There are days my body feels like a battlefield. Days when getting out of bed is a full-contact sport. Days when nothing fits right, nothing looks right, and my reflection feels like it belongs to someone else — someone heavier, sicker, older, and more broken than the version of myself I still carry around in my head.
If you know that feeling — that deep, gut-punch disconnect between who you are and what you see — then you already know: Body positivity isn’t always about love. Sometimes, it’s just about survival.
Body respect: the version of self-love that doesn’t require a mood ring
For most of my life, I thought body positivity meant waking up every morning, throwing on a bikini, and twirling in front of a mirror, shouting, “I’m a goddess!” (Newsflash: That’s not reality. That’s an Instagram ad.)
When you’re living with chronic illness, disability, trauma, aging, or just…being a human being in an unpredictable body — forcing yourself to “love” everything all the time is another impossible standard. Another stick to beat yourself with.
So I stopped chasing love. I started chasing respect instead.
Feeding my body even when I’m mad at it.
Stretching gently, even when it feels stiff and foreign.
Dressing in clothes that fit me, not the me I “should” be.
Taking rest seriously, not as a guilty secret, but as a freaking necessity.
Speaking to myself like I would to a dear friend who’s fighting hard to stay alive.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not always photogenic. It’s real healing.
The world profits off our self-hate. I’m opting out.
The wellness industry, the beauty industry, even the so-called “body positivity” movement sometimes, they all whisper the same garbage: “If you just try harder, spend more, punish yourself longer — you’ll finally be good enough.”
You know what? I’m tired. And I’m not buying it anymore.
This body — right now, as it is, on its best day and its worst — is good enough. Not because it looks a certain way. Not because it performs a certain way. But because it’s mine. Because it carries me through all of it: the heartbreaks, the flare-ups, the ordinary Tuesdays, and the small, stubborn joys.
That’s worth respecting.
How I endeavour to practice body respect (even when I don’t feel like it)
Here’s what it looks like on a normal, messy Tuesday:
I move when I can, how I can. Sometimes it’s yoga. Sometimes it’s hobbling to the couch. Both are valid.
I feed myself like I deserve nourishment. No punishing diets. No apology meals.
I rest without guilt. Productivity culture can kiss my very tired, very worthy ass.
I set boundaries with media. If my feed makes me hate my body, I unfollow, block, delete, walk away.
I celebrate functionality over appearance. This body digests food. It hugs my people. It lets me laugh until I snort. That matters more than what it looks like.
I’m not aiming for perfect self-love. I’m aiming for loyalty. I’m aiming for partnership. I’m aiming for showing up for myself, even on the days I don’t feel lovable.
Because guess what? Respect doesn’t wait for perfection.
You deserve that too.
You don’t have to earn your own compassion. You don’t have to be “fixed” before you’re allowed to care for yourself.
If you’re breathing, you’re worthy. If you’re fighting, you’re worthy. If you’re just surviving today, you are already doing something extraordinary.
Let’s stop waiting until we feel like we “deserve” to treat ourselves kindly. Let’s just decide — right now — that we do.
Today, I had a horrible experience in town — and sadly, it’s one that many people with invisible disabilities know all too well.
I parked in a disabled bay. I’m allowed to. I live with multiple sclerosis (MS), a chronic, degenerative illness that affects me every single day, even if you can’t see it.
As I was getting out of my car, a woman approached me and said, “You don’t get to park there.”
I calmly explained that I have MS.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, that doesn’t count,” she said.
When I showed her my valid disabled parking disc, she sneered and said, “You can buy those anywhere,” before waving me off like I was some kind of fraud. She didn’t stop there — she berated me in front of strangers, making sure I felt humiliated, belittled, and dismissed. And I think she was filming me, just to twist the knife a little deeper.
This is what public shaming looks like when you live with an invisible illness. This is the quiet cruelty that people don’t see — or choose not to.
Later that day, I went online to my support group, still shaken, still trying to ground myself. I shared what had happened — and the response was overwhelming. Hundreds of people replied. Not only had they been through similar encounters, but many admitted they now prepare for them. Mentally rehearsing what they’ll say. Keeping their documents close at hand. Some even avoid using accessible bays altogether to sidestep the confrontation.
