Living with Flare Days, Fog Days, and Freeze Days

Some days, my body doesn’t work the way I want it to. Sometimes it’s a flare-up, pain that hits like a wave, unexpected and overwhelming. Other times, it’s fog. The brain fog that settles in like a heavy cloud, making even the simplest tasks feel impossible. And then there are freeze days, when my body feels paralyzed by exhaustion, anxiety, or overwhelm, unable to move, unable to think clearly.

Living with chronic illness and neurodivergence is not a linear experience. It’s not something you can prepare for. It’s not something you can predict. Some days, I wake up and feel like I could conquer the world. Other days, I wake up and the world feels like too much to handle.

And when that happens, I often hear people, well-meaning people, tell me to push through, to try harder, to “just get up and do something.” But it doesn’t work that way. On my flare days, on my fog days, and on my freeze days, I need something different. I need permission to pause, to not be okay, to listen to my body’s limits without shame.

Flare days remind me that my body has its limits, and that’s okay. I can’t push past them forever. On those days, I have to slow down and meet my body where it is. I have to trust that rest is part of healing, that giving myself grace is not weakness but strength.

Fog days, on the other hand, remind me how unpredictable my mind can be, especially when living with chronic illness and neurodivergence. Brain fog isn’t something I can control or push through. It settles in without warning, making even simple things feel out of reach. On these days, I try to meet myself with kindness. I remind myself that I don’t have to always be on point or productive to be worthy. I just have to be.

And then there are freeze days, when everything feels stuck. When my body and mind simply can’t move forward. These days are often the hardest. They bring up feelings of frustration, of failure, of not being enough. But what I’m learning is that freezing doesn’t mean I’ve failed. Freezing is a way my body tries to protect itself when things feel too much. It’s a survival response. And like the other days, it needs compassion, not judgment.

Living with flare days, fog days, and freeze days means living with uncertainty. It means surrendering to the flow of my body and mind and finding ways to show up for myself, even when everything inside me says I can’t. It means letting go of the pressure to be constant, to be reliable, to be anything other than who I am in this moment.

It’s about accepting that there are no “good” or “bad” days. There are just days. Some days will feel easier, some days will feel harder. And all of them are valid. The challenge isn’t to force myself to be better or more productive. The challenge is to honor each day for what it is, to honor myself for being here, even on the hardest days.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through living with flare days, fog days, and freeze days, it’s that I don’t have to be defined by them. I am not my flare-ups. I am not my fog. I am not my freeze. I am more than my pain. I am more than my struggle. And I am worthy of compassion, especially on the days when my body and mind feel like they’re working against me.