Content Note: Chronic illness, chronic pain, disability, mental health struggles, PTSD, car accidents, driving anxiety, grief, bereavement, and the anniversary of a pet’s death. This post discusses difficult emotions and the ways they can affect daily functioning.

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid: Saturday Health Updates.

Before we begin, a gentle heads up.

These posts talk openly about chronic illness, disability, medical trauma, medical appointments, symptoms, recovery, medications, hospital visits, and the unfiltered reality of living in a body that doesn’t always cooperate.

Some weeks are heavy.

Some weeks are surprisingly gentle.

Some weeks involve a medical plot twist nobody ordered.

And some weeks… thankfully… nothing much happens at all.

That’s allowed here too.

You never have to read a health update just because it exists.

If you’re not in the right headspace today, skip it.

Come back later.

Or don’t.

No one will ever judge you for protecting your own peace.

If you’re new here…

Hi.

I’m Sky.

Professional Cryptid.

Writer.

Occasional chronic illness and disability advocate.

Former unwilling amateur cyborg.

As much as I love getting to say that… the story, unfortunately, isn’t over.

I’m medically complex enough to make my chart look like a horror anthology.

Most days are lived inside a haunted meat suit with a questionable warranty and a long-standing feud with my nervous system.

I cope with sarcasm.

Stubborn hope.

Coffee.

Snacks.

And the occasional decision to narrate my medical life like it’s a particularly terrible field report.

This is the part of the week where we stop pretending the health stuff isn’t part of the story.

Because it is.

This blog started during COVID, when the world got very small and staying home was the only option.

It grew into a place where I could talk about chronic illness and disability honestly.

And even though The Crippled Cryptid has grown into writing, folklore, adventures, dogs, community, and all the strange little things that make up a life…

I don’t want to forget where we came from.

So, we tell the truth here. (At least on Saturdays.)

The good.

The bad.

The boring.

The painful.

The victories that look enormous from inside this body and completely ordinary from the outside.

And the weeks where the biggest health update is:

“Well… nothing caught fire.”

That counts too.

🐾 Meet the Household Medical Department

Luna is usually nearby.

She’s my Medical Alert Service Dog.

My guardian.

My enforcer.

My tiny chaos gremlin with a medical degree she absolutely awarded herself.

She notices the things I miss.

She tells me when my body is doing something suspicious.

She alerts.

She grounds.

She applies Deep Pressure Therapy.

She retrieves things when my hands stop cooperating.

And when I insist I’m fine when I’m very obviously not fine…

She escalates.

Sometimes that means Mumther gets called in.

Because apparently Mama is not always qualified to supervise Mama.

Fair.

Then there’s M&M.

My Player Two.

My soft place to land.

The person who asks how I’m doing and actually wants the answer.

The person who knows when I need food, water, medication, rest, company, or absolutely nothing except someone sitting nearby.

She reminds me that survival is a team sport.

And then…

There’s Binka.

Blitzø.

Binky.

Mr. Moo.

Mr. Paws.

The giant spotted baby whose paws arrived approximately seven to ten business days before the rest of him.

He isn’t a service dog.

He’s not responsible for managing my health.

We don’t know what his future holds.

And I’m not going to turn him into something he’s not.

But my Aunt Dee put it perfectly:

Luna is for helping.

Blitz is for healing.

Because somehow, this ridiculous puppy has healed something in me that I don’t have the words for yet.

He gets me up.

He gets me moving.

He gets me laughing.

He gets me smiling.

He gets me outside.

He gets me participating in life when my body would much rather stay horizontal.

He’s a little bit of joy with four enormous paws.

He’s basically physical therapy…

Except the physical therapist has floppy ears, questionable judgment, and thinks everything should go in his mouth.

And that counts.

It counts as healing.

Maybe not the medical kind.

But the kind that reminds you there is still something worth getting up for.

So yes…

Luna helps me navigate my body.

Binka helps remind me that I still get to live in it.

Both matter.

And then… there’s the final member of the Scooby gang.