Think about that for a second: people with real, diagnosed disabilities are bracing themselves to be challenged for using a parking spot designed for them.
Yes, we appreciate when others understand that disabled bays exist for a reason — but now it’s gone further. There’s a new layer of judgment: if your disability isn’t immediately obvious, you’re assumed to be lying. The burden of proof is dumped on the person already struggling.
MS is real. The fatigue, the spasms, the brain fog, the pain — it’s all real. And believe me, if I could trade my disabled badge for a healthy body and a regular parking spot, I would.
But here’s the thing: not all disabilities are visible. And just because someone “looks fine” doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling.
To that woman, and to anyone else who thinks they can play judge and jury in a parking lot: your ignorance isn’t just offensive — it’s dangerous. You’re not protecting the system; you’re making life harder for people already carrying more than you can imagine.
So the next time you see someone in a disabled bay who “doesn’t look disabled,” maybe consider this: your eyes aren’t qualified to diagnose anyone. And a little kindness costs you nothing.
Editor’s Note
I hesitated to share this — but the truth is, silence doesn’t protect us. Sharing these moments matters, because every time we speak up, we make it harder for ignorance to win. If you live with an invisible illness, know this: I see you. And if you don’t, I hope this helped you see us more clearly. Everyone deserves the right to move through the world with dignity — no explanations, no justifications.
Nasty old woman shouting and holding up her cellphone.
Some mornings, everything feels heavy. My body aches. My mind spins. The noise of the world — the pressure, the pain, the never-ending to-do lists — builds up. And then I take my dog, Bugsy, and we walk along the river.
It’s nothing dramatic. No intense cardio. No Instagram-worthy workout gear. Just me, my dog, and the steady rhythm of our steps on a dirt path.
But something happens out there.
The air shifts. The water moves. The world softens.
There’s a kind of quiet that only nature offers — a peaceful hush that holds you. And when I walk with Bugsy, I feel it settle into my bones. My breath deepens. My shoulders relax. My mind lets go, bit by bit. I’m not thinking — I’m just being. And somehow, that resets everything.
It’s movement, yes. But it’s also medicine.
Not the kind that comes in a bottle, but the kind that comes with birdsong, wind in the trees, and a dog who’s just happy to sniff everything.
I come back from those walks feeling more like myself. My sleep improves. My thoughts are clearer. My body — even with MS — feels a little looser, a little more alive. There’s something deeply healing about that kind of movement. No pressure. No performance. Just presence.
And it turns out, there’s science behind why this feels so good. Walking, particularly in natural settings, offers numerous physical and mental health benefits.
The Science Behind Nature Walks:
Research shows that walking in nature, often referred to as “green exercise,” can have a significant impact on reducing stress. A 2010 study published in Environmental Science & Technology found that people who walked in parks experienced lower cortisol levels and improved mood compared to those who walked in urban settings. This is why I always feel a sense of calm after my river walks.
In addition to stress relief, spending time in nature can help lower blood pressure and improve cardiovascular health. The simple act of walking without pressure to perform or achieve allows the body to find a natural rhythm. For those with chronic conditions like MS, this low-impact movement can help reduce muscle stiffness and improve joint mobility, making the body feel more alive.
Furthermore, walking in natural environments has been shown to boost serotonin levels, the “feel-good” neurotransmitter that’s linked to enhanced mood and mental clarity. Studies indicate that even a 20-minute walk outdoors can improve cognitive function and boost mood. The connection with nature also helps regulate our circadian rhythms, contributing to better sleep, which explains why I sleep so well after these riverside walks.
So, if you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or disconnected — try a walk. No destination needed. No fitness tracker required. Just you, the open air, and maybe a four-legged friend.
Sometimes, the simplest movements carry the most profound healing.
