Invisible Illness


Learn Something Today




Whilst I do have an invisible illness this is not just about me. So many people have an illness we can’t see and most of them share the same experiences in their lives. Short lived sympathy, well meant encouragement and disbelief.





This is true for so many … including me




I think we have all done it, we’ve been either sick or healthy ourselves then seen someone who isn’t working, perhaps claiming financial support and we’re like …. yeah right, looks like they’re ill!

No one intends to be mean about it but, we just don’t think. I know I have been guilty of it myself and I should know better and, this is why …





My Mum!




Mum had chronic arthritis. I had many stern comments to say to people on trains who left her standing whilst they sat in the disabled seat but mum was in constant agonising pain every day for the last 20 years or so of her life. I have lived knowing what invisible illness looks like so, yes, I should know better.





One of the things people might say to mum was “Oh yes, tell me about it, I have such pain with my rheumatism, you have no idea”! Now, true, to them it was bad pain but it didn’t compare to mum but she always took it graciously.





The truth is, even two people with the same diagnosis can have hugely different symptoms and degrees of severity. It simply isn’t right or fair from one sufferer to say to another that they do this or that so if they are copied then someone else will cope too, we are not the same.





Because it doesn’t




Why should we expect our lives should ever change whilst we are young and healthy? Mum died at 52, I am fast approaching 56. We just never know what ‘old’ is for us, we don’t know what cards life is going to deal us until we get them.





It is really upsetting to someone bravely suffering to imply that they might be making it up, they might be lazy or expect the state to support them.





“You’re too young to feel like that.”





“It’s all in your head.”





“Everybody gets tired sometimes.”





“Your pain isn’t real.”





“You’re cancelling on me again?”





“I’d like to lay in bed all day too but some of us have to work!”





“Well, you don’t look sick.”





Don’t judge that which you do not understand





The worst part is, sometimes the very people who say it have an invisible illness themselves. They might sufferer terrible migraine, anxiety or depression and, to them those things are totally real. It is no good telling your migraine that it is all in your mind and expecting it to go away!





Let’s get real, if it really is all in the sufferers head, wouldn’t they rather imagine they were wonderfully healthy full of bounce and vigour? Why would someone choose to struggle on a little income if they can choose a good job and big wage packet?





Why do women make this mistake?




Many women each month go through something quite unpleasant and to the outside world, entirely invisible yet, many may well expect and be given time off work for it and extra understanding from those around them simply by saying “It’s my time of the month”. Why can these ladies not understand how hurtful it is to tell someone they’re making it all up?





Next time you are confronted by someone who tells you they have an illness you don’t understand find difficult to accept, give them the benefit of the doubt and believe them. You don’t ever have to fully understand it but, one of the greatest comforts is having those closest to us tell us we are believed.






Dear Mum

Dear Mum

When I had nightmares is was about losing you. I’d wake up sweating after you had fallen off a cliff or just stopped breathing reading your book (Catherine Cookson most likely). Sometimes, because of those dreams I’d just sit there watching you making sure you were still breathing. You were my world, my anchor, my rock.

I was growing up, I know I wasn’t being myself, I know that how I appeared to be was what Dad expected me to be, all the men in the family were real men, top of their sports. They were not like me, I was not like them. I wanted to have that conversation about how I felt different but, I had time, I knew I had time and, well, I was a long while off grown up yet and, things might change, isn’t that what they say? You never really know for sure, not whilst you are young?

Mum, I should have told you, I should have got to know you as an adult and not kept myself your little boy. It was my safe space, my sanctuary to come home to you, things as they always were, even with the upsets of the mid 1980’s you remained my mum.

Only once did I ever feel like I was a grown up with you, that night you sobbed to me about Dad, how you needed me to be strong for you, and I was. It felt amazing to be there for you and yet, I still didn’t commit myself to saying what I should have said. You never knew me and, I suspect, I never really got to know you as a woman either.

You last knew me as the immature young man rushing into a marriage, a kid on the way and making a mess of life. I didn’t think about you then, I didn’t need to, everything was going to be good. You’d have your first grandchild, we would find a way to make that work, you would get to spend some great times together. You would be his rock as you had been mine.

After that horrible morning a great many years ago this week I went back to our home. Your dressing gown was where you left it on the bed, I folded it up not knowing quite what to do with it. I cried. Your brush was in the bathroom with your hair in it, I cried again. So much of you was there except, you. You had been an angel in the shape of my mum and God wanted you back. It released you from all that physical and emotional pain and, for that, I shall always thank him, he did the right thing.

But, mum, I didn’t get to know you. I thought I had more time, I didn’t.

Mum, I am gay, I always have been as long as I can remember. Trying to be straight was so hard for me. Too screwed up to be myself, too afraid to make a leap of faith and trust I’d be held.

I am sorry, I am sure that where you are you see me. I am happy now. Being gay is only one part of me, I am the little boy all grown up. I still and always will need my mum. Thank you for the love you gave to me.

You would have liked Dennis I think, you would love your grandchildren and great grandchildren, they would have love you so much too.

I miss you mum, love you always

Your son, Steven