Autoimmune Disease and Mental Health: Insights from a Therapist Who Lives It
It’s been twenty years since I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition. I knew it wasn’t good news, but I had no idea how much it would come to define me and run the show of my life. Even writing this now, I’m grateful that I’m not feeling the chronic, debilitating, gut-aching fatigue that so often descends like a weighted blanket, stealing my time, my motivation, and my engagement with life. And yet, despite all of this, I have lived a full life — I have travelled, endured the long and grueling training to become a therapist, become a mother, and emigrated (twice!). There are times when the condition has consumed me, not only in its physical manifestation but also in the mental game I play — relentlessly trying to understand the things that trigger it, the things that ease it, the underlying causes, the diet, the medications with their terrifying risks and debilitating side-effects. The absolute tear-inducing, grit-your-teeth frustration at how unrelenting it can be. After all this time I’ve come to understand a few things about living with a chronic illness…
The importance of meeting yourself where you are
This can be a fine line — walking the tightrope between compassionate acceptance of reality and its limitations, without collapsing into an identity that shrinks you down. I have swung between these two poles; not wanting to admit that I have an illness and will likely have it forever. I’ve done all the manifestations, the Joe Dispenza meditations, the rewire-your-brain books, the diet overhauls (gluten-free, paleo, macrobiotics — you name it, I’ve tried it). I give it my all — all in — until I collapse in a heap of defeat when the symptoms return or a stressful life event lands me right back where I started. Over time, though, I’ve learned to be gentler with myself — to recognise that I may make a full recovery, that I may be one of those lucky people who lands in remission for years (or ever) without medication. And it’s ok to want that and to work for it. But it’s also ok to accept that right now I have limitations around my energy, that I need medication to function, that this condition sits quietly in the background of almost every big life decision. Accepting that doesn’t mean giving up. In a weird way, the relief that comes with acceptance gives back some precious energy.
The invisible load
If you are reading this because you too have an autoimmune condition (or chronic illness), I can almost see you nodding at this one. Yes — that invisible load of feeling like you are dragging a dead weight attached to your ankle through every task. Choosing between living with the pain or taking yet another painkiller. Showing up at a party appearing full of life, then coming home and collapsing for a ten-hour sleep just to recover. The blood tests, the medications, the side effects, the clinic appointments, the research. It is exhausting. And what many people on the outside don’t understand is how much you push through just to be part of your own life. If you felt this sick with the flu, you’d go to bed — but that’s simply not realistic when the illness is chronic. Sleep your life away and you feel even worse. Push too hard and you crash. It’s a delicate, endless balancing act.
Listening to the body’s whispers before they become demands over the loudspeaker
This wisdom didn’t come overnight. It arrived slowly, with age, with humility, with being brought to my knees enough times. And even now, I sometimes ignore the whispers until they roar. Many years ago I came across the spoon theory, and it genuinely changed something in me. It gave a language — a simple, visual one — for understanding my limited energy. Suddenly it made sense why two “small” tasks could wipe me out, or why emotional stress felt as draining as physical exertion. These days, listening to my body means paying attention to subtle cues: a heaviness behind my eyes, a slight tension in my gut, a shift in my mood, that faint sense of being “off.” It means pausing before I say yes. It means saying no even when I really don’t want to. It means leaving early. It means having a rest day even when part of me insists it’s not possible. It requires honesty — and a kind of loyalty to myself that took years to learn.
The nervous system’s role in autoimmunity
When I was diagnosed, hardly anyone was talking about the nervous system, but thankfully that’s changing. Stress plays a huge role in the body. For some people it contributes to the onset of illness, and for most of us it plays a significant role in flares. Understanding the interaction between the nervous system, the endocrine system, and the immune system has become a strange sort of hobby for me. How many times have you read that yoga and meditation will help? And then sat in a class absolutely struggling? During a particularly bad flare that lasted over a year, I stumbled into a style of yoga that finally felt like home. I could barely move, but I could chant. I could hum. I could breathe. I learned how to soften instead of brace, how to rest instead of resist, how to be with my body instead of fighting it. It was, honestly, the most effective thing I’ve ever found for easing symptoms — not curing them, but easing my relationship with my body. And that mattered more than I ever could have imagined.
When the body is struggling, the mind struggles too
Something I wish more people understood is how deeply autoimmune conditions impact mental health. The constant fatigue, the unpredictability, the pain, the medications, the limitations — they all shape your sense of safety in the world. They can chip away at confidence, at hope, at identity. They can make you feel isolated, misunderstood, or ashamed for not being able to “push through” the way others expect you to. Therapy can be incredibly supportive here — not as a fix, not as a cure, but as a space where you don’t have to explain yourself, justify your symptoms, or pretend you’re coping better than you are. If you’re living with a chronic or autoimmune condition and you want support from someone who genuinely gets it, you’re welcome to get in touch with me. I work gently, at your pace, and I offer discounted rates for those who are unable to work due to chronic illness.
Email lara@touchingpeace.com.au to set up an informal chat where you can decide if my way of working is the right fit for you.
