I stood at the doorway of the playroom yesterday and just stared. There were plastic dinosaurs engaging in what looked like a prehistoric riot, half-finished drawings scattered like confetti, and enough stray Lego pieces to constitute a health and safety hazard. In my before life, the one before the FND, the chronic pain, and the…
Nobody tells you this part: parenting with chronic illness means doing invisible calculations all day long. Not cute “mummy maths”. The relentless kind. The kind where you’re counting spoons, scanning your body for warning signs, and deciding whether you can afford to use your last…
Spoonie goal setting can feel damn near impossible when you’re three days into a flare and can barely manage a shower. January arrives every year with the same bloody energy, New Year, New Me, and if you’re chronically ill, neurodivergent, or just burnt out from…