As a chronically ill girlie who also works a 9–5, I sometimes struggle with the most basic things. Here’s what a day in my life actually looks like.
I’m giving you the raw, unfiltered version.
No sugarcoating and no toxic positivity.
Morning
My alarm goes off at 6:15 every morning. The snooze button and I are best friends. I repeatedly hit that thing until 6:50 or sometimes 7:00, depending on how fatigued I am.
It’s important to say that I’ve never been a morning person. My mom used to leave the house phone—yeah, I’m old enough to remember landlines—and an alarm clock by my bed before she left for work.
The alarm would go off, and she would call me multiple times to wake me up for school. On several occasions, she had to leave work to come home and wake me up. None of us were happy when they happened.
In retrospect, that should have been our first clue that something was wrong. I know teenagers are seen as tired and lazy, but this was a different level. I literally could not make myself wake up and get ready for the day. Mornings were the absolute worst.
As an adult, I know I have responsibilities that depend on me getting up on time—like making it to work so I can pay my bills. So I’m more aware of it now. I set my alarm early so I can give myself time to wake up.
Trust me, I’ve read all the personal development books. I know the benefits of waking up at 5 a.m. and getting out of bed on the first alarm. I know Mel Robbin’s famous 5-second rule. And on good days—when I’m feeling 90% or better—I can do that.
But with chronic illness, those days just aren’t as common.
So realistically, I’m out of bed around 6:50 or 7:00.
From there, I go straight into my routine. I’ve simplified my mornings down to the bare minimum that still helps me feel put together and gets me out the door on time. My hair and makeup are basic.
I have eyelash extensions because they help me feel pretty without spending energy on mascara every day. I have nailed my makeup routine down to a 10 minute process, and my hair—on a good day—takes about 15 minutes.
Once I’m ready, I grab my gym bag (packed the night before), my purse, and my laptop bag—and I’m out the door.
Now, all of that depends, on whether or not everything went completely smoothly that morning. I’m the type of person who seems to attract chaos no matter how much I try to push those vibes away.
I also live in a house with two dogs, three cats, three adults, two teenagers, and a seven year old. Choas is practially my middle name. And a perfect morning routine? Yeah, definitely not going to happen most days,
The Commute
I live in a beautiful suburb outside a large metro, but I work downtown. On a good day, the commute is about 30 minutes if I take the highway.
Here’s the problem: I rarely take the highway.
Traffic is chaotic. Where I live people either drive 100 mph or 50 mph. There are multiple wrecks daily. It absolutely wreaks havoc on my anxiety and my nervous system.
I would rather have a 45–50 minute commute than deal with the crazy drivers or be involved in a deadly accident.
So I take the city streets.
If I leave on time, I might stop for coffee. If not, I just hit the road, turn the music up, and go. My music choice depends entirely on my mood. Sometimes it’s music, sometimes it’s a podcast or audiobook if I’m feeling motivated—but most of the time, it’s just whatever I need that day.
Workday
Once I get downtown and into the building, my mornings are usually pretty smooth.
I work directly with the public in an administrative office. Once everything is open and I’m logged in, that’s when I take my daily medication. I keep it in my purse so I know I’m taking it at the same time every day.
Midday looks pretty similar most days. I get an hour and a half for lunch, which I know is something most people don’t get—and I try not to take that for granted.
Sometimes I go to lunch with coworkers. Sometimes, if I’m feeling good and really locked in, I use that time to walk and get my steps in. Other days, I run errands I wouldn’t have time for otherwise.
It all depends on how I feel.
After Work
Three nights a week, I go to the gym.
How those workouts go depends on everything—how I slept, how I woke up, how stressful the day was.
At the height of my powerlifting career, I was spending two hours a night lifting heavy. That’s just not feasible for me anymore.
I was diagnosed with MS during that time—and I kept going for a long time after.
Now, I’m about six years into my diagnosis, and things look different. I’ve scaled back, and my workouts are more of a powerbuilding style now. It works better for my body at this stage.
Over the last few months, I’ve had new symptoms pop up, so I’m learning—again—how to adjust. I do what my body allows, while still pushing myself enough to remind it that I’m still here.
But by the time I’m done working out, I’m exhausted.
One night a week, I schedule a grocery pickup that I’ve put together throughout the day. I rarely go into grocery stores anymore. My energy is better spent elsewhere.
I also schedule things like lash fills, hair appointments, and nail appointments in the evenings. It helps me avoid using my work time off for those things.
Most of my sick time and personal time is already used for doctor’s appointments, flare-ups, or days when I physically can’t function.
I’m incredibly lucky to have a job that offers sick time, personal time, and good insurance. I don’t take that for granted. I’m extremely aware that I’m an anomly in the chronic illness community,
Night Routine
My nighttime routine is simple.
When I get home, I eat dinner, shower, and relax however I need to that day.
I currently live with my best friend and her family, so there’s usually some time spent with them—laughing, talking, just being around people—before I go to my room to read, write, or play video games.
Some nights, though, I come home and go straight to bed.
It just depends on how exhausted I am.
The Reality
If there’s one thing you should take away from this entire routine, it’s this:
Everything depends on my fatigue level.
When I was younger—before my diagnosis—I would go and go and go until I crashed. I would hit a wall so hard that I needed one or two full days to recover. I never understood why I couldn’t keep up with everyone else.
Exhaustion always seemed to take over my life.
Post-diagnosis me still pushes too hard sometimes.
But now, I’m more aware of the cost.
My body has an alarm system—and it’s loud.
Fatigue. Brain fog. Weakness.
It doesn’t gently suggest that I slow down. It forces me to.
And I’m still learning how to listen before it gets to that point.
Some days I get it right.
Some days I don’t.
Every day I wake up and try.
XO,
Samantha Jo