How 2 Sisters with Chronic Illness Have Grown Closer Than Ever

No one “gets” chronic illness until they develop one themselves. When my sister got sick, too, it formed an unbreakable bond of understanding.

I developed my first chronic condition at age 14 years. Over the next 10 years, my body slowly became disabled by an invasion of debilitating pain and fatigue caused by multiple chronic comorbidities.

It felt incredibly isolating. All of my peers were perfectly healthy. While they sympathized with my plight, they couldn’t really understand what was happening to my body or grasp how much it drained my mental well-being.

When my beloved sister, Abi, became chronically ill, too, I finally felt like someone in my life truly understood. No one wants someone they love to develop a chronic illness, but our shared experiences helped both of us feel less alone.

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Alone and confused with chronic illness

Before my sister became chronically ill, I struggled under the lonely weight of my numerous illnesses.

I managed undiagnosed endometriosis, a condition where uterine tissue grows outside of the uterus, for more than 15 years before finally receiving a diagnosis in 2021. I also dealt with the impact of six other conditions at the same time.

I didn’t know anyone else with a chronic illness, let alone someone with multiple comorbidities. As I collected new diagnosis after new diagnosis, I felt increasingly isolated from the “healthy” world.

It amplified the classic teenage “no one understands me” experience — in my case, maybe they really didn’t.

My family and friends showered me with boundless support, and I always felt loved by them. They kept me alive through the most challenging years of my illnesses. I had shoulders to cry on, and there was always someone to hold my hand at hospital appointments. Still, I didn’t feel seen.

I had to overexplain constantly to justify missed days from school and work, push way beyond my abilities to avoid missing out on social activities, and essentially try to live as if my chronic illnesses didn’t disable me.

At 14 years old, when symptoms first arose, I didn’t have the communication skills to articulate what my body put me through every day.

The internet was still in its infancy, and the rich online support communities that exist now were either nonexistent or I couldn’t find them. It was just me and a void full of undiagnosed pain and a never-ending stream of unanswered questions.

Then, my sister got sick

When my sister got sick, I saw the similarities between our experiences. At first, I didn’t fully realize that my sister had become a member of the chronic illness club, and neither did she.

I saw that her migraine attacks were escalating, but it would be years before either of us had the language to describe them as chronic or disabling.

Abi dealt with migraine for most of her childhood and teenage years, yet no one ever used the word “chronic” to describe them. That one little word could have granted her access to community and governmental support.

Then, a few years ago, my sister’s migraine episodes became undeniably chronic.

Work became almost impossible. She spent days in bed, unable to move, and I saw the light in her eyes fade with each day of agony. It was torture to watch her face the same pain that dominated my teen and early adult years.

I knew the cocoon that pain creates could erode her sense of self in the same way it had mine. I felt utter terror for what she would endure next, and I still feel that same anxiety for her now. It feels like our illnesses connect us from heart to heart on an unbreakable string.

While my worry escalated exponentially, I felt relieved she wouldn’t be as alone as I had been. She knew someone chronic already, so she had a built-in support system.

I couldn’t take the pain away, but I could offer a loving and guiding hand. I could provide language to explain her symptoms and tips for managing the symptoms and exhaustion of chronic illness.

The impact on our sisterly bond

I’ll never say I’m glad that my sister became chronically ill, too. It still angers me that the world could be so unfair to make us both sick, but it’s the reality and a cruel irony.

Despite our despair at each other’s struggles, I’m so happy we have each other to lean on — I know she is, too.

While we were always close, there’s something about shared pain that connects people more profoundly. It’s bonded us more deeply than ever before.

A shared language

We utilize a shorthand that allows us to feel seen, especially now that we’ve both tapped into the broader chronically ill and disabled community online. Neither of us faces this fight alone. We stand arm-in-arm with millions of others who live with a broad spectrum of illnesses and disability.

I am grateful that we both have someone to call when the flare-ups take over, our fatigue crushes us with exhaustion, or it all feels like too much to handle alone. We know what it means when one of us “runs out of spoons,” a phrase commonly used in the chronic illness world to measure energy levels.

We never need to expend precious energy explaining our symptoms because we already know. We have easy communication that only those with chronic illness can truly comprehend.

Our shared knowledge means we can hold each other up when it feels too dark to carry on.

Other sources of connection

We try not to make our chronic bond the center of our world. After all, we are so much more than our shared experience of chronic illness and disability. So, we make sure to spend plenty of time chatting about our shared love of writing, art, and all things politics.

Yes, we’re both chronically ill, and that bond is a unique gift. Still, we’re both layered, complex beings, and we avoid allowing ourselves to be reduced to our illnesses alone.

We remind each other that while we must accommodate our conditions, they cannot consume us. It’s much easier to do when the other is always on hand with a metaphorical life jacket.

The bottom line

Community matters. It holds us up when everything feels too gloomy to continue. I’m so thankful my sister is in my life because she makes it brighter with her smile, infectious laugh, and endless support.

I wish both of us were well and without pain, but at least we’re in it together — chronically bonded for life through blood and illness.