What Survival Looks Like When You’re Judged On Sight

Hey Warriors,

This one’s hard. But I’m ready to say it.

There’s a look people give you when they think they know your story, and they’re dead wrong. I’ve seen that look too many times. And I know exactly what it means. I’ve been mistaken for a drug addict more than once. Not because of anything I’ve done, but because of how I look after the hospital.

After surgery.

After complications.

After IV scars.

After weight loss I didn’t ask for.

At one point, the doctors let my weight drop to 89 pounds.

Eighty-nine.

I had almost no muscle mass. I could barely sit upright without wincing. I was so thin, sitting on anything, even a pillow, meant pressing straight down on my own tailbone. It wasn’t just uncomfortable. It hurt. All. The. Time.

And nobody talks about that, how fragile you feel in your own skin.

How healing doesn’t always feel like “getting better.” Sometimes, it just feels like surviving in pain.

I had nine teeth removed because no oral surgeon would risk working on me with an LVAD. My arms carry the history of every needle poke, every failed IV line, every time they couldn’t find a vein but tried anyway.

And after all that, I stepped out into the world looking like someone I didn’t recognize, and like someone other people judged instantly.

The whispers.

The stares.

The side-eyes at gas stations.

The quiet, “Are you okay?” from strangers who weren’t really asking.

And the doubt in their eyes when I say, “I don’t do drugs.”

They don’t believe me.

But they don’t know me.

This is the brutal part of invisible illness. People don’t see the heart condition. They don’t see the internal bleeding, the hospital stays, the medical trauma. They don’t see the survival.

They just see the symptoms, and turn them into a story that’s easier to label than understand.

It’s one of the reasons I stayed silent for so long.

Because defending your truth to strangers gets exhausting.

But here’s the thing: I’m not what they think.

I’m a fighter. I’m a mother. I’m a wife. I’m a creative. I’m a survivor.

I’ve made art, made a home, made purpose out of pain, all while dragging a corded device and a scarred-up body behind me.

It takes strength, a different kind of strength, not to let people’s opinions harden you.

But I’ve found that strength. Day by day.

And if you’ve been judged for how you look, for what they think you’ve done, or for what they can’t understand, know this: their perception doesn’t define your truth.

Your story is still yours.

And when you’re ready, you get to tell it your way.

I’m telling mine now.

And it feels good to finally speak.

“Their perception doesn’t define your truth.”

With Heart,

💙 Phoenix