Explaining Chronic Illness to Kids

Or: How Not to Accidentally Terrify a Nine-Year-Old

January 2026 By Antonia @Unremarkable Me

There comes a moment, usually quiet and slightly sideways, when you realise a child has noticed.

Not in the dramatic way adults imagine. There is no interrogation. No tears. Just a look that lingers a fraction longer than it used to. A carefully chosen question. A pause when you sit down one too many times.

Children are extraordinary pattern recognisers. They pick up on stress, routine changes, and the emotional weather in a room long before they have the vocabulary to describe it. [1]

My niece is nine. She is sharp, emotionally perceptive, and observant in a way that feels faintly illegal for someone who still enjoys slime. I have always been honest with her. Not brutally. Not catastrophically. But truthfully. I want her to know that no matter what, she will always have me in her arsenal. No conditions. No expiry date.

The problem is that chronic illness is not an easy thing to translate. Especially when you do not have children of your own. There is no manual for this. Just the slow realisation that hiding your illness is becoming harder, and that silence may do more harm than clarity.

The fear is not the conversation itself. The fear is doing it wrong. Saying too much. Saying too little. Planting a worry that grows legs and paces her bedroom at night.

Here is what I have learned.

Children are not afraid of illness. They are afraid of uncertainty.

Adults often believe protecting children means withholding information. In reality, what frightens kids most is sensing that something important is happening and being excluded from understanding it.

Young Minds puts it plainly: conversations help children feel safer, not more frightened. [2]

Silence does not equal safety. Silence creates space for imagination, and imagination has absolutely no chill.

By the time a child asks a question, they already know something is different. The question is rarely “what is wrong with you?” It is usually “is this safe?” or “does this change us?” or, very quietly, “do I need to be scared?”

Our job is not to deliver a medical lecture. It is to shrink the unknown into something manageable.

I anchor the conversation around three simple truths.

What is happening. What is not happening. And where they fit into it.

If you want a genuinely useful, NHS-backed guide for how to pitch health conversations at different ages, Evelina London has a practical leaflet that is calm, clear, and built for real families, not fantasy ones. [3]

A simple explanation beats a perfect explanation

I tell her my body has a slightly faulty instruction manual. Most bodies get a reasonably clear set of rules. Mine sends mixed messages.

Sometimes it hurts when it should not. Sometimes it gets tired before my brain is finished. That has been true for a long time. It is not sudden. It is not new. And it is not because of anything she has done.

This matters more than you think.

Children are experts at quietly blaming themselves for things they cannot explain. Cancelled plans. Slow walks. A grown-up sitting down “for no reason.” If you do not name the reason, they will invent one, and it will almost always involve them being at fault.

This is why “what is not happening” is just as important as “what is.”

There are fears children rarely say out loud, but desperately need addressed.

That you are not contagious. That you are not angry. That you are not disappearing. That you are not disappointed in them when you rest or say no.

Say these things clearly. Do not assume they are obvious.

Honesty does not mean heaviness

There is a difference between being truthful and being overwhelming. Children do not need timelines, statistics, or worst-case scenarios. What they need is tone. They need to see that you can talk about this without falling apart.

That does not mean pretending everything is fine. It means naming difficulty without drama.

Some days my body hurts. Some days I run out of energy faster than I want to. On those days I rest more, use tools, or change plans.

None of that changes how much I love you.

None of that changes who I am.

That is not sugar-coating. That is proportion.

If your family is dealing with serious illness, several NHS Trusts publish guidance that says the same thing in different words: children often know more than adults think, and they benefit from honest, age-appropriate conversation and space to talk. [4]

Give them permission, not responsibility

One of the most grounding gifts you can give a child is permission.

Permission to ask questions.

Permission to be curious.

Permission to not talk about it at all.

Let them know there is no test they are about to fail. No correct emotional response. No obligation to comfort you.

You are the adult. You hold the weight.

It is also okay to admit that you are learning how to explain this. Saying, “I might not get the words perfect, but I will always tell you the truth,” teaches something far more valuable than a polished explanation ever could.

You do not need to promise everything will be okay

Children can detect false certainty instantly. Platitudes unsettle them because they feel the disconnect.

What you can promise is steadiness.

That you have doctors.

That you know your body.

That you have support.That even on bad days, you are still you.

If a reader needs somewhere to start, Contact offers UK-wide guidance and support for families navigating disability and long-term conditions, with practical help and a helpline. [5]

That is the reassurance that actually lands.

For the aunt, uncle, godparent, or beloved family gremlin

If you are an aunt like me , uncle, godparent, or beloved family gremlin without children of your own, here is the part you may need to hear.

You do not need to think like a parent to do this well. You need to think like a safe adult.

You are not replacing anyone. You are adding something different. You are showing a child that bodies can be complicated and lives can still be full. That strength does not always look like pushing through. That love is not measured in stamina.

You are quietly teaching them that vulnerability and stability are not opposites.

That lesson will stay with them far longer than any explanation of symptoms ever will.

I am still learning. The language will change as she grows. This is not a single conversation. It is an ongoing translation. But I am no longer afraid of it.

Because truth, handled gently, does not frighten children.

It gives them a map.

And maps are far kinder than leaving them alone in the dark.

A Note for Other Grown-Ups Trying Their Best

If you are chronically ill and not a parent, this conversation can feel especially daunting. You did not sign up for the invisible curriculum of explaining a complicated body to a growing mind.

Here is your permission slip.

You are allowed to take it slow.

You are allowed to revisit the conversation later.

You are allowed to say, “I do not know yet, but I will tell you when I do.”

You are not burdening a child by being truthful. You burden them by making your body a mystery they can feel but cannot name.

You do not need to be inspirational. You do not need to be brave in a cinematic way.

You need to be real, calm, and present.

That is enough.

Love, Unremarkable Me.

Resources and information links (UK-friendly)

If you would like to explore the evidence and guidance behind the ideas in this piece, the following UK-based resources are thoughtful, practical, and written for real families rather than professionals talking to each other.

NHS: Talking to children about illnessClear, age-appropriate guidance on explaining health conditions to children, including why honesty reduces anxiety rather than increasing it.https://www.pengamhealthcentre.wales.nhs.uk/health-resources/18861-talking-to-children-about-your-condition

Young MindsExcellent support for understanding how children process worry, uncertainty, and big emotions, with practical advice on how to talk without overwhelming.https://www.youngminds.org.uk/parent/how-to-talk-to-your-child-about-mental-health/

Evelina London Children’s Hospital (NHS)A calm, well-written leaflet on talking to children and young people about long-term or complex health conditions. Particularly good on tone and reassurance.https://www.evelinalondon.nhs.uk/resources/patient-information/talking-to-children-and-

young-people-about-their-health-condition.pdf

University Hospitals Sussex (NHS)Guidance for supporting children when a family member has a serious or ongoing illness, including common fears children do not always voice.https://www.uhsussex.nhs.uk/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/Supporting-a-child-when-someone-in-the-family-has-a-serious-illness.pdf

Contact – for families with disabled or chronically ill relativesA UK charity offering practical advice, emotional support, and a helpline for families navigating disability and long-term conditions.https://contact.org.uk/https://contact.org.uk/about-contact/contact-us/