Yet Another Setback

When My Body Changes Without My Consent

I wish I could say I’m used to setbacks by now.

Living with an autoimmune disease has taught me a lot about resilience, patience and listening to my body, but knowing something intellectually doesn’t mean it hurts any less when it happens — again.

This time, it started more quietly than I expected.

The last couple of weeks, I felt tired all the time. Not just “I need more sleep” tired. A deep, constant fatigue that sat in my bones. I couldn’t get myself out of bed, which is so unlike me. I’m usually the one who goes running in the mornings, makes a healthy breakfast, showers and starts working with clarity and energy.

But suddenly, I just… couldn’t.

I didn’t think much of it at first. I blamed the heatwave we’ve been having. I told myself I was just run down.

Then my heart started racing and fluttering in ways that didn’t feel normal. My gums lost their healthy pink colour, turning pale and white and they started bleeding. My nails discoloured and weak - another visible reminder that my body is fighting battles I didn’t sign up for and somewhere in the middle of all of that, my hair began falling out in clumps and my weight dropped drastically. That’s when we knew something was wrong.

Bald patches I try not to stare at for too long. Hair that used to feel strong now breaks easily, brittle and lifeless. I started noticing strands on my pillow, in the shower drain, wrapped around my fingers when I tried to brush it and if I’m being honest - this one hit my self-esteem hard.

I felt ugly. Saying that out loud — as a life coach, as someone who talks about self-love and acceptance, as someone who encourages others to see their worth beyond appearances — feels uncomfortable, but I am human first.

My physician was fully booked until April, but after his office received my symptoms, they managed to get me in for an emergency appointment. I’m grateful they did. Without even examining me, he immediately admitted me to the hospital.

What followed was days of drips, wires and waiting.

I was on antibiotic drips, oxygen and pain drips. Every few days there were more tests - bloodwork to check my blood count, organ function tests to make sure nothing was failing, X-rays, sonars, constant monitoring. The steady beep of the monitor became the soundtrack of my days and watching numbers on screens that suddenly felt like they held my future.

Eventually, I was diagnosed with anemia, because of my autoimmune condition, my body attacks healthy cells and struggles to absorb nutrients properly. What looked like “just fatigue” was my body running dangerously low on what it needs to function.

The Grief We Don’t Talk About

Chronic illness comes with a quiet, ongoing grief. Not just for the life you imagined, but for the versions of yourself you lose along the way.

Hair loss isn’t “just cosmetic.” It’s identity. It’s femininity for some, confidence for many, safety for almost everyone. When your reflection starts changing without your consent, it can feel like another theft.

I’ve caught myself avoiding mirrors. Pulling my hair back strategically. Wondering if people notice. Wondering if this is how they’ll see me now.

And then comes the shame:
You should be stronger than this.
Other people have it worse.
You’re supposed to be the one who helps others through hard things.

But shame doesn’t heal. Honesty does.

What I’m Learning (Even While It Hurts)

I don’t have a neat lesson wrapped in a bow. I’m still in it.

What I am learning is that self-compassion isn’t proven when life is manageable - it’s tested when things feel unfair, embarrassing and out of our control.

Some days, self-love looks like affirmations and gratitude.
Other days, it looks like crying, cancelling plans and admitting: this really sucks!

And both are valid.

I’m learning that it’s okay to mourn what my body used to do, how it used to look and how effortless things once felt. Grief doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It means I cared.

For Anyone Reading This Who Feels the Same

If your body is changing in ways you didn’t choose—
If illness has taken something visible from you—
If you feel unattractive, angry or betrayed by your own skin—

You are not shallow. You are not weak. You are not failing at healing.

You are responding normally to an abnormal situation.

Your worth has never been stored in your hair, your nails or your reflection - but your feelings about losing them still deserve space.

Still Standing, Even Here

I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know if my hair will grow back the same or at all. I don’t know how long this chapter lasts.

What I do know is this:
I am still allowed to take up space.
I am still allowed to be seen.
I am still allowed to guide others - even while I’m learning how to sit with my own pain.

This is not the end of my story.
It’s just another page I didn’t plan to write.

And today, writing it is enough.

With you on the journey,
– Storm Reagan
Life Coach | Lived Experience Guide