The holidays are here, and while the world buzzes with excitement, those of us dealing with chronic illness often feel like we’re on the outside looking in. It’s isolating, isn’t it? Watching others enjoy the whirlwind of shopping, decorating, cooking, and hosting while we’re struggling just to get through the day.

It’s like being stuck in quicksand, longing for the days when all those things felt effortless. For me, those memories are bittersweet because the reality of chronic illness is that everything changes. The energy, vitality and ability to do it all just aren’t there anymore, replaced instead with that hopeless feeling that I’d never get better.

Every day felt like I was walking through a minefield covered in broken glass while weathering a storm of flying nails in a bathing suit. The holidays, once magical, now served as painful reminders of everything lost. The flashy christmas trees, endless festive music and bustling crowds felt more like an assault than a celebration, and for many of us with chronic illness, sensory overload can be relentless.

Bright lights, loud music, strong scents, or chaotic gatherings can be overwhelming to our systems, turning what others see as joyful opportunities into impossible hurdles. It’s exhausting, like a form of PTSD, where even trying to join in feels like too much, so we do our best to adapt by compensating where we can or retreating when we must, yet always searching for slivers of magic in a season that no longer feels the same.

Add decision fatigue to the mix and even the simplest choices like deciding what to wear or eat can feel overwhelming. It’s as though every part of the season is working against you, draining whatever small reserves of energy you have left, like an invisible holiday vampire.

Watching others effortlessly tackle their holiday to-do lists feels like peering through a frosted window at a life you once knew, a life of ease and vitality that now seems so far away … and then there’s the guilt. Ohhhh, the guilt, that crushing weight of not being able to keep up, of having to say no, or of feeling like you’re letting others down can be unbearable at the very least but here’s what I’ve learned through years of battling Lyme disease: Boundaries are not a sign of weakness. They’re an act of strength.

Saying, “I can’t do that this year, but I appreciate your asking me,” is a friendly way to honor your body’s needs and no, it’s not selfish, it’s self-preservation. Those who truly care will respect your boundaries, even if they don’t fully understand them because as you know, people don’t “Get It” until they actually experience it themselves and can now “Get It”, so we definitely need to speak up.

It’s also important to ask for help. I know, it feels awkward, like you’re being an added burden but expressing your needs isn’t weakness, it’s sharing your reality. Think of it like having an allergy to certain foods or animals, would you apologize for that, would you? Probably not, and communicating your limits is no different. Whether it’s skipping an event, leaving early, or taking a quiet moment to yourself, these aren’t acts of selfishness, they’re acts of survival.

For me, the hardest part of chronic illness wasn’t just the physical pain, it was the emotional toll of constant isolation, feeling invisible and longing to feel and be “normal” again. Emotional fatigue can often be more draining than physical exhaustion, especially when you’re fighting an invisible battle that feels like chronic failure, even moreso when support is scarce or nonexistent, but here’s the truth:

If you’re still here, you’re surviving, and that in itself is a tremendous act of courage (this I know from my own experience), and so what I’m about to say is sometimes doable, other times not but sometimes … just by shifting our perspective even just a little bit, we can bring peace into the present, even if it’s not the place we imagined ourselves being. In fact, embracing our current limitations, without losing sight of the future, can be surprisingly liberating.

Holidays don’t have to be perfect or grand to be meaningful. The small, quiet moments like reading a favorite book, admiring Christmas lights on a walk or drive, or sharing a conversation with someone who understands can be just as magical as the big family gatherings, if not more.

I’ve also found that reducing stress is essential for healing, and by letting go of the pressure to do it all, we can create space for our bodies to focus on repair and recovery. Stress isn’t just a mental strain; it’s a physical one too and by prioritizing rest and self-care, we’re actually giving ourselves the gift of deeper healing, and just like everyone else, don’t you deserve that too?

Connecting with others who understand that and more, can also be life-changing. I’ve learned so much through support groups, online communities, even mental health professionals and having someone who “gets it” can really ease the weight of isolation. My fellow Lyme warriors are all over the world and I’m always grateful for everything they’ve taught me along the way, and for what they still teach me today. 

Now maybe you’re not feeling quite that social and none of those are your thing, it’s okay, even just talking to one supportive person can help lighten the emotional load, and let’s not forget about sensory overload. It’s real, and it’s draining, but there are ways to navigate it. 

Noise-canceling headphones, dimming lights, or stepping outside for a breath of fresh air in the noiser moments can help create moments of calm amid the chaos. Protecting your sensory well-being is just as important as protecting your physical health, so this holiday season, remember: you don’t have to do it all. Set your boundaries, say no when it’s necessary and don’t feel guilty about prioritizing your health, it’s you that pays the price if you don’t, not them. 

I know our journey can feel like a horrific setback but through different lenses it’s actually a transformation. Sometimes in adapting to that we can find new traditions that fit our current reality, and that can bring some unexpected joy.

As we wrap up, I want to leave you with this: Recovery is possible. I’m living proof. In just a few days, I’ll be 61, still managing two businesses, walking miles every day and I’m doing pretty much all of the yard/house work.

As I share this please know that my remission/recovery didn’t happen overnight but like many others before me, step after step, one action at a time, one day at a time, I reclaimed my life. The holidays don’t have to be about mere survival, they can be about finding ways to actually enjoy them, even if they look different than before.

Next week, I’ll share how to nourish your body with the right foods and supplements during the holidays by sharing some immune-boosting strategies tailored for those of us navigating Lyme disease, cancer recovery, or chronic illness in general.

These tips will help you feel more energized and balanced, even during the busiest time of year because whether you’re fighting fatigue, managing pain, or dealing with sensory overload … your brain and body deserve the gift of a holiday boost. Until then, take care of yourself, set those boundaries, and remember:

You’re not alone. Get more of what I’ve learned here, it was created with you in mind so please, enjoy what you like while leaving the rest:

www.DannieCadeWellness.com

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