I Didn’t See the Signs — and No One Listened When I Finally Did

 

Chronic illness doesn’t just change your body. It changes your future.

Let’s talk about the part of chronic illness that nobody puts on inspirational quote graphics: the anger, the grief, the “how did no one catch this sooner?” spiral that hits you at 3AM.

For a long time, I was moving through life with symptoms I couldn’t name—dizziness, near-fainting, heart rate jumping around, blood pressure doing whatever it felt like. And because I didn’t have a label for it, I did what a lot of people do: I ignored it. Or minimized it. Or chalked it up to being tired, stressed, dehydrated, or just “pushing through.”

I didn’t see the signs. But the more frustrating truth is that when I finally did, and when I finally said something out loud to doctors, I didn’t get concern…I got dismissal.

The classic:

“You’re young.”

“You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Everyone gets dizzy sometimes.”

“Your labs look fine.”

It’s a very specific kind of anger to know something is wrong, fight your own internal gaslighting to say it out loud, and then be told you’re imagining it. And then months later…years, in some cases, you get the clarity you were begging for earlier.

My body was waving red flags all over the place and I wasn’t a “good enough patient” to get someone to care.

And here’s the part that hits hardest: I was actively working in birth during all of this. I was a doula—on the floor supporting one birthing family, on-call at weird hours, standing for long stretches, managing intensity and emotion, ready to advocate for laboring people as a profession.

I loved it. I poured everything into it. I got credentialed, trained, equipped, stocked, mentally prepared, last year I truly felt like I had finally stepped into the version of myself I’d been working toward.

And then my body said absolutely not.

The episode that broke through my denial happened during a hospital birth (no client details here). During the epidural placement, I was standing for a long stretch and holding my client so they wouldn’t move. Out of nowhere, my symptoms escalated from “annoying but manageable” to “I am about to black out.” I could feel myself getting wobbly in my client’s hands, which is the last place anyone wants to lose consciousness.

I did everything “right”—hydrated, ate, electrolytes, medication—and my body still didn’t care. I asked a nurse to take over, stepped out, elevated my legs, got juice, and avoided passing out in a labor room. Safety-wise, I did exactly what a responsible care provider does. But emotionally? It wrecked me.

Because once you know you’re a liability to yourself in high-stakes spaces, you can’t un-know it.

So here I am, grieving a dream job I worked my ass off for. Grieving the person I thought I’d get to be. Grieving the plans I made. Grieving the momentum I had. Grieving the equipment I bought, the clients I imagined, the future I saw so clearly.

People talk about chronic illness grief like it’s a stage. I think it’s more like waves, some days acceptance, some days bitterness, some days numbness, some days laughing about it because the other option is crying.

If you’re waiting for the neat resolution, here it is: I’m stepping back from in-person doula work. Not because I want to. Because I physically can’t stand for long periods, can’t predict my symptoms, and can’t risk collapsing in a delivery room again. I’m shifting to virtual work, education, advocacy…things that don’t require my heart to behave in a hospital hallway.

I still believe in birth work with my whole chest. I still care deeply about education, advocacy, informed consent, and supporting families. That didn’t disappear just because my body took a sharp left turn. But the way I do it has to change, even if it feels unfair, ugly, and uncomfortable.

This isn’t the kind of post I imagined writing at this point in my life. Honestly, it feels too raw and too messy to be “content,” but chronic illness doesn’t care about neat narratives.

If you’re in the same boat, missing signs, being dismissed, grieving a life you were building, I see you. I’m right there too, learning to rewrite what my future looks like while still mourning the one I thought I’d have.

Thanks for reading, even if it wasn’t pretty.

Authors notes:

If you want to follow along as I navigate chronic illness, medical gaslighting, grief, and rebuilding my identity, stick around. I’m sharing the messy parts on purpose…because someone out there needs to know they’re not alone.