Biscuits.

Cheddar Bay Biscuits.

Yes, our cat is named after a food, no matter how much my girlfriend wants him to be named Castiel… unfortunately his government name just never stuck.

He’s a beautiful quicksilver tabby cat with some kind of ancient forest cat in his DNA somewhere, we’re betting on Maine Coon or Norwegian Forest Cat but, we don’t know for sure quite yet.

Resident baker and biscuit maker… the one who likes to MAO at us at 3am and make biscuits on everyone and everything like he pays the mortgage even though he doesn’t.

This space is for chronic illness without inspiration porn.

Disability without apologies.

Medical reality without pretending it’s always neat.

Rest without guilt.

Progress without perfection.

And a life that is allowed to contain joy alongside pain.

There will probably be dog hair involved.

And these days, there’s a kitten in the household, too, because apparently the Cryptid Council decided we needed another tiny creature capable of taking over our lives.

If you’ve been here before…

Welcome back.

If you’re new… Take a breath.

You don’t have to prove anything to exist here.

Welcome to the Lunatic Café.

🩹 On Today’s Health Update:

A Haunted Meat Suit, a Heavy Heart, and a Little Halloween Magic

🥣 First, the Household Has a Cold

Let’s start with the part of the week that involves someone else’s immune system trying to ruin everybody’s plans for once. Not mine!

BJ has been sick.

Last week, he went with my older brother to do some work for his boat business, and he came back with a pretty nasty cold.

Which, obviously, isn’t exactly the souvenir we were hoping he’d bring home.

I feel bad for him. Being sick sucks, and there’s only so much you can do to make somebody feel better when their body has decided to become a biological inconvenience.

So, I’ve been doing what I can.

Soup.

The chicken pasta he loves.

Mac and cheese.

Other easy-to-eat comfort foods that don’t require a tremendous amount of effort when you’re feeling miserable.

And, of course, bullying him into taking his Mucinex.

Lovingly.

Probably.

Listen, I want him to feel better, and I would also very much appreciate it if this cold didn’t decide to establish permanent residency in my household. Especially when I, personally, don’t want to catch whatever plague he’s come down with.

I have enough problems with my body without inviting an entirely new set of germs to the party.

The haunted meat suit is operating at capacity, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, while I’ve been trying to take care of BJ…

I haven’t exactly been feeling my best, either.

And that brings us to the less fun part of the update.

🩹 When Stress Moves Into Your Body

I’ve been stressed.

A lot.

And I think that stress has been contributing to a pain flare.

Which is always fun, because apparently my nervous system has decided that the appropriate response to an already difficult week is to turn the volume up on everything.

Living with chronic illness means learning that your health doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

Stress can affect how you feel physically.

Poor sleep can make an already difficult day harder.

Emotional exhaustion can leave you with less energy to manage symptoms that were already demanding enough.

And sometimes, several things happen at once, and you spend the week trying to figure out which fire needs your attention first.

I’m not saying stress explains everything my body does. It doesn’t.

But I know my body well enough to recognize when things aren’t going particularly well.

And this week?

Things haven’t been going particularly well.

I’ve been trying to keep up with the ordinary things that need doing while also managing pain, stress, and the emotional weight of everything happening around me.

It’s a lot.

And I don’t think we talk enough about the way difficult life events can pile on top of chronic illness.

Because sometimes you’re not dealing with one big thing.

You’re dealing with twelve smaller things, three emotional land mines, a nervous system that has chosen violence, and a grocery list that still needs to be addressed.

And somehow, you’re supposed to function.

So that’s where I’ve been this week.

Trying to function.

Trying to keep up.

Trying to take care of the people and animals I love.

And trying to remember that I’m a person who deserves care, too.

That last part is sometimes the hardest.

🚗 The Anniversary I Wish I Could Skip

This week marks the anniversary of the car accident that M&M and I were in a year ago.

And remembering it hasn’t been easy.

PTSD is something I’ve known I’ve lived with for a long time, but lately, it’s been making itself more noticeable in my day-to-day life.

