When I Stopped Fighting My Chronic Illness, This Happened...

For a long time, I thought I was being strong by pushing through.

I told myself that if I just tried hard enough, I could do everything everyone else could do. I could live a “normal” life. I could work full-time, go to every event, keep up with friends, and push through every medical setback with a smile on my face.

But pushing through wasn’t strength.
It was self-abandonment.

I wasn’t listening to my body. I wasn’t respecting what I needed. And honestly? I was exhausted – physically, emotionally, and mentally – from trying to keep up appearances.

But something shifted when I stopped fighting against my chronic illness and started accepting it.

Not giving up.
Not giving in.
Just… accepting it.

And here's the part that's often misunderstood, acceptance didn’t mean I stopped doing hard things. It meant I did them with my chronic illness, not in spite of it. It meant planning instead of powering through. It meant recognising when to push, and when to pause.

Here’s what happened when I did.

I started speaking up

I finally had the courage to say to my friends, “I’d love to come, but I’ll need to leave early so I can rest.” And for the first time, I really meant it. No guilt. No over-explaining. Just clarity and kindness to myself.

Before, I would have pushed myself to stay the whole time, smiling and chatting, even as my body begged for rest. Now, I check in with myself first. What do I need to feel okay tomorrow, not just tonight? That question guides me.

It turns out, honouring my limits didn’t make me less social. It made me more present, more connected, and more at peace in the moments I could show up.

I learned to advocate for my needs

Instead of nodding along in medical appointments or trying to be the "easy" patient, I started speaking up. I began saying, “I need more information before making a decision,” or “This doesn’t feel right for my body. Can we talk about alternatives?”

There’s so much peace in knowing I have the right to be involved in my care. It’s my body. My life. My future. When I embraced that, I felt more grounded and more powerful.

Advocating for my needs became a gentle kind of strength — one rooted in self-trust. It meant I didn’t have to push through poorly thought-out treatment plans or hide my symptoms just to seem agreeable.

I reclaimed my confidence

For years, I downplayed my chronic illness. I worried it would make people uncomfortable, or worse, define me in their eyes. But when I accepted my condition, something beautiful happened.

I stopped hiding. I began sharing my story more openly, not because I owed anyone an explanation, but because I wanted to connect with others who felt unseen.

And slowly, my confidence grew. Not the loud, performative kind — but the quiet, sturdy kind that comes from being fully yourself. Confidence didn’t mean pretending I had it all together – it meant knowing my value even when I didn’t.

I showed up on the tough days

There are still days when my body feels heavy and my mind foggy. The old me would have skipped the gym entirely, convinced it wasn’t worth it unless I could give it 100%.

Now, I give what I can. Half a session. A slow walk. Stretching on the floor. And it counts. It all counts.

Movement, no matter how small, reminds me I’m still here. Still trying. Still caring for myself. On the days where I have a big week, I plan ahead. I shift rest to the front end, knowing recovery will need to happen too.

That’s what acceptance looks like in practice: not giving up on movement, but giving up on all-or-nothing thinking.

I discovered new joys

There is so much beauty in discovering what actually brings you joy, not just what you think should.

When I stopped chasing activities that left me drained, I found peace in gentler activities like listening to music in the sun, scribbling in a journal, watching the light change in the afternoon.

I still have ambition and passion. But I’ve made space for softness too. I plan my weeks with intention. I don’t cram my calendar full. And in that extra breathing space, I found joy I didn’t know I was missing.

I embraced the power of saying "no"

Saying "no" used to terrify me. I thought it would disappoint people or close doors.

But in reality, every time I said no to something that didn’t work for me, I said yes to rest. Yes to clarity. Yes to protecting my peace.

I learned that boundaries aren’t walls – they’re invitations to connect more authentically. The more I said no to what drained me, the more room I had for what lit me up.

Sometimes I still take on big things – a work deadline, a trip, a project – but now I ask, what do I need around that to make it work for my health? That’s the difference acceptance makes.

Wrap Up

Acceptance isn’t a destination; it’s a gentle, ongoing process. One filled with moments of grief and also moments of grace.

But when I stopped fighting myself, life didn’t get smaller. It got deeper. More honest. More aligned.

If you’re on this path, I want you to know: you’re not alone. And you’re not broken.

This is not the end of your story. It’s the beginning of something more grounded. More peaceful. More you.

P.S.

Adulting Well was started to give people, just like you, more knowledge so you could make the best choices possible – even with chronic illness.

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