Making The Invisible Visible (With A Side Of Chocolate)
Chronicles of chronic illness, sweet coping mechanisms, and finding ways to be seen
Welcome to Creatively Visible, where I turn life's invisible battles into stories that ripple outward. I'm your host – writer, word-player, and certified chocoholic who believes that serious conversations go better with dessert. Think of this space as a cozy corner where we transform medical mysteries, trauma, and chronic challenges into something meaningful, maybe even beautiful, and occasionally hilarious.
Why "Creatively Visible"? Because visibility isn't just about being seen - it's about choosing how to be seen when the world has its own ideas about who you should be. As an abuse survivor, I learned that invisibility could be both armor and prison - a necessary shield that eventually became its own kind of cage. That early mastery of becoming unseen followed me into adulthood, where chronic illness made me invisible in a different way. I've become fluent in translating "but you don't look sick" into various creative responses (some more polite than others). And that doctor who said, "You'll grow out of it"? Well, I'm 56 now, and instead of growing out of it, I'm growing into my voice, making visible what needs to be seen, one word at a time.
Life has a way of layering challenges like a particularly complex lasagna. Take my medical mystery tour, for instance: I have POTS – that's Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, not POT, though sometimes people's confusion about this leads to interesting conversations. Imagine your body's autopilot system improvising jazz instead of following the sheet music. Every involuntary function – heart rate, blood pressure, digestion – plays its own solo, not in a good way.
Bodies and souls have their own ways of holding stories. Trauma has its own way of rewriting your internal software - survival patterns that once kept you safe but now run like outdated code, overlapping with the unpredictable programming of chronic illness. My body, not content with just one plot twist, added an unexplained lung condition, a "pathogenic genetic variant" that might be the culprit (or might just be along for the ride), and my latest production: a condition so unique it's currently labeled as "rare & undiagnosed." Being unique isn't always as fun as Instagram makes it look.
For the past 30 years, I've been:
Writing my way through medical mazes and healing labyrinths
Finding humor in hospital waiting rooms and strength in sharing stories
Battling insurance companies with the patience of a saint (and the vocabulary of a sailor)
Fighting for visibility in a world that often prefers its survivors and patients to be quiet and compliant
Learning to dance with uncertainty, whether it comes in the form of medical mysteries or healing journeys
And collecting enough medical supply catalogs to wallpaper a small country (though I'm still waiting for one that offers chocolate with purchase)
Here's the thing: these experiences, as challenging as they can be, have given me a unique lens through which to view the world. They've taught me about resilience, about finding light in the darkest corners, and about the healing power of putting words to experiences that often feel beyond description. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is name what feels unnameable, even if we do it through metaphor, poetry, and story.
In this space, we'll explore:
The art of turning survival into stories that heal
How to navigate trauma and chronic illness while keeping your sense of humor (mostly) intact
Creative ways to advocate for yourself when systems seem designed to silence you
Finding community when life reshapes your world in unexpected ways
The intersection of physical and emotional healing
The power of creative expression to make the invisible visible
And yes, occasionally rant about receiving bladder function questionnaires on Thanksgiving Day (because timing is everything)
Consider this your invitation to join a community where vulnerability meets creativity, where serious topics dance with humor, and where chocolate is considered a valid coping mechanism. Whether you're dealing with chronic illness, trauma, disability, or simply trying to make sense of life's more challenging chapters, you'll find company here.
I can't promise easy answers – my own healing journey reads like a mystery novel where nobody knows the ending – but I can promise honesty, creativity, and a stubborn determination to find meaning in the mess. Together, we'll transform invisible battles into visible victories, one word at a time.
P.S. Share your thoughts (and chocolate recommendations), but let's leave the medical advice to the professionals—they clearly need the practice, so who are we to deny them that opportunity?
