I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis (UC) in 2007, but it took me seven years to be able to talk or share much about that experience, the emergency surgery that followed shortly after, and the complications of sepsis, C-diff, and another emergency surgery. In fact, when I started to talk about it in 2014 at 26 years old, I’d already had another two surgeries to create and connect a J-pouch.

The only reason I’d started talking about it all was because I was angry that no one understood, and that I was constantly being misjudged because I was living with this invisible, yet chronic, condition. Most of my early posts and musings came from that place of anger, hurt, and vulnerability, but I’d never have been able to acknowledge that at the time.

Feelings and emotions weren’t something we talked about as I was growing up, so I wasn’t well-versed in what was what. All I really knew was what being pissed off felt like. I also knew fear, stress, and shame, but I didn’t recognise them as such until much later.

While the medical side of chronic illness is often the focus, the way it impacts your mind, your identity, and your sense of safety in the world is just as important.

The gap between the physical and the emotional

In the early years of a diagnosis, we often become experts in the clinical side of our lives. We can recite our surgical history, medication dosages, and our symptoms with ease. But there’s often a massive gap where our emotional processing should be.

To quote my younger self in a 2014 blog post:

Even the word ‘feelings’ makes me cringe. Ugh!

Back then, I didn’t have the language for the grief I was carrying. When you live with a long-term condition, you aren’t just managing physical symptoms; you are mourning the life you thought you’d have. It took connecting with a community of people who truly “got it” for me to realise that my anger was actually a protective shield for a lot of deep-seated sadness and fear.

The science of how we feel

What I’ve learned through my yoga teacher training and somatic studies is that our emotions aren’t just in our heads, they are also deeply physiological. The biopsychosocial model shows us that our health is a combination of our biology, our psychology, and our social environment.

When you live in a cycle of flares, pain, or medical uncertainty, your nervous system can become stuck in a permanent state of high alert. This “fight or flight” response floods the body with cortisol and adrenaline. These mechanisms are designed to protect us in short bursts, but staying in this state for longer periods can have far more serious consequences. It makes it harder for our bodies to regulate inflammation and heal. I don’t want this understanding to lead to blaming yourself for being stressed; it’s about acknowledging that your emotional wellbeing is a necessity, not a luxury.

Processing the “unseen” trauma

Chronic illness often comes with a side order of medical trauma. Whether it’s a terrifying emergency admission, a procedure that went wrong, or the repeated experience of not being believed by professionals, these moments leave a lasting imprint on the body.

Trauma often shows up as chronic tension, fatigue, or a sense of being disconnected from yourself. I’ve found that reading about how our past experiences shape our physical health can be eye-opening. It helps us understand why we might feel on edge, even when we are physically “well”.

Reclaiming your sense of self

For a long time, my identity was entirely wrapped up in being a patient. It can feel like the illness takes up all the space in the room. Finding a way back to yourself often involves finding a “flow state” – those activities where the clock stops, and you feel like a person again, rather than a diagnosis.

For me, that was gardening. Getting my hands in the soil helped me ground my nervous system in a way that medication never could. For you, it might be a creative hobby, a specific movement practice like yoga, taking a long bath, reading a book, or simply sitting in nature. These aren’t just distractions; they are tools for regulation. They help tell your brain that, in this moment, you are safe.

I want you to know that whatever you’re feeling today, even if it’s that “cringe” at the word feelings, it is valid. This journey isn’t a straight line, and it’s okay to still be figuring it out.

How are you doing with the emotional side of things lately? Have you found a practice or hobby that helps you feel like you again? 🍵🌿