Most people mean well — they just don’t always know what to say.

When you’re chronically ill, you get used to comments that make you flinch a little:

“You look great!”

“Have you tried yoga?”

“At least it’s not cancer.”

None of it is said with malice. But words can land differently when your body doesn’t work the way it used to. This isn’t about being sensitive — it’s about being seen.

Common “Nice” Phrases That Hurt

Here are a few favourites from the greatest hits album of unhelpful encouragement:

“You don’t look sick!”

or “You look great today — everything’s getting better then?”

→ Why it stings: It invalidates invisible illness — like we need to prove we’re unwell.

→ Try instead: “You look good today — I know that doesn’t always mean you feel good.”

I went to my sister-in-law’s engagement recently, and my partner uploaded a photo of us. I looked banging. But the flood of comments — “She looks amazing! Is she better now?” — was overwhelming.

What they didn’t see was me wearing sunglasses (at night), noise-cancelling headphones, trembling and slurring my words through the entire hour I was there. Looking okay and being okay are two very different things.

“At least it’s not [insert worse illness].”

→ Why it stings: It turns someone’s pain into a comparison game.

→ Try instead: “That sounds really hard. How are you coping?”

I’ve heard this one more times than I can count. Ironically, most of the illnesses people name have established treatment pathways.

Being chronically ill with something rare often means no clear answers, no standard care, and no one who really knows how to help. That uncertainty — that constant guessing — can be just as heavy as the illness itself.

“Have you tried [green juice / meditation / essential oils]?”

→ Why it stings: It suggests we’re not trying hard enough or are missing an easy fix.

→ Try instead: “I’m not sure what you’ve already tried — would you like me to just listen?”

People have been suggesting “gut fixes” to me my entire life — fibre, yoga, gluten-free diets. But at 30, we discovered my muscles never actually learned how to coordinate properly when I tried to go to the toilet.

No amount of kale or probiotics was ever going to change that. It eventually led to rectal prolapse, intussusception and rectocele — and surgery.

Sometimes, the issue isn’t lifestyle. It’s biology.

“You’re so strong!”

→ Why it stings: It can feel like pressure to keep being strong, instead of permission to crumble.

→ Try instead: “I can see how hard this is — you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

This one can go either way. Sometimes it’s comforting. But often it creates pressure to perform strength — to keep going when you’re already breaking.

My partner gently reminds me it’s okay to cry or stop. That being strong all the time isn’t normal — it’s suppression in disguise.

Why These Comments Happen

Most of these phrases come from a good place:

• People don’t know what to say.

• They’re trying to find a silver lining.

• They want to fix it instead of sit with it.

But caring isn’t about saying the perfect thing. It’s about being willing to stay in the uncomfortable moments, without trying to tidy them up. Sometimes the kindest thing you can say is,

“I don’t know what to say — but I’m here.”