’t go away—they built up, each layer adding tension, stiffness, and discomfort to my body.

I could feel it in my chest—the tightness that wouldn’t go away. In my shoulders, which ached with the weight of emotions I refused to acknowledge. My body was telling me something, but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy keeping up the image that I thought the world needed to see. But the more I suppressed my emotions, the more they controlled me, manifesting as stress, anxiety, and physical discomfort.

It wasn’t until I realized that I didn’t need to keep pushing my feelings away that things started to change. The truth is, trying to outrun my emotions only left me exhausted. What I needed was to face them, feel them, and allow them to pass through me, just as they were meant to.

The Trap of Emotional Suppression

I had spent so many years trying to appear strong, convincing myself that my vulnerability would make me weak. That if I showed any emotion other than calm and composure, I would be judged. But in reality, emotional suppression was taking a much bigger toll on me than I ever realized. As I pushed my feelings deeper into my subconscious, they didn’t disappear. They festered.

One moment that stands out vividly is when a close friend opened up to me about a deeply personal struggle. While I wanted to be fully present for her, her vulnerability stirred unresolved emotions within me, bringing up memories of a similar experience I had yet to process.

Instead of acknowledging my feelings or sharing my own story, I chose to hide behind a comforting role, offering support while keeping my emotions locked away. Outwardly, I appeared to be a caring friend, but inside, I felt an overwhelming sense of disconnection. My silence created a wall, leaving me isolated and robbing us both of an opportunity for mutual support and a deeper bond.

Another time, I had a difficult conversation with a colleague at work. Their criticism stung deeply, but instead of acknowledging my hurt feelings or advocating for myself, I smiled and assured them everything was fine.

I convinced myself that avoiding conflict was the right choice. But the weight of those unexpressed emotions lingered, showing up as tension and resentment long after the conversation had ended. Suppressing my feelings didn’t maintain peace; it only created internal turmoil.

I began to feel disconnected from myself—my true self. The tension in my body was the physical manifestation of that disconnection. The more I avoided my emotions, the more distant I felt from who I really was. The pressure was building, just like a pot on the stove, and I could feel the inevitable explosion waiting to happen.

Emotions Are Messengers, Not Enemies

One of the most powerful lessons I learned during this process was that emotions are not the enemies I had made them out to be. They are not here to destroy me; they are simply messengers. When I felt anger, it wasn’t because I was broken. It was my body telling me that something wasn’t right—that my boundaries were being crossed or my needs weren’t being met.

When I felt sadness, it revealed that I was grieving a loss or change.

Fear showed up to remind me that I was facing the unknown, urging me to trust myself and embrace uncertainty.

The key to emotional freedom is recognizing that emotions are not “good” or “bad.” They simply are. They are part of our human experience, each one carrying important information. When we allow ourselves to feel them fully, we stop labeling them as threats or obstacles. We open ourselves to their wisdom and guidance.

The Power of Feeling Fully

At first, feeling my emotions fully felt uncomfortable, even painful. I wasn’t used to sitting with the discomfort that came with vulnerability. But I kept showing up for myself, making the decision to stop resisting and to feel deeply, without judgment. Over time, I realized that, just like a storm, emotions have a beginning and an end. When I stopped fighting them, they passed through me much faster than I imagined.

Allowing yourself to feel means sitting with discomfort for a moment. It’s about embracing your sadness, your joy, your anger, or your fear—without trying to change them. You stop trying to fix your emotions, and you simply let them be.

This doesn’t mean wallowing in your feelings or letting them consume you. Instead, it’s about giving yourself permission to experience them fully, without the pressure to change or judge them. By embracing your emotions with curiosity and openness, you release their hold over you. And the beauty of this process is that the emotions are temporary—they don’t last forever. But the freedom and peace you gain from letting them flow are lasting.

Embodying Your Emotions

As I continued to practice feeling my emotions fully, I discovered that one of the most powerful ways to do so was through embodiment. I started paying attention to how my emotions manifested in my body. Was there a tightness in my chest when I was anxious? A heaviness in my stomach when I was fearful? A rush of warmth in my face when I felt joy?

By focusing on these physical sensations, I was able to move beyond the mental stories I had been telling myself. I could feel the emotion itself rather than analyzing it or trying to push it away. I learned how to breathe through the discomfort, how to sit with it until it passed. And in doing so, I was able to release trapped emotions and make space for healing.

