Empath Vortex

I live with a constellation of invisible illnesses: Type 1 Diabetes, Hashimoto’s, Anxiety, Depression, Chronic Back Pain, and Gut Issues. Each one has its own rhythm, its own language, its own way of tugging at the edges of my day. From the outside, I might look “fine.” I might even laugh, show up, smile. But beneath that surface is a quiet storm calculations, discomfort, and emotional labor.

“6 in 10 Americans have at least one chronic disease, and 4 in 10 have two or more chronic diseases“

What I Carry In Silence

A typical day starts with decisions – tiny ones that most people wouldn’t think twice about. What I eat affects my blood sugar. How I move does, too. How I feel, how I sleep, and even how the weather shifts can make a difference. Type 1 Diabetes isn’t just about carbs and insulin. It’s about managing a thousand variables. These include emotions, hormones, and time zones. And yes, even the wind, if it feels like being dramatic.

Hashimoto’s brings a bone-deep tiredness that sleep doesn’t fix. It’s not just fatigue – it’s a kind of sleepiness that wraps around my body like fog. Anxiety keeps me on edge, knowing that the smallest trigger could send me spiraling into a panic attack.

My lower back pain is a constant negotiation – how long I sit, where I sit, how far I walk. And my gut? It’s the first to react to everything. Blood sugar swings, emotional shifts, anxiety, cravings, even joy – it all lands in my stomach.

Moments That Broke Me (and Built Me)

There are days when I do everything “right,” and my blood sugar still rebels. Days when I’m so exhausted I feel like I could sleep for a week. Days when my body image crumbles under the weight of hair loss, weight gain, and hormonal shifts. Days when anxiety floods my system, and I feel like I’m smothering in my own skin. Days when depression whispers, “Why bother?” and I crawl back into bed.

But there are also moments that build me. The quiet resilience of showing up. The sacred pause of listening to my body. The unexpected kindness of someone who doesn’t try to fix me, but simply sits beside me in the fog. These moments remind me that healing isn’t linear – it’s a spiral, a dance, a ceremony.

The Language I Wish Existed

Invisible illness needs new metaphors. So I’ve invented a few:

	Symbolic Term	Meaning
	Barometric Soul	Sensitive to emotional and physical pressure shifts
	Solar Eclipse Body	Light and shadow coexisting – brilliance dimmed by sudden fatigue
	Phantom Thread	An unseen stitch running through my days
	Celestial Static	Interference between intention and action
	Chronoskin	A body stitched with nonlinear time
	Starbursts in Shadow	Moments of clarity erupting from discomfort

These metaphors give shape to the shapeless. They help me speak the language of my body.

Emotional Labor & Chronicity

Pretending I’m okay when I’m not is its own kind of exhaustion. Masking my symptoms to protect others – so I don’t “ruin” their day – drains me emotionally, mentally, spiritually. It’s a quiet grief, a dissonance between how I feel and how I’m perceived. And it takes a toll.

A Letter to the Well-Intentioned

If you want to help but don’t know how, here’s what I’d say:

• “I don’t need you to fix me – I need you to witness me.”
• “My body speaks a language most people don’t hear. If you’re willing to learn it with me, that’s already a gift.”
• “Support doesn’t always look like an action. Sometimes it’s just sitting beside me in the fog.”
• “My energy is like moonlight – beautiful, but not always bright. I pace myself so I don’t burn out chasing the sun.”
• “You don’t have to understand everything. Just believing me – without needing proof – is a kind of medicine.

If you’re navigating invisible illness – or want to support someone who is – here are a few resources that offered me insight and solace:

• Check out my pages on my health conditions:
  • Health (Illnesses & Disorders)
• Breakthrough Diabetes
• Beyond Type 1
• Hashimoto’s / Hypothyroidism
• Mental Health America
• National Alliance on Mental Illness

These illnesses are real.
They shape my days, my choices, my energy.
And while they’re invisible to most,
they’re never invisible to me.

Have you ever carried something invisible? I’d love to hear your metaphors, your moments, your moonlight.

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