From Girl Next Door to Chronic Illness: And the Confidence in Between

I saw a post that said,

“Makeup doesn’t change the way people treat you.”

Then it cut to her without makeup.

“Don’t tell no lies.”

And it got me thinking.

Because honestly… that has been my experience too.

Not just with makeup.

But with hair.

Outfits.

Weight.

Confidence.

Energy.

And especially living with chronic illness.

There is something I have slowly come to understand over the years.

The way the world treats me has changed.

But so has the way I show up in the world.

Growing up in my teens and twenties, I had what people call girl next door energy.

Girly outfits.

Cute blouses.

Leggings.

Dresses.

Skirts.

Wedges.

Heels.

Cute jewelry.

Hair down and styled.

Full glam makeup.

Getting ready was part of my routine.

Part of my identity.

It felt effortless.

I moved through the world feeling feminine, confident, and put together.

And people responded to that.

More smiles.

More eye contact.

More warmth.

More patience.

More openness.

I did not realize it at the time.

It just felt normal.

But now, living with chronic illness, my everyday life looks very different.

Most days, I am wearing no makeup.

Just serums, moisturizer, and chapstick.

Hair in a bun.

Sometimes still wet, fresh out of the shower.

Comfy clothes.

Sweatshirts.

Hoodies.

Sweats.

Fibromyalgia friendly sneakers.

Clothes that do not hurt my body.

Clothes that protect my energy.

Clothes that help me get through the day.

Because now, getting ready is not just getting ready.

It takes energy.

It takes effort.

Sometimes it takes pushing through pain.

So comfort becomes the priority.

And when I am dressed like that, I notice something else too.

I am less of a people person in public.

Not because I am unfriendly.

But because I am in pain.

Because I am overstimulated.

Because I am trying to conserve energy.

I rush small talk.

I try to get from point A to point B faster.

I keep interactions shorter.

I focus on getting through the errand and getting back home.

Not because I do not care about people.

But because pain narrows your bandwidth.

When your body hurts, when your nerves are already overloaded, when even being out in public feels like effort, you are not always in the mood to linger.

You are trying to get through the moment.

And I think people can feel that too.

Then, every once in a while, I do it.

I wear the cute outfit.

I spend time on my hair.

I do my makeup.

I add the cute jewelry again.

And every single time, I am reminded.

People treat me differently.

More kindness.

More attention.

More warmth.

More patience.

Same me.

Same heart.

Same personality.

But something shifts.

And I have realized something else too.

Maybe it is not just the way I look.

Maybe it is the confidence that comes with it.

When I am dressed up, I stand a little taller.

I make more eye contact.

I speak more confidently.

I carry myself differently.

I am more open.

More present.

More socially available.

And people feel that.

Confidence changes presence.

Presence changes perception.

Perception changes interaction.

So maybe it is not just makeup or outfits.

Maybe it is the energy that comes with feeling like yourself again.

Because when I dress up, I do not just look different.

I feel different.

I feel more like the girl I used to be.

And every time that happens, I am reminded that she is still there.

She did not disappear.

She just adapted.

Now she wears hoodies more often.

Now she chooses comfort more often.

Now she protects her energy more carefully.

Now she thinks about pain before style.

Now she dresses for what her body can handle, not just for how she wants to be seen.

But she is still there.

And there is also a quiet grief in this that I do not talk about often.

Because it is not just about outfits or makeup.

It is about identity.

There was a time when getting ready felt natural.

Fun.

Effortless.

Now, sometimes it feels like effort.

Like planning.

Like budgeting energy.

And there are days I miss that version of me.

The girl who got dressed up without thinking about pain.

The girl who wore heels without calculating how long she would be standing.

The girl who styled her hair without wondering if her arms would ache afterward.

The girl who added her jewelry without thinking twice.

That girl still exists.

But now, she lives alongside someone stronger.

Someone more resilient.

Someone who has learned to listen to her body in ways she never had to before.

Maybe that is what growth looks like.

Not losing who you were.

But becoming someone new while still holding pieces of her.

Some days I am the hoodie, bun, and fibromyalgia friendly sneakers version.

Some days I am the cute outfit, styled hair, full glam, and jewelry version.

Both are me.

Both are real.

Both are beautiful.

Maybe that is the hardest part of chronic illness sometimes.

Not just the pain.

Not just the fatigue.

But noticing how much it changes the way you move through the world.

How you dress.

How you socialize.

How open you are.

How much of yourself feels visible.

And maybe that is why those moments matter so much.

The days I do my hair.

The days I put effort into my makeup.

The days I wear the cute outfit.

The days I add the jewelry again.

Because it is not just about being seen by other people.

It is about seeing myself again too.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”- 2 Corinthians 4:16

Kristen, Unfiltered Xo 💋