It was as if my body knew exactly what to do once I stopped trying to control it. I just had to stop thinking and start feeling.

Letting Go of Emotional Attachment

One of the hardest lessons for me was learning that feeling my emotions fully didn’t mean holding onto them. There’s a difference between feeling your feelings and identifying with them. I had spent so much time tying my emotions to my identity—believing that I was my emotions—that I had forgotten that emotions are temporary visitors. They come, and they go.

When I stopped attaching myself to every emotion, I began to experience greater emotional freedom. I learned to release my grip on the feelings that I had once let define me. Rather than letting them dictate my life, I learned to feel them and let them pass. It was a liberating experience.

The Benefits of Emotional Freedom

Once I embraced the practice of feeling my emotions fully, I experienced a profound shift in my life. I wasn’t overwhelmed by anxiety, stress, or fear anymore. Instead, I felt a deep sense of inner peace and understanding. Emotional freedom meant that I could stop being at war with myself and my feelings.

This shift brought with it several benefits that I didn’t expect:

• Increased self-awareness: Feeling my emotions helped me reconnect with my true desires, values, and needs. I stopped second-guessing myself and began trusting my intuition more.
• Improved relationships: When I stopped hiding my feelings, I allowed myself to form more authentic and meaningful connections with others.
• Increased resilience: The more I practiced feeling my emotions fully, the stronger I became. I realized that emotions are temporary, and I could ride through them without letting them consume me.

Final Thoughts

If there’s one thing I wish I had known sooner, it’s that emotions are not something to fear. They are powerful, transformative, and ultimately, the key to emotional freedom. When we allow ourselves to feel our emotions fully—without judgment, without fear—we free ourselves from their control.

Instead of running from your emotions, I encourage you to face them with courage and compassion. You may find, like I did, that by releasing old patterns of suppression, you open yourself to a life of greater authenticity, connection, and peace.

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Do I need to forgive my abusive mother to let go of the past?

This is the question I found myself grappling with when I started to recover from the pain of childhood neglect. For most of my childhood, I did not have access to a consistent adult who valued me. As a result, I believed that I had no value, and I lived my life according to this belief.

I treated myself as an invaluable being by denying my needs, catering to everyone else’s, and engaging in relationships with people who sought to benefit from my low self-worth. My physical and mental health suffered. I felt trapped in a cage that I hadn’t built as a child but had taken up residency in as an adult.

My childhood trauma had negatively impacted my life for over thirty years, and I desperately needed to discover what would help me to move forward. So many people praised forgiveness as a cure-all with moral superiority. They all encouraged  me to forgive my mother.

Was forgiveness needed to recover from trauma? I turned to experts—therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and doctors—to find an answer. Their responses? Mixed.

One therapist told me, “If you can forgive, you should. Forgiveness is the key to healing.”

A psychologist admitted, “I’ve seen clients who forgave and those who didn’t, and honestly, I haven’t noticed a difference in outcomes.”

A doctor insisted, “Everyone needs to forgive. Holding grudges harms your mental and physical health.”

And a psychiatrist offered a more nuanced view: “It all depends on what you need. If forgiveness were a proven cure-all, we’d recommend it universally.”

The lack of consensus was frustrating. I was desperate to move forward, to let go of the past, and I needed to know—was forgiveness the answer? For the next three years, I delved into this question, interviewing clinicians, scholars, religious leaders, and trauma survivors.

Here’s what I discovered: Forgiveness is not a one-size-fits-all solution, and it’s never something you should feel pressured or obligated to do. In fact, if you are forced into forgiving, it doesn’t work at all.

The Power of Elective Forgiveness

What I learned is that forgiveness can be incredibly freeing—but only if it’s optional, not a requirement. Elective forgiveness is about giving yourself permission to decide what’s best for you. It means you can forgive, not forgive, or even find that forgiveness happens naturally over time without the intention to forgive.

For me, elective forgiveness became a way to take back control of my healing journey. I stopped worrying about whether I should forgive and instead focused on what I needed to feel safe, process my emotions, and move forward. This approach lifted the weight of mandatory forgiveness off my shoulders and allowed me to make space for whatever felt authentic in my recovery.