Sources:
Thorp, A. A., et al. (2012).Physical activity and cardiovascular disease: The importance of the “free-living” context. Australian & New Zealand Journal of Public Health, 36(4), 343–349. This study discusses how walking and other forms of physical activity, especially those integrated into daily routines (like walking in nature), can have profound benefits for cardiovascular health, including lowering blood pressure. Link to study
Barton, J., & Pretty, J. (2010).What is the best dose of nature and green exercise for improving mental health? Environmental Science & Technology, 44(10), 3947–3952. This study explores how different “doses” of nature, including walking, can improve mental health by reducing stress and boosting mood. Link to study
Van den Berg, A. E., & Custers, M. (2011).Gardening and health: A review of the evidence and implications for the management of stress. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 31(3), 186-196. This article reviews evidence on the health benefits of engaging with nature, including walking, and discusses its potential for reducing stress and improving overall well-being. Link to study
Brown, D. K., Barton, J. L., & Gladwell, V. F. (2013).Viewing nature scenes positively affects recovery of autonomic function following acute mental stress. Environmental Science & Technology, 47(18), 10611-10617. This study shows how exposure to natural environments can positively affect the recovery of autonomic function after mental stress, supporting the claim that walking in nature can enhance mental clarity and emotional well-being. Link to study
What Is Spoon Theory? A Simple Way to Understand Chronic Illness and Fatigue
You’ve probably heard a loved one say, “I don’t have the spoons for that today.” Maybe you nodded along politely. Maybe you were confused.
Let’s break it down — because this little metaphor? It’s a game-changer in understanding what it’s really like to live with chronic illness, chronic pain, or fatigue-based conditions.
Spoon Theory 101: Where It Came From
Spoon Theory was created by Christine Miserandino, a writer and lupus warrior, during a conversation with a friend at a diner. Her friend asked what it was really like to live with a chronic illness.
Christine grabbed spoons from nearby tables and handed them over — twelve of them.
Each spoon, she explained, represented a unit of energy. And unlike healthy people who wake up with an unlimited number of spoons, people with chronic illness wake up with a limited supply.
Getting out of bed? That’s a spoon. Taking a shower? Spoon. Making breakfast? Spoon. Now imagine having only 6 left… and it’s 9 a.m.
Why Spoon Theory Matters
Spoon Theory helps people visualize what it’s like to live in a body that’s constantly budgeting energy. It explains why your chronically ill friend sometimes cancels plans. Or seems “fine” one day, and completely wiped out the next.
It isn’t about being lazy. It isn’t about being unreliable. It’s about managing a limited resource — energy — and trying to survive in a world that expects limitless output.
The Spoon Math of Chronic Illness
Here’s how a typical day might look for someone with chronic fatigue, MS, fibromyalgia, or another invisible illness:
Get dressed = 1 spoon
Make a meal = 2 spoons
Commute or school drop-off = 2 spoons
Work or errands = 3 spoons
Socializing = 2 spoons
Crash in bed by 6 p.m., out of spoons = 0
Now add pain. Add brain fog. Add guilt. Sometimes, even thinking costs a spoon.
What Healthy People Need to Know
They’re Not Making Excuses If someone says, “I don’t have the spoons today,” they’re not blowing you off. They’re out of fuel — and pushing through could mean crashing for days.
“Looking Fine” Doesn’t Mean Feeling Fine Most spoonies become masters of hiding their symptoms. Just because they look okay doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling internally.
Every Spoon Counts Helping with a meal, sending a kind message, or giving them space to rest can make a world of difference. It helps them save spoons for the things that really matter — like staying connected with people they care about.
Spoon Theory Isn’t Just a Metaphor — It’s a Lifeline
For many living with chronic illness, Spoon Theory has given them a language. A way to explain what it feels like to live in a body that doesn’t always cooperate. A way to ask for grace — without having to justify their existence.
If someone you love says they’re “low on spoons,” believe them. Offer support. Offer space. And remember: empathy doesn’t cost a thing.
Want to better support the chronically ill people in your life? Start by listening. Start by learning. And maybe, start by asking: “How many spoons do you have today?”
🥄 How Many Spoons Do Daily Activities Cost?
