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Monday 23rd February 2026 - Chronic Illness and Relationships

A dark, monochrome illustrated image in a gothic style. An aardvark lies on a tufted chaise longue in a dimly lit, stone-walled study, looking weary and troubled. Opposite, a sloth dressed in a suit sits in an armchair, notepad in hand, with a grave expression. Bookshelves, heavy curtains, and faint light from a leaded window complete the sombre atmosphere. The scene depicts a counselling session.

My counselling sessions start again today, but I have no fear or anxiety about it like I used to.

This post is different to usual. It's not about a symptom flare, or a festival, or the chaos of navigating life on wheels. It's about something quieter and more personal — something C and I have worked through together last year, and that I've been sitting with long enough now to share.

This entry is a reflection. Not an open wound. Just… what I've learnt.

The hamster wheel

Depression has played its part in both Paul’s and my lives in recent times. Not just a rough patch or a bad week — the deep, grinding kind that parks itself in your home and refuses to leave. And when two people are both fighting their own version of it at the same time, in the same house, I missed his desperation, something I will have to carry because I didn't see it coming. It’s like being on one of those little hamster wheels together and going round and round and round. Exhausting. Disorienting.

The boy I fell in love with, 38 years ago.

I’m learning more about Paul’s AuDHD every day — how it shapes the way he experiences the world, how it colours his thinking, how it makes him the person he is. It explains a lot of things. I wasn't surprised by his diagnosis — but I didn’t always understand the impact of that diagnosis in the moment, and things that caused hurt on both sides without either of us really meaning it.

But here’s the thing. Understanding neuroscience hasn’t changed how I feel. Paul's still that shy, quirky, slightly awkward boy I fell in love with when he was 16, 39 years ago. The one I chose, and keep choosing.

Long COVID knocked him sideways too, and there have been times it’s been really hard for him — really hard. He struggles at times in ways that are difficult to watch when you love someone — and I know he feels the same watching my Ellyllons and me. And all the while he’s blogging about pickled onions and gin advent calendars. I admire the work he does in our Burntwood community and the volunteering he does, like setting up the Afternoon Cinema. It amazes me how this normally shy, reserved man, who won't think twice, is an active District and local councillor and uses his voice to advocate for the community and better provision for our hometown, Burntwood.

Recently, he has started recording the most amazing music at Fidget Studios, using binaural beats to help others cope with ADHD. I am so proud of him. Genuinely, properly proud. I don't have enough words to express how proud I am of him, and how much I adore him.

When everything lands at once:

I'm not going to pretend the last few years have been easy, because they haven’t. Life handed us a lot to cope with in a very short space of time.

The business I was working for went into liquidation: no warning, no payout, no redundancy. Just… gone. Overnight, we lost almost 40% of our household income.

Our eldest son was in the hospital, and wider family relationships completely broke down — all of which hit my mental and emotional health hard. That particular stretch was genuinely one of the hardest periods of recent times. But he is ok, and he knows how much I love him.

All of this impacted me physically, emotionally and mentally, and my health deteriorated in ways neither of us anticipated. My Ellyllons — the FND, ME/CFS, and fibromyalgia, hemiplegic migraines — floored me and completely rearranged how our household works. Add in the menopause into that mix; I am not, for the record, the easiest person to live with right now, and I say that with full self-awareness, and only mild embarrassment, and we've had a lot of adjusting to do.

Paul and our son Connor stepped up in ways I will never stop being grateful for — I prefer the term “PAs” rather than carers, though depending on the day I’ve been known to use the word “slaves” — and far ruder words that I won’t spoil this post with — all with great affection 😘. They’re both holding a lot. Connor is working full-time, studying for a master's, and caring for me - I love you, Connor.

When you’re both mentally and physically suffering at the same time, the ripples go everywhere. Into every corner of your relationship, your family, your sense of yourself. I still find it emotionally crippling some days. I’m being honest about that because pretending otherwise helps nobody.

The waiting

The NHS has helped me enormously over the past couple of years — genuinely, I’m grateful for the care I’ve received. But the waiting is a particular kind of hard. You get to the top of one list, and then you’re straight to the bottom of the next one. And while you’re waiting, new symptoms appear, and you can’t always get answers quickly. Some days I feel a bit lost at sea with it all.

I miss work, having a purpose, structure, and identity. That's impossible right now and a long-term goal, just waking up and remembering what day of the week it is is a good start. But I know that's not possible right now. I only manage to journal because Paul has put things in place, so if I'm struggling with my speech or typing, I can still get my thoughts down. But finding my sparkle again and getting back to some new version of me, whatever that is, matters a great deal to me.

Where we are now

Here’s what I know: I love Paul more than I can properly articulate. Even before the FND and brain fog, he is my world. We’ve been friends for longer than we’ve been together and married for 24 years. He was my first boyfriend, 39 years ago, when he was just 16 — which feels both impossible and entirely correct.

It's not the happily-ever-after either of us imagined. The script went a bit rogue, if I’m honest. But I’m genuinely happy to say that after a long time of both of us finding our way through some very murky water, we are in a really good place right now. We understand each other better. The miscommunications that used to derail us have quietened down.

Life has dealt us some difficult cards. But we’re playing them together. We always will.

What I’m hoping for

  • To get better, so we can pick up our Happily Ever After
  • To find some inner peace, to be able to quiet my mind
  • To see Paul happy and truly comfortable in his own skin
  • For my children to be happy, and for them all to know how much I love them.

And so… we keep going. KOKO. Together. Alway

I quite simply adore you, Paul (aka theaardvark). I don't know what I would do without you.

Love

Sha 💜

aka The Wheely Happy Mrsvark

#WheelyHappyDays #Counselling #Marriage #ChronicIllness #MentalHealth #KOKO #FND #MECFS #Fibromyalgia #LongCOVID #AuDHD #FirstLove #Marriage