The Good That Chronic Illness Gave Me (No, Really.)

By Antonia @ Unremarkable Me Published June 2025

Let’s start with something that feels… weirdly hopeful.

I’ve spent years reading, researching and writing about how chronic illness dismantles a life—because it absolutely does. It steals, it shatters, it reshapes. It’s exhausting, relentless, and often so isolating you start to wonder if you’ve become invisible to the rest of the world.

But here’s the part I rarely say out loud:

It’s also given me things. Good things.Unexpected things.

And while I’ll never put a shiny bow on suffering or pretend that pain is some noble path to enlightenment (spoiler: it’s not), I can admit that somewhere in the debris, I found gold.

So this post is for the silver linings. The awkward gifts. The bits of myself I didn’t even know I needed—until illness made everything else fall away.

1. Clarity (a.k.a. No More Bullsh*t Tolerance)

Chronic illness gave me the gift of clarity—not just about my body, but about everything.

I don’t waste time now trying to make people comfortable with my truth. I don’t dress things up for politeness or shrink myself to fit someone else’s expectations. When your energy is rationed by the spoon, you stop spending it on nonsense.

Turns out, once you strip away the people-pleasing, the fake smiles, and the endless apologising for existing… what’s left is a version of you that’s kind of badass.

2. A Voice I Actually Use

Before illness, I was the person who second-guessed everything I said. Now? I’ve become the woman who writes openly about body failure, medical gaslighting, and what it feels like to live in a haunted house made of flesh and optimism.

Illness didn’t just sharpen my voice—it demanded it. And weirdly, I kind of love that.

Because being honest about what hurts—physically, emotionally, systemically—isn’t weakness. It’s rebellion. And somewhere along the way, I realised that my story doesn’t have to be tidy to be worth telling.

3. A Bullshit-Detecting Superpower

Chronic illness makes you a ninja-level observer. You start noticing things other people miss—because you’ve had to. The raised eyebrow when you mention your diagnosis. The subtle side-eye when you pull out a mobility aid. The way some people flinch from discomfort like it’s contagious.

I see it all. And I call it out when I need to. I’ve learned to trust my gut more than anyone’s resume. And if something feels off, it probably is.

That’s not cynicism—it’s survival wisdom with a dash of sass.

4. Real Community, Real Fast

Illness burned down a lot of bridges in my life—but it also built new ones.

The people who’ve stayed, or who showed up after the fact, are the real ones. The ones who send check-in texts that don’t need replies. Who know what a “bad day” means without needing a PowerPoint. Who laugh at the dark stuff and sit quietly through the worse stuff.

And then there’s the online world. The EDS warriors. The chronic illness crew. The beautiful, broken, hilarious humans who make memes about dislocations and gaslighting and still find the strength to lift others up.

We’re not bonded by tragedy. We’re bonded by truth. And that’s a kind of love that doesn’t flinch.

5. A Sense of Humour So Dark It Could Charge Rent in the Underworld

Let’s be real: if I didn’t laugh, I’d combust.(And with my joints? That’s not even a metaphor. It’s probably a diagnosis.)

Illness gave me a brand of humour that’s less “live, laugh, love” and more “cry, curse, collapse, and make a Podcast about it.” It’s made me funnier, faster, and weirdly better at handling chaos.

There’s something powerful in being able to laugh while the world burns a little. Especially when that world is your own nervous system.

6. Time—The Kind I Never Had Before

One of the strangest gifts chronic illness gave me was time—something I didn’t even realise I was starving for until my body forced me to stop.

Before all this, I worked in hospitality. And not just “pop in for a cheeky shift” hospitality—I’m talking 12-18 hour days, back-to-back, feet blistered, brain buzzing, adrenaline running on fumes. The kind of job where everyone understood the unspoken rule: if you wanted a long-term career in this industry, you were signing away your weekends, your social life, and your sanity.

I used to joke with new starters:

“If you’re serious about this, say goodbye to your family now. You’ve just sold your soul to the devil. Welcome to the circus!”

And I meant it—half as a warning, half as a wink. Because when it’s good? Hospitality is electric. It’s fast, funny, messy magic. It attracts the weird and the wonderful—the beautifully chaotic humans from every corner of life who somehow thrive in the madness. You need a certain kind of crazy to stick it out. And I had it in abundance.

But what I didn’t have? Time.

I missed birthdays. Cancelled plans. Drifted from people I loved because I simply couldn’t squeeze them into a schedule built around serving everyone but myself.

And then illness hit. And everything I thought made me me—the hustle, the pace, the endless proving—stopped.

At first, it felt like failure. Like I’d been benched in the middle of the game. But over time (and with time), I saw what I’d been missing.

Now, I see my family more. I talk to friends without checking a rota. I have mornings where I breathe, instead of waking up bolting upright with a to-do list already screaming in my head.

I didn’t choose this stillness. But I needed it more than I knew.

So, Yes. I’m Changed.

I wouldn’t have chosen this path. I still grieve the version of my life that never got to exist. But this version? This fierce, flawed, fire-breathing version?

She’s worth knowing.

And if chronic illness taught me anything, it’s that growth doesn’t always look like recovery. Sometimes, it looks like blooming anyway—broken roots, mismatched petals, and all.

Because even in the worst of it, something in me decided to stay soft. To stay loud. To stay me.

And that, honestly, feels like a win.

Want to share your own silver linings? Drop a comment or tag @UnremarkableMe—because your story matters too.#ChronicallyHonest #UnremarkableMe #ChronicIllnessReflection #ChronicLife #SpoonieStrength