Understanding the “cost” of everyday tasks can offer valuable insight into the challenges faced by those with chronic illnesses. Here’s a breakdown inspired by the Burning Nights CRPS article:
1 Spoon Activities: 🥄
Getting out of bed
Brushing your teeth
Taking medication
Watching TV for an hour
Washing your hair
Listening to music
2 Spoon Activities: 🥄🥄
Making breakfast
Taking a shower (note: for some, this might require 3 spoons)
Drying and styling hair
Brushing hair
Managing daily or weekly medications
Reading
Studying for an hour
Making a phone call
3 Spoon Activities: 🥄🥄🥄
Cooking a meal
Light housework
Meeting a friend at home
Driving somewhere
Folding laundry
Caring for pets
Attending a medical appointment
Climbing stairs
4 Spoon Activities: 🥄🥄🥄🥄
Going to work
Attending school
Shopping
Seeing a specialist (especially with long waiting times)
Waiting for and using public transport
Ironing
Taking care of children
5 Spoon Activities: 🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄
Going out for coffee or a meal
Gardening
Studying and attending lectures/classes
Participating in social events with friends
It’s important to note that these values can vary based on individual circumstances and the nature of one’s chronic illness. Factors like flare-ups or particularly challenging days can increase the “spoon cost” of these activities.
🔄 Restoring Spoons: Self-Care and Recovery
While rest is a primary way to regain energy, individuals with chronic illnesses often find that certain activities can help replenish their spoons:
Mindfulness meditation
Listening to or reading positive affirmations
Engaging in relaxation techniques
Practicing yoga or chair yoga
Journaling
Adult colouring or Zentangle
Breathing exercises
Pursuing hobbies or listening to podcasts
Listening to music
Getting a massage
Taking a nap
Laughing
Spending time in nature or simply sitting by an open window
Remember, self-care isn’t selfish. It’s a necessary component of managing chronic illness.
No one tells you how exhausting it is to be polite about being chronically ill.
No one warns you that one of the hardest parts won’t be the symptoms — it’ll be the explaining, the justifying, the pretending-you’re-fine smile you glue to your face at doctor’s offices, family dinners, and the school gate.
Living with chronic illness doesn’t look like a movie montage. It looks like the same unwashed hair three days in a row. It looks like forgetting words mid-sentence. It looks like cancelling — again — and hating yourself for it.
That Chronic Fatigue? It’s Not Tired. It’s Poisoned.
Chronic fatigue isn’t just being tired. It’s body-in-concrete exhaustion that makes brushing your teeth feel like a marathon. It’s lying in bed hurting from doing nothing. And still, you explain it like you’re “just run down” because people don’t understand what this kind of fatigue actually is. Experts say that for the average person to understand what chronic fatigue feels like, they would need to stay awake for three days straight and then attempt to continue with life as though nothing is wrong.
You Become an Expert at Smiling Through Chronic Pain
You learn to say “I’m fine” while your joints are on fire and your head feels like it’s splitting in two. Because being visibly sick makes people uncomfortable. So, like many living with an invisible illness, you become a master at hiding your truth.
You Feel Guilty All the Time
Guilty for being ill. Guilty for cancelling. Guilty for being “negative.” Guilt becomes your shadow — especially in a world that expects constant productivity. And chronic illness doesn’t come with sick leave for your emotions. It certainly doesn’t give you sick leave for being sick.
You Lose Friends — and You Blame Yourself
Some people slowly drift when you stop being “fun.” Others disappear completely the moment you need support. You start to wonder if you’re just too much — when really, they just weren’t equipped to stay.
Your Body Becomes a Full-Time Job
Living with chronic illness means appointments, test results, meds, insurance, symptom tracking. You become your own medical manager. And half the time, doctors still shrug and say, “We don’t really know.” Ironically, chronically ill people develop skills that could run circles around the top CEOs; we just don’t have the bodies to be able to do the job.
You Start to Doubt Yourself
When your labs come back “normal,” when a doctor dismisses your symptoms, when people say “but you look great” — you begin to gaslight yourself. You wonder if it’s all in your head. This is the quiet cruelty of misunderstood chronic illness.
You Become Fierce in Ways You Never Expected
You stop people-pleasing. Believe me. This is one of the first changes you’ll experience. You learn how to say no, how to rest, how to speak up. Your survival depends on this. Chronic illness teaches you how to be soft and strong — even on the days you’re barely holding it together.
You’re Not Weak — You’re Living a Life Most People Couldn’t Handle
Being chronically ill every day is hard. It’s unseen, often misunderstood, and deeply personal. But you’re not alone. There’s nothing wrong with you. And you are more than your diagnosis.
You’re just learning how to carry the weight of your reality — and that’s a strength no one talks about enough.
