Mindset Hacks For Chronic Illness
It was our second date, and about an hour in, I found myself horizontal on the sofa in the lobby of my apartment building.
Let’s clear a few things up: this wasn’t my actual apartment building. I was temporarily living in a very snazzy serviced apartment, courtesy of my building insurance company, because my very normal flat had flooded. And no, I wasn’t in the throes of a passionate kiss on that sofa. Instead, I was experiencing one of the many fatigue crashes that had become part of my life, and my head was slowly but surely aiming for the seat cushion.
What he must have thought, I can’t even imagine. Actually, I really should ask him someday!
You might be wondering why on earth I decided to go on a date while dealing with Long Covid. Well, it was all part of my commitment to living inside the possibility of healing.
But before we get to that, let’s rewind to the beginning of this radical mindset.
When Life Unravels
The first three months of post acute Covid were HELL—hot, fiery hell. It felt like someone had gone into my body and ripped out all the wiring; nothing worked properly. I experienced symptoms of dysautonomia, POTS, insomnia, chronic pain (including a stabbing head pain that ran from my forehead through my left eye socket and out the back of my head, which didn’t ease up for an entire year). I could go on, but you get the point—I was not a functioning human being.
Six months in, I hit an emotional rock bottom, one of many I would face in the years that followed. Oh, and did I mention my dad had a stroke that left him permanently paralysed? Or that my flat had flooded? - Oh yes I have already mentioned that disaster!
Did someone say, “What did you do to deserve this?”
Well, that was my question too.
Why was I, a healthy thirty-something with no underlying conditions, unable to recover from this virus? Why did it feel like I was the tragic Black character in a Tyler Perry movie? I thought this kind of thing happened to other people. Maybe I thought I was special.
As depression set in, my inner world grew darker. Even as I write this now, my eyes well up with tears remembering how scared and alone I felt. I didn’t know if this illness would kill me slowly, leave me severely disabled for life, or if I’d ever recover. Lockdown made me physically alone, and emotionally, I felt isolated because no one could truly understand what I was going through.
I imagined this was how the first people diagnosed with HIV/AIDS must have felt: facing a new and mysterious virus, with people dying around you and no answers in sight. It felt like a death sentence. I didn’t recognise my body—it was like my soul had been hijacked by a stranger.
By month six, the fear living in my heart was overwhelming. It felt like the lights in my life were being switched off one by one. I worried that the suicidal thoughts creeping in would turn into action.
I knew I had a choice to make. If I stayed in this fearful state, there was no chance of recovery - Fear is no foundation for healing.
Courageous Mindset Shifts
“For I have not given you the spirit of fear, but of love, power, and a sound mind.” —God
For the first six months of living with this illness, my brain was on an all-inclusive, first-class trip to Catastrophe Island. My "I must fix this" personality type had me scouring every medical journal, devouring every podcast, and deep-diving into Reddit threads that should have come with a warning label. I was chasing even a whisper of hope, but all I found were bleak rabbit holes and worst-case scenarios that left me more hopeless than ever.
One day, I realised I had a choice. Instead of jumping to the worst conclusions, I decided to jump to a good one. And let me tell you—it was a courageous choice, because about 95% of me was terrified of disappointment. What if I got my hopes up, only to have them come crashing down? But then I thought: if I can imagine one future where I’m physically bed-bound, battling severe depression, and living a half-life, why not imagine another? One where I’m fully healed, executing mission, madly in love, travelling the world, and living MY full life.
So, I went all in on the better version. I even wrote a letter to my future self, describing the incredible life I was building. It wasn’t just wishful thinking—it was a commitment to live in alignment with that possibility, even when my present reality felt like the polar opposite.
Here are the courageous mindset shifts and exercises that helped me cultivate the foundation for healing:
1. Courageous Acceptance
There was a time when the phrase “radical acceptance” felt like an insult. Accept this? This illness that stole my life, my independence, and my identity? No, thank you. But slowly, I began to understand that acceptance wasn’t about giving up or resigning myself to misery. It was about letting go of the fight against reality. For months, I’d spent my energy mourning the “me” I’d lost and the future I’d imagined. But acceptance allowed me to shift my focus to the life I still had—and the one I could rebuild, however different it might look.
I feared that acceptance meant waving a white flag, but it turned out to be more like planting one. It was a quiet declaration that I wouldn’t let my illness define me or rob me of joy.
