You see me dressed at a concert.

You don't see me have a non epileptic seizure in the car on the way home because I over did it.

You see me smiling at the grocery store.

You don't see my subclavian arteries and veins completely occlude when I reach for the cereal.

You see me walking to my mailbox.

You don't see me cry when I get inside because that’s the only fresh air I get for the day being isolated and stuck at home.

You see a healthy 32-year-old woman.

You don’t see multiple organs inside me prolapsing.

You see me posting online on stories.

You don’t see me cleaning fluid from my ear, worried it's another CSF leak.

You see me off work living the life at home.

You don’t see me constantly break down because I miss working and I miss my team.

You see me smiling.

You don’t see the exhaustion, the heaviness of carrying the burden of this awful condition.

Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary. And looking “fine” has never been the same thing as being okay. So the next time someone says, “But you don’t look sick,” remember that many of us became experts at hiding the hardest parts of our lives simply to survive them. The world sees the moments we manage to show up. It rarely sees what those moments cost us afterward.