Especially when it comes to driving.

Especially when I see the make and model of the cars that have hit me in the past.

And especially when I think about the intersection where I was hit. Because it is less than a mile from my house… and I go that way almost every time I leave the house. You have no idea how much that sucks.

I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid going through the light where that accident happened.

I know that, to somebody else, it might seem like a small thing.

It’s just an intersection.

Just a traffic light.

Just another stretch of road that people drive through every day without giving it a second thought.

But my brain doesn’t experience it that way right now.

Sometimes, the things that other people barely notice are the things that make your whole body tense up.

A particular vehicle.

A familiar road.

A place where something terrible happened.

A reminder that takes you right back to a moment you would give anything not to relive.

And suddenly, something as ordinary as driving isn’t ordinary anymore.

It’s something you have to think about.

Something you have to prepare yourself for.

Something that takes more energy than it used to.

I don’t have a neat little inspirational speech about that.

I don’t have a timeline for when it’ll get easier.

I don’t have a magic trick for convincing my brain that the accident is in the past when my body is reacting to something that reminds it of what happened.

I’m just trying to navigate it.

One drive at a time.

One decision at a time.

And sometimes, that means taking another route.

Sometimes, it means acknowledging that I’m struggling instead of pretending I’m perfectly fine.

Sometimes, it means admitting that something I used to do without thinking now takes considerably more effort.

And that’s okay.

Because mental health counts as health, too.

I know this is a Saturday Health Update, and some people might expect me to talk about physical symptoms, medications, appointments, or medical tests.

But my mental health is part of my health.

My PTSD is part of my health.

The way grief affects me is part of my health.

The way stress affects my pain is part of my health.

I don’t have to separate my brain from the rest of my body just to make this update fit somebody else’s expectations.

It’s all connected.

And right now, I’m struggling with some of those connections.

That’s the truth.

🛏️ My Mental Health Has Been in the Toilet

There’s really no delicate way to put this.

My mental health hasn’t been great.

In fact, it’s been pretty awful.

I’ve been staying up too late.

Doomscrolling on my phone.

Staying in bed too long in the mornings.

Putting off writing.

Doing the things that I know don’t necessarily help me feel better, while simultaneously struggling to find the energy to do the things that usually do.

It’s a frustrating cycle.

You feel awful, so you don’t have the energy to do the things that help.

You don’t do the things that help, so you continue feeling awful.

And then you start feeling guilty about not doing enough, which adds another layer of stress to a situation that was already stressful.

Isn’t that a delightful little psychological escape room?

The door is locked.

The clues are written in executive dysfunction.

And somebody has hidden the key underneath a pile of laundry.

I’m trying to be kinder to myself about it.

Trying being the operative word.

Because I know what it looks like when I’m doing better.

Before this week, I had been making real progress on the story bible for Addie Unwritten.

I’ve been working on the characters, building out the world, and putting together the pieces that will help me tell the story I want to tell.

I was excited about it.

I was making progress.

I was showing up for my writing.

And then this week happened.

My energy dropped.

My mental health took a hit.

And the writing that had been making me happy suddenly felt harder to reach.

I know that a difficult week doesn’t erase the work I’ve already done.

I know that taking a break doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the story.

I know that I can come back to it.

But knowing those things intellectually and actually feeling them emotionally are two very different experiences.

When writing is something you love, something you want to build a life around, it can be hard to watch yourself struggle to do it.

Especially when you remember how well things were going just a little while ago.

And especially when you start wondering whether you’ll be able to get back into the rhythm you had before.

So, for the record, Addie Unwritten is still here.

The story bible isn’t going anywhere.

My characters are still waiting for me.

And I’m still a writer, even when I’m not writing as much as I’d like.

This might technically be a Saturday Health Update rather than a Wyrm Workbench, but I think it’s important to say that creative work doesn’t exist separately from the person doing it.

Sometimes, writing helps me get through difficult things.

Sometimes, difficult things make writing harder.

Both can be true.

