Why I Hid My Fatigue from The World

When I diagnosed in 2012 with chronic fatigue, I didn’t tell anyone; not even my family.

I was embarrassed. I was too proud.  I was afraid people would not understand. I was scared of letting people down.

On the outside, I looked fine. I convinced myself that if I told anyone they would think I was lying. That I was making it up, looking for an excuse to get out of work or worst of all, that I was just lazy.

But in reality, I was damaged and to know the fatigue was caused because of my lifestyle choices, was not easy to accept.

For the last year, I had put my job and others ahead of my own needs. I stayed up late and worked until the early morning and was surviving on only five hours sleep. I would wake up every day, heart beating, panicking about my never-ending (unrealistic) to-do list.  I neglected to eat instead, working through lunch breaks thinking I was saving myself time later. I was Assistant Principal and Coordinator of many teams at school always on the go. I was tutoring children after school several times a week and writing a personalised program for each. I was kickboxing twice a week. I had a boyfriend who was left to feel he was not a priority and I only gave him my left-over time. My life was full. There was not one ounce of free time I did not fill with something.

I was living in a constant state of burnout. I did not listen to my body. I did not rest. I felt I had to keep up with the high standards I had for myself and to be continually proving myself to the world. And what a wake-up call chronic fatigue was. This ‘perfect’ life I had created and was living came crashing down.

Can you imagine the feeling of body aches that pin you to your bed? Constantly feeling exhausted and having nothing to give? Breathing being a difficult task? Forgetting things? Living with pounding migraines? No energy to speak? That’s chronic fatigue. Even now writing this I feel like I must almost justify it, to convince you I am not making this up. I must stop doing that.

Taking the stairs was one slow step at a time. Washing my hair, myself, was a no go as raising my arms was a considerable effort. Any attempt at exercise left me lifeless for several days after. My body basically broke down. Eating food was fatiguing and digesting it was exhausting for my body. I would eat and then immediately go back to bed to rest. But on the outside, I looked just like everyone else.

So instead of admitting it to the world, I hid. I took leave from my job for a year for ‘personal reasons’ and was never questioned. I declined many invitations to go out with friends until they stopped asking. I became a hermit in my own home because I had no choice. I literally could not move.

It was a mind game. It took work to overcome my shame. I had to accept myself and know that others would accept me too. I had to lean on others, asking for help to do things that were impossible. I had to rethink my whole lifestyle. I had no choice but to lead a very simple and slow life. I had to rest. I had to stop.

I gradually told close family after they noticed I was neglecting many things I used to make a priority, but even then I had to convince them. Prove it to them. Coming from a family of workaholics with the attitude of you just got up and kept going meant chronic fatigue was a difficult concept for them to comprehend. It took me two to three years before I admitted my fatigue to friends. Even many today would have no clue. I did my best to hide the fatigue and my shame well.

I did receive compassion. Family and friends were empathic. People tried to understand and learn more. Everyone knew someone who had chronic fatigue at some point in their life. I was not alone. I did have people I could talk to. I did not have to hide.

Being vulnerable was difficult. Accepting I am not perfect was difficult. Admitting I could not do it all was difficult. I had to fall apart and give myself time to heal to discover how important it is to be true to myself. To listen to my body. To know it’s alright to be me and I don’t have to hide. To know I will be accepted for who I am, not who I pretend to be.