Symone | Chronic Illness

  I was seventeen, exhausted, and doing everything I was supposed to do: classes, campus life, keeping everything spotless, while my body was already failing me in ways no one could see, not even me. I didn’t realize how much chronic illness would rewrite my memories until it did it quietly, in the middle of the night. It was one of those 3 a.m. moments where your body won’t let you sleep, and your mind won’t let you rest. That’s when it hit me: I was seventeen when this started. Not recently. Not as an adult. Seventeen. I remember being busy. Constantly moving. Cheerleading. Dance. Walking all over Job Corps campus every single day like it was nothing. Going to classes every day, keeping up, pushing through the fog and the exhaustion because that’s what you were supposed to do. I remember coming back to the dorm and cleaning it like it was my own house, top to bottom, no excuses, because the mess felt like failure and rest felt undeserved. I remember being tired, but I told myself...

  The complicated aftermath of being believed after months of dismissal and self-advocacy. Listening to my body, trusting my instincts, and fighting to be heard in a system that didn't listen. I finally have a name for what has been happening to my body. After months of confusion, fear, and being brushed aside, I now have a diagnosis: Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome(POTS). Say it(writing it) out loud still feels strange. Not because it isn’t real, but because it took so much just to arrive at this moment. A diagnosis should feel like clarity, like relief, like the beginning of answers. And in some ways, it is. But it’s also heavier than I expected. What people don’t always understand is that I didn’t walk into this blindly. I knew something was wrong. Yes, years ago, but recently, when it got worse, with certainty. My body changed. The symptoms lined up. I felt the difference in a way that was impossible to ignore. I listened to my body when it was trying desperately to g...

  If you're looking for something practical, I've made a simple $1 symptom tracker I use myself. You're welcome to read, rest, or stay as long as you need. There was a time when doctors would ask, “So when did this all start?” And my brain would just… blank. Not because nothing was happening, but because everything was happening, all the time. When you’re chronically ill, symptoms blur together. Pain, fatigue, dizziness, nausea, heart stuff, brain fog, etc., it doesn’t arrive neatly labeled with dates and timestamps. It just shows up, overlaps, and then you’re expected to explain it clearly in a ten-minute appointment. For a long time, I thought this meant I was bad at advocating for myself. I wasn’t I just didn’t have a system that worked  with  my body instead of against it. Why “just remember your symptoms” doesn’t work Memory assumes: Consistent energy a clear head predictable days On bad days, my brain fog makes yesterday feel like last year. On better days, I forget...