I’m allowed to be a writer who needs a break.

I’m allowed to have an unproductive week without turning it into a referendum on my entire future.

And I’m allowed to want to feel better without demanding that I fix everything immediately.

I’m working on remembering that.

🐾 The Anniversary of Losing Bear

And because apparently this week wasn’t already carrying enough emotional baggage…

We’re also approaching the anniversary of Bear’s death.

Bear passed away on October 28, 2025.

It’s been a year.

A whole year.

And somehow, that feels both impossible and entirely believable.

Grief is strange that way.

You can know exactly how much time has passed and still find yourself surprised by how much something hurts.

You can go about your day, do the things you need to do, laugh at something ridiculous, and carry on with your life.

And then a date comes around.

Or a memory surfaces.

Or you remember something about the way they used to do a particular thing.

And suddenly, the absence is right there again.

Bear was part of my life.

He was part of my family.

And losing him hurt.

It still hurts.

I don’t think loving an animal ever comes with a guarantee that the grief will be manageable when they’re gone.

We bring them into our lives knowing, somewhere in the back of our minds, that their time with us is limited.

But knowing that doesn’t make the loss any easier.

You don’t get to love them less just because you know how their story will eventually end.

You don’t get to skip the grief because you knew it was coming.

And you don’t have to pretend that losing an animal is a smaller kind of heartbreak.

They live in our homes.

They become part of our routines.

They learn our habits, our voices, our favorite places to sit.

They are there for the ordinary moments that make up a life.

And when they’re gone, those ordinary moments change, too.

Sometimes, it’s the quiet things you miss most.

The things you never thought you’d have to think about missing.

Bear mattered.

He still matters.

And a year later, I’m still carrying the love I had for him alongside the grief of losing him.

I don’t think those two things will ever need to be separated.

I can miss him and still love the dogs who are here now.

I can be grateful for the new memories I’m making without pretending that the old ones matter any less.

And I can let the anniversary hurt without deciding that it means I’m not healing.

Because grief doesn’t have an expiration date.

Neither does love.

🕯️ And Then There’s Grandma

October has been bringing up a lot of memories.

My grandma’s birthday would have been October 29.

She passed away in 2023.

She would have been 77 this year.

And I’ve been grieving her, too.

Our relationship wasn’t perfect.

She didn’t get everything right.

There are things about our history that were complicated, and I’m not going to rewrite the past just because she’s no longer here.

But grief isn’t always simple.

You can love someone and still acknowledge the ways they hurt you.

You can miss someone without pretending they were perfect.

You can grieve what you had while also grieving what you wish you’d had.

Sometimes, you’re not just mourning the person who died.

You’re mourning the relationship as it existed.

The relationship you hoped might change.

The conversations you won’t get to have.

The questions that will never receive answers.

And all the little pieces of a complicated history that don’t neatly fit into a single feeling.

I think that’s one of the hardest things about grief.

People sometimes want it to be straightforward.

You loved them, so you’re sad.

They died, so you miss them.

And that’s the end of the story.

But people are complicated.

Relationships are complicated.

And grief can hold more than one truth at a time.

I can acknowledge that Grandma didn’t get everything right.

I can remember the difficult parts.

I can miss her.

I can think about the life she lived and the life we shared.

I can feel sad that she’s gone.

None of those feelings cancels out the others.

And I don’t have to pick just one to make my grief easier for other people to understand.

This week has brought all of that a little closer to the surface.

Bear’s anniversary.

Grandma’s birthday.

The memories that come with both.

And the realization that even when the calendar moves forward, there are certain dates that will always mean something to me.

Some years, those dates might be easier.

Some years, they might hurt more.

This year, they’re hurting.

And I’m letting myself admit that.

🖖 A Sad Week for a Fandom Nerd

And because the universe apparently looked at my emotional state and decided it hadn’t quite reached maximum capacity…

Patrick Stewart died.

And I was sad.

For a lot of people, Sir Patrick Stewart will always be Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

For others, he’ll be Professor Charles Xavier.