How to Embrace Elective Forgiveness

If you’re wondering how elective forgiveness might help you let go of the past, here are a few steps that worked for me:

1. Prioritize your safety.

For years, I didn’t feel safe having contact with my mother. To protect myself, I chose to establish boundaries, including a five-year estrangement, while we both worked on ourselves in therapy. Only when I felt safe did I consider reconnecting, and even then, forgiveness wasn’t on the table until I felt ready.

To assess your safety, ask yourself:

• Am I prioritizing my need to feel safe over the pressure to forgive?
• Do I understand that forgiveness isn’t the same as reconciliation? (You can forgive without reconciling and vice versa.)
• What boundaries do I need to feel safe, and how can I communicate them to my offender?

2. Welcome unforgiveness.

At one point, I questioned if my inability to forgive was a sign of failure. But I eventually realized that unforgiveness wasn’t a “stage” to get through—it was a valid and necessary part of my recovery.

Unforgiveness can be a place to rest, reflect, and process your emotions. It doesn’t have to lead to forgiveness—it can be the endpoint or simply part of the journey. The key is to allow yourself to be where you are without judgment.

3. Let yourself feel anger.

For a long time, I suppressed my anger because I was taught it was a “bad” emotion. But denying my anger only kept me stuck. Once I gave myself permission to feel it, my anger began to evolve into grief and, eventually, a sense of peace.

Here’s how you can work with anger:

• Write a letter to the person who hurt you, expressing your anger. (You don’t need to send it.)
• Notice where anger shows up in your body. Is it in your chest, your stomach, your fists? What happened when you notice how anger feels in your body?
• Move your body in ways that match your anger—punch a pillow, stomp your feet, or go for a run. Ask your body, “What do you want to do with this anger?”

4. Trust the process.

I’ll admit I’m annoyed when I hear therapists say, “Trust the process.” I want to trust the outcome! But recovery doesn’t work like that. Elective forgiveness isn’t about achieving a specific result—it’s about allowing yourself to explore, feel, and grow without knowing exactly where you’ll end up.

For me, trusting the process meant accepting that I might never forgive my mother, and I may also forgive her if that’s what I need. I’ve let go of my anger and found some empathy for her, but I don’t love her, and I don’t want her in my life. Is that forgiveness? Maybe, maybe not.

The more important question is: Do I need to forgive to let go of the past? For me, the answer is no. I’ve let go without forgiving. What do you need to let go of your past?

Finding What Works for You

Your healing journey is your own, and no one can tell you what you need to do. There is not one experience or method that works for everyone. Forgiveness might be part of your process—or it might not. What matters most is that you honor your needs, your boundaries, and your emotions. Letting go of the past isn’t about following someone else’s roadmap—it’s about creating your own.

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“Living with chronic illness isn’t a life half-lived; it’s an opportunity to redefine what it means to be truly alive, resilient, and whole.” ~Christopher Reynolds

I have spent the past eleven years of my life in chronic pain. While this journey has been long, excruciatingly difficult, and deeply lonely, I am beginning to come to peace with my body. After seven long years of intense physical pain, anxiety, and depression, my mindset shifted.

Ironically, this shift began the moment that I got a diagnosis. In February 2020, I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. After seven years, I stopped searching and started living. That day, I did not leave the hospital crying with sadness. I left crying with relief.

While chronic pain is something that I still live with daily, my head no longer spirals into depression as I google the worst-case scenarios.

I simply spend my time choosing how I want to live.

If you are struggling with chronic pain, I hope this post offers a source of hope. As someone who has lived, breathed, and experienced the physical, mental, and spiritual pain of chronic illness, I know it hurts. And it doesn’t just hurt us. It hurts those we love.

While my day-to-day experience is still pretty rough, I experience more joy than ever before.

Here is my chronic health story. I hope it inspires yours.

My Experience of Chronic Health Conditions

As a teenager, I experienced pain in my knees, hips, and shoulders.

I was taken to a physiotherapist and told something was wrong, but they weren’t quite sure what. So I told myself they were growing pains and continued with my life.

At age nineteen, I returned home from a year abroad in Thailand, and my whole world fell apart.

It began with intense gut symptoms, huge amounts of bloating, and severe stomach pain.

I had the usual food intolerance and stool tests, but again, doctors found nothing.

Around six months later, the gut symptoms persisted, and a debilitating sense of fatigue began to hit. Every morning, I woke up feeling hungover and as if I had been hit by a bus.