Acceptance wasn’t about letting the illness win; it was about refusing to let it own me.
2. Radical Self-Compassion
I spent a long time blaming myself for getting Covid. I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have gone to that conference that week before lockdown. I replayed the scenario over and over in my mind, torturing myself with what-ifs and could-haves.
This self-blame wasn’t just exhausting—it was cruel. And it wasn’t until my therapist intervened that I began to see it. “How could you possibly have avoided a global pandemic?” she asked. She was right, of course. But forgiving myself was another story. I carried so much guilt, not just for what happened to me, but for the impact on my family, especially my mum. Watching her worry for me was heartbreaking. I saw how the stress aged her, and I felt like my illness had stolen years from her life too.
But I’ve learned that holding onto guilt doesn’t help anyone. Forgiving myself isn’t just an act of kindness; it’s a necessity.
3. Watching My Words
Once “Long Covid” became a recognised term, I made a deliberate choice: I wouldn’t use it to define myself. Instead, I told people I was “recovering from Covid.”
It might sound like a small thing, but words matter. Every time I said “recovering,” I reminded myself that this was temporary, that I was aiming for healing. It helped me focus on the possibility of a brighter future instead of identifying with the illness.
4. Finding the Right Community
As any millennial does after a diagnosis, I joined some Facebook groups. It’s practically a rite of passage. But can I be honest? Facebook groups for chronic illnesses like ME, CFS, or Long Covid are not for the faint-hearted. These spaces have their place, and I completely understand the value they bring to so many people. But for me, they often felt heavy—like walking into a room where the air was thick with despair. There’s an unspoken culture in some of these groups: recovery isn’t just rare—it’s almost taboo to discuss. If you dared to mention a protocol that worked for you or expressed any form of optimism, it could be met with skepticism, side-eye, or even outright hostility.
I understand why. Hope is fragile in these spaces, and it can feel like a cruel reminder for someone who’s been fighting for years without relief. For some, a glimmer of recovery might sting more than it soothes. And when you’ve tried everything to get better, hearing about someone else’s success story can feel like another thing you failed at.
But for me, that environment wasn’t what I needed. I craved a space where hope wasn’t just tolerated—it was encouraged. I sought out people who could hold space for my pain without adding to it. People who believed I could recover while fully acknowledging how tough the journey was.
These were the people who let me cry without judgment but also cheered me on when I dared to imagine a brighter future. They didn’t have all the answers, but they offered what I needed most: a reminder that recovery, though not guaranteed, was possible.
5. Taking Actions Aligned with My Future
You probably thought I forgot all about that date I mentioned earlier—don’t worry, I’m not about to leave you hanging like the Christmas Day cliffhanger on EastEnders. The reason I decided to join dating apps while still being ill? Well, I figured if I could find a man to love me in my mash-up state, then he’s probably a keeper! I jest… but only slightly. The real reason was that I wanted to take bold action toward the future I believed in—the possibility of being well. If I truly believed I was going to get better, then why let anything stop me from dating now?
So, like any modern romantic, I made a dating profile. I started going on dates in the very swanky lobby of my temporary apartment building—a setting that was equal parts chic and energy-efficient for me. On one particular date, though, things didn’t go exactly to plan. I was feeling a little woozy from my anticonvulsant medication, and as he talked, I could feel myself sliding—not metaphorically, but physically—toward the sofa. He looked confused but didn’t say anything, bless him.
I excused myself, claiming I had a “quick work meeting,” and dashed upstairs for a power nap. When I returned, refreshed and with my crash mostly under control, I found him still waiting patiently. Generous, wasn’t he? While our dating didn’t blossom into romance, we’ve stayed really good friends, and honestly, that feels like a win.
Keep a Light On
Healing is not linear, and it is not guaranteed. It took me two more years to return to full-time work, and an additional year to take the bold step of building a life fully aligned with my purpose. Yet, by choosing hope, embracing courage, and taking actions that reflected the future I envisioned, I gave myself the best possible chance to experience transformative healing.
If you’re struggling, remember this: the life you dream of might feel far away, but it starts with small, courageous choices today. Even when the odds seem impossible, there’s always room for hope, joy, and love. Because if I can find a new friend while sliding off a lobby sofa, anything is possible.
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