Whose business is it if I decide to get medicated, ask for a diagnosis, seek resources & aids to make my life easier & more comfortable to live? If I decide to avoid certain kinds of movement or exercise (even if they’re “healthy”)because it hurts me or makes me sick? Who gets to decide whether I’m telling the truth or not? I’m too young to be complaining? I’m too fit to be sick? I’m too functional to be in pain? I’m just lazy, or looking for an excuse, looking for attention? Am I still just looking for attention when I’m home alone, curled in my bed & unable to sleep due to pain? How about when my bones pop or roll or twist with a simple movement? Do the digestive issues only occur when its convenient for me? The migraines you never hear about? 

These are the thoughts that cross my mind whenever conversations around work, disability, and mental or emotional health come up. I remember the first year I really started to pay attention to the pain. I was so confused, so stressed & frustrated. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t believe I was truly that out of shape. I was training every day! I was working my ass off to keep up. Everyone else was doing just fine, maybe struggling, but managing, getting better, stronger. So was I just weak? Did I simply lack the mental toughness and willpower to be better? They tried to convince me that if I just worked a little harder, wanted it a little more, took a little more care of myself that maybe I would be fine. Told me I just had to change my attitude, change my diet, push myself harder. So I did. And I got worse. And worse. It didn’t matter how much or how little I ate, how “healthy”or “unhealthy”. I lost almost 25lbs in a 10 day period. Still couldn’t run any faster, still felt so much pain, still was injured. My ankles couldn’t bear the intensity of the training, my wrist was crumbling, my lungs couldn’t give me enough air even with months of conditioning, my brain tortured by migraines that lasted weeks at times. My commander said it was just me, my peers said it was all in my head, my parents asked me if I just didn’t want to admit that I didn’t really want to be there and just needed an excuse to leave, my doctors told me everything was normal. So I just pushed through. After all, if even my doctors are saying nothing is wrong then there must be nothing wrong, right? So I pushed through. I pushed & trained & restricted & ignored the cues of my body because how could I trust myself when everyone else doesn’t?

I stopped getting a period. I ran on shin splints and sprained ankles. I developed an eating disorder. And I got worse. And worse. Until I had had enough. I began demanding to be heard, to be helped. Began telling my parents to take me seriously, to believe me when I said that I wanted to be there, I just didn’t want to be in this kind of pain all the time. It took two years to eventually get one issue diagnosed. A hormonal problem, impacting my body’s cortisol & functionality. It’s taking even longer to get to the root issue, though I’ve long suspected the truth. Chronic pain, stress, fatigue, emotional turmoil. I am disabled. I am disabled? Such a simple declaration that comes with so much attached. Am I allowed to claim that before I am officially diagnosed? Does my condition count? If nobody sees it, is it real? If it only bother me, does it matter? And what of the social & professional consequences of disability? That is where my mother has begun to focus now that she understands I am not just weak or faking it. Being disabled has made it difficult to work, and I do worry about applying for jobs post-diagnosis, about requesting accommodations. I don’t want to disclose my condition prior to onboarding lest it does impact my hireability. It’s infuriating at times. Being around new people, talking to friends or my family about what I’m experiencing, what I’m trying to manage, the appointments I have coming up, trying to explain WHY its so important to me to be believed, to be diagnosed. So many aspects of life are impacted by having a disability or disabling condition. It is neither purely medical, purely personal, nor purely social.

And so I ask. Whose business is it?