My body started experiencing some pretty crazy, unexplainable symptoms; my skin would go through weeks of being intensely itchy, with no rash or raised bumps in sight. My heart started racing whenever I stood, and an off-balance vertigo feeling became the norm.

My ears started ringing, I became incredibly sensitive to noise and light, and my eyes stopped making water—itching and burning on a daily basis. I had no idea what was going on.

For the next three years, I walked through life feeling like shit.

I was exhausted by lunchtime and had to sleep in my car on my lunch breaks just to get through the day at work. I returned to the doctors time and time again, only to be given omeprazole and told these were all symptoms of anxiety.

Fast-forward three years, in a state of absolute despair, I ordered a private stool test.

In a matter of days, I found out that I had, in fact, had a parasite called Blastocystis hominis—a type of algae/water mold—that had most likely been in my system for years since returning from Thailand. I cried and cried, thinking I had finally found the answer.

This answer was hope that I could heal.

At this point, I was on a nine-month waiting list to see a gastroenterologist.

So I started my own healing path with an extremely strict parasite-cleansing diet, accompanied by antimicrobial herb protocols. After two and a half years of seeing multiple doctors, naturopaths, and nutritionists, combining antibiotics with herbal medicine, and doing an intense parasite cleanse retreat, I finally cleared the parasite out of my system.

However, it was at this point that I really began to lose my mental health.

After two and a half years of eating no gluten, dairy, sugar, high-sugar fruits, or alcohol, and being insanely regimented in my day-to-day routine—barely getting through each day and missing out on the fun of my early twenties—I still felt like shit.

The parasite was gone, but all the symptoms persisted.

I lost all hope and reached an all-time low. I started to believe that I was crazy.

I thought I had just lived out the hardest few years of my life, but I was wrong.

My health continued to spiral out of control, and I was literally losing the will to live.

During this time, I was visiting doctors and hospitals every week.

I was given a myriad of diagnoses by various specialists, including:

• Chronic fatigue syndrome (M.E)
• Fibromyalgia
• SIBO (small intestinal bacterial overgrowth)
• Postural Tachycardia Syndrome
• Open stomach valve sphincter
• Meneire’s disease
• Vertigo
• Sinusitis
• TMJ disorder and chronic migraines
• Facial neuralgia
• Anxiety
• Depression
• Gastoparesis
• Papillary conjunctivitis
• Widespread inflammation in joints
• Mild scoliosis
• Low stomach acid
• Bladder problems

I was living with all of these so-called conditions and symptoms, simultaneously, every single day, with the odd ebb and flow, for seven years; it was relentless, and I would not wish it upon anyone. Little did I know that these diagnoses were simply masks of a larger issue at play.

Fast-forward two more years, and somehow, miraculously, I was guided to a support group for those with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

I attended the support group, felt seen, heard, and validated for the first time in my health journey, and was given the details of a specialist in London.

The Radical Shift: Transforming Pain into Power

In February 2020, when I was twenty-four, my whole life finally made sense.

An EDS-informed rheumatologist listened to my story, assessed my symptoms, and carried out the Beighton score test. Within thirty minutes, I had answers to everything.

I was given the diagnosis of hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, type 3—a genetic connective tissue disorder that affects collagen production within the body.

I was also educated about comorbid conditions, such as postural tachycardia syndrome and mast cell activation disorder, which explained my crazy heart rate, experience of anxiety, and the inflammation-based diagnoses that I had received up until this point in my life.

I walked out of the office with tears in my eyes and a huge smile on my face.

I had been seen, heard, and validated.

Finally, I could stop wasting my physical and mental energy constantly searching for answers.

Now, I simply had one mission in life—to figure out how to live.

How to Live a Joy-Filled Life with Chronic Pain

For years, there was no space for fun or spontaneity; it was a matter of surviving, not thriving.

I was obsessed with finding the next best specialist, trying every medication and holistic therapy under the sun, and putting everything on hold until I was ‘healed.’ I missed out on a lot in my twenties, not just because of chronic illness but also because of my mindset.

I am sure there is still more to learn on my journey; however, I hope the tips below will shed some light on the small shifts you can make when living with chronic health conditions to transform your mindset and live an incredible, joy-filled life.

1. Separate yourself from your health condition.

A few years ago, I would have introduced myself with “Hi, I’m Jadine,” and sixty seconds later I’d follow this with “I can’t because I have a chronic illness.” These days, I don’t give it a mention.

