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The Bargain: Resetting, Rebuilding, and the Tiny Triumphs of Chronic Illness

by Antonia at Unremarkable Me

Fun fact: I once burst into tears because I got stuck in my jumper and had to call for help to take it off.

Living with chronic illness is less like climbing a mountain and more like playing an endless game of Jenga—on a trampoline—during a windstorm. Every decision, every movement, every plan is a careful bargain with your body. You learn the rules. You find ways to live within them. You adapt.

And then—surprise! Your body changes the rules again. A new diagnosis. A new symptom. A new acronym. One that doesn’t just crash the party—it burns down the house.


The Quiet Bargain

There’s this unspoken deal you start to make when you’re chronically ill. You start saying things like:

  • “If I do this, I can’t do that.”

  • “If I go out today, I won’t be able to cook.”

  • “If I clean the kitchen, I’ll need to rest for three hours.”

  • “If I shower, I’ll have to lie down after. And maybe nap. And probably cry.”

You create a new normal out of the chaos. It’s not ideal, but it works. It’s yours. You adapt your routines, your hopes, even your identity. You become an expert in the delicate dance of energy rationing.

And honestly? You get weirdly good at it.

Which makes it even more gutting when the fragile balance you’ve built gets shattered by something new.


Tiny Triumphs (and the Applause No One Hears)

These are the victories no one claps for—but maybe they should.

There was a week I managed to wash my hair without hurting myself, without nearly passing out, and without triggering a full pain flare afterwards. I told my partner. I beamed. It felt huge.

Most people wouldn’t blink. But for me? That was an Olympic event.

Another time, I made it through a full family dinner without needing to lie on the floor or disappear mid-meal. Afterwards, I sat in the car and just breathed. That one moment took two days of prep and two days of recovery—but in the moment, it was worth it.

These are the wins you rarely post about, because they feel too small or too strange to explain. But they’re everything.


The Crash (Even When You Did Everything Right)

And then there are the other days. The ones where you did everything right. You hydrated, you salted, you paced yourself, you listened to your body.

And it still falls apart.

Your symptoms spiral. Your brain fog swallows you whole. Your body decides that lying flat and sobbing is the new plan.

And you sit there thinking, What did I do wrong?

The truth? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But that doesn’t make it feel any less like failure—because you worked so hard to avoid this. You built your life around avoiding this.

And here it is anyway.


The Reset Button (and the Cosmic Joke)

I thought I had it figured out once. I really did.

And then—POTS showed up like an unwanted houseguest who also casually lit my nervous system on fire. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand without dizziness. I couldn’t shower without nearly fainting. I couldn’t sit up in bed without feeling like I’d been tranquilized.

I’d built my life around managing EDS. And then MCAS arrived. Now I can’t trust food. Or pollen. Or air. I wake up wondering what new allergen I’ve developed overnight—because it might be dust, or toothpaste, or a friendly-looking flower.

The thing about chronic illness is that every time you get comfortable, it reminds you who's in charge. It resets the game. Square one, again. No warning. No mercy. And definitely no cheat codes.


Rebuilding (Without the Montage Music)

What no one tells you is how boring resilience really is.

It’s not cinematic. There’s no training montage, no sweeping music, no inspirational speech. It’s just... you.

Lying in bed, Googling symptoms at 3AM, trying to figure out if this is an MCAS reaction, dehydration, or just Tuesday. It’s tracking meds, learning new triggers, re-teaching your loved ones how to help. It’s mourning the version of you who finally had things under control.

And still—you rebuild. Slowly. Stubbornly. Beautifully. You adapt again, not because you're endlessly strong, but because there's simply no other choice.


The New Bargain

I used to think the bargain of chronic illness was about giving things up—mobility, spontaneity, comfort.

But now, I think it’s about learning to hold two truths at once.

Grief and joy. Frustration and triumph. Fear and stubborn hope.

I’m not the same person I was before all this. I probably won’t be the same person in six months. But I’ve learned to carry both my failures and my tiny, shining victories with me—like trophies only I can see.

And sometimes, even when everything hurts and the world feels upside down, I still manage to get those socks on.

Which, honestly? Feels like a win.


If You’re Here Too

If you’re reading this while trying to balance meds, a heating pad, a brain full of fog, and a body that refuses to read the manual—it’s okay.

You’re not failing. You’re bargaining, rebuilding, adapting. You’re living.

Even on the days it doesn’t look like much. Especially on those days.

Your victories—no matter how weird or small—count.Your setbacks don’t erase your strength.And if your body keeps changing the rules, that doesn’t mean you’re broken.It just means you're playing a harder game than most.


—Antonia (currently upright, moderately caffeinated, and allergic to everything in bloom)


Support & Resources

Here are some resources that have helped me—and might help you too:


 
 
 

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