I began to realize that chronic illness was not me. By introducing myself as a chronically ill person, not only was I reinforcing this story within my own mind, but I was also robbing people of the joy of really getting to know my soul and passions.

As a relationship deepens, I share my experience; however, I consider my words carefully. Here are some empowering phrases to separate yourself from chronic illness.

• “I am chronically ill.” –> “I experience chronic health conditions.”
• “I have (condition).” –> ‘”My body experiences (condition).”
• “I can’t because I’m chronically ill.” –> “I adapt around chronic health conditions.”

These phrases support you in separating chronic illness from your identity, labeling them as an experience rather than as part of you. By labeling it as an experience, you also open yourself up to the possibility of healing. An experience can pass; if you ‘are’ something, it can’t change.

2. Focus on what you can do rather than what you can’t do.

For years, I had deep sadness around the fact that I was always missing out. I was so scared of making myself sicker and experiencing more pain that I said no to everything. And if I did say yes, I would experience extreme amounts of anxiety leading up to a ‘fun’ event.

These days, I take my pain with a pinch of salt. I go to the gym, swim, do yoga, and see my friends, and I have managed to build my working pattern up to four days per week.

Sometimes, I overdo it. And sometimes I need an afternoon in bed. But my mental health and happiness have thanked me tenfold for getting back out in the world again.

If I can’t do something, I adapt; there is nothing that you can’t do if you put your mind to it.

Phrases to use to help you focus on what you can do

• “I can’t because…” –> “I can adapt and…”
• “I’ll be too knackered to join.” –> “I’ll put it in my calendar and confirm nearer the time.”
• “I won’t be able to do that.” > “I can do it better this way.”

3. Plan things to look forward to in your day, week, and year.

This has been a huge game-changer for me. Once I stopped searching for answers and constantly trying to heal, I started planning things to look forward to again. This can be as simple as planning a relaxing trip to the sauna with a friend, going to a concert, or booking a holiday. If these goals feel too big or out of reach, start small.

Ask yourself: If I could do one thing today that would make me smile, what would it be?

4. Set yourself goals, personally and professionally.

Just because you experience chronic health conditions or a disability that causes chronic pain, it doesn’t mean that you have to put your mental goals on pause.

In 2020, I could barely walk a mile.

In 2022, I began to walk 330 miles of the Cornish Coast path.

I adapted by breaking it down into fortnightly adventures that just pushed my body to its limits without overdoing it each time. It was a hugely liberating experience, and I found myself feeling more alive, more driven, and more passionate than I had in years.

Plus, I felt a huge sense of achievement raising money for EDS Support UK.

Similarly, I spent years working low-paid jobs around twenty hours a week, thinking that because I had chronic health conditions, I would never be able to have a ‘career.’

Miraculously, I am now working four days a week for a company I love and am about to receive my third pay rise in twelve months. Set yourself goals and let yourself achieve them, even if you have to adapt or do things slightly differently from others.

5. Stop projecting into the future.

When you are given a chronic diagnosis, it’s very easy to believe that you will only get worse. In the past, I spent nights bawling my eyes out, imagining worst-case scenarios.

For years, I believed that I would be in a wheelchair by the time I was thirty. The only people I had met in real life with EDS had all ended up in this position, and through fear, this had been cemented into my brain.

Here I am approaching my thirtieth birthday, and while I admit I find it difficult to hold up my back and spine for long periods and have recently found out I have a few ribs that are now sliding out of place, I’m still standing.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I have the resilience to deal with whatever comes my way. Life isn’t linear, and there is no way we can know whether our bodies will remain the same, deteriorate, or miraculously heal.

Stop projecting into the future so that you can live your most joy-filled life today.

Final Thoughts: Reality Vs. Mentality

The reality is, chronic illness is not for the fainthearted.

It is for souls who came here to be pushed to their limits, to expand their capacity to sit in the darkness, build an extraordinary level of resilience, and bounce back to the light.

You can be the most resilient, positive, and determined person, yet no doubt, chronic health conditions will still take their toll on your mental health. However, living with chronic conditions is possible. While it can feel like a constant uphill battle, there is still joy to be found.

When you realize that you can either be in physical and mental pain or be in physical pain and choose better-feeling thoughts, the choice becomes obvious.

You may not be able to control the cards that you were dealt.

But you can take charge of your happiness and choose a joy-filled life.

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