For plenty of us, he’s been a familiar presence across decades of film, television, theater, and storytelling.

And for this particular cryptid, losing a familiar face from a beloved fictional universe is one of those things that can make an already difficult week feel a little heavier.

Stories matter to me.

The people who bring those stories to life matter, too.

Characters can become part of our lives in ways that are difficult to explain to somebody who doesn’t understand the attachment.

They can accompany us through different stages of life.

They can give us something familiar to return to when everything else feels uncertain.

They can become associated with memories, comfort, laughter, and the people we were when we first encountered them.

And when someone who helped create those memories dies, it can feel like losing a little piece of that history.

That doesn’t mean I knew him personally.

It doesn’t mean my grief is the same as the grief of his family, friends, or the people who worked alongside him.

It simply means that his work meant something to me.

And it’s okay to feel sad about that.

Especially in a week when sadness seems to be finding me from every direction.

May the stars welcome you, Sir Patrick.

And may we all remember that even the most commanding captain eventually has to leave the bridge.

Make it so.

🎃 Trying to Make Room for Halloween Anyway

Now, here’s the thing.

Halloween is my favorite holiday.

My favorite day of the year.

And even though this week has been an absolute emotional dumpster fire, I’m still trying to make room for something I love.

Not because I think a fun Halloween will magically fix my mental health.

Not because dressing up and eating candy will make the pain disappear.

And certainly not because I’m under the impression that I can simply distract myself out of PTSD or grief.

But because I’m allowed to have good things during a difficult week.

I’m allowed to look forward to something.

I’m allowed to make plans.

I’m allowed to enjoy myself even when I’m hurting.

And I don’t want to look back at this time and realize that I spent every available moment waiting until I felt better to do the things that mattered to me.

So, I’ve been trying to get out of the house.

Trying to get the dogs out, too.

Trying to take them to the things I said we’d do, including doggy trick-or-treating.

Taking the photos.

Giving out the extra treats.

Making the memories.

Doing the little things that I want to remember later.

Even when I feel like crap.

Even when I’d rather stay in bed.

Even when my body is loudly suggesting that horizontal is the only acceptable position.

I’m trying to find a balance between respecting my limits and not letting an awful week take absolutely everything from me.

And I want to be careful here, because I don’t think anybody should feel obligated to push through pain or exhaustion just to make memories.

Sometimes, staying home is the right decision.

Sometimes, resting is the best thing you can do for yourself.

Sometimes, your body has other plans, and you have to listen.

But for me, this week, there are some things I genuinely want to do.

And I’m trying to find ways to do them that don’t require me to pretend I’m feeling better than I am.

Maybe that means taking things slowly.

Maybe it means changing plans if I need to.

Maybe it means doing less than I originally intended.

Maybe it means coming home early and spending the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets.

Whatever it looks like, I want to give myself permission to participate in my own life without making it another test I have to pass.

I don’t have to do everything.

I just want to do some of the things that make me happy.

And Halloween is absolutely one of them.

🎃 The Cryptid Household Halloween Plan

The plan is pretty simple.

A cozy evening in the living room with M&M and the dogs.

Luna is going to be a jester again, wearing Bear’s old Halloween costume.

And honestly, it looks great on her.

Blitzø looks adorable in the pumpkin costume, too, but he still fits into it, and I intend to get absolutely every possible second of use out of that costume while I can.

He’s growing at a rate that suggests he has personally declared war on the laws of puppy sizing.

One day, something fits.

The next day, you’re wondering whether the manufacturer made a mistake.

So yes.

We’re using the pumpkin costume while we still can.

As for me?

I’m planning to wear my mothman onesie.

Which means, naturally, that I will be the moth from the pumpkin patch.

Yes, yes.

I know.

Some people are probably wondering who the hell spends $75 on onesie pajamas from Walmart just to look like a moth.

The answer?

Not me.

M&M and I found the onesie at Goodwill for $10.

TEN DOLLARS.

And it is the softest, most comfortable thing I own.

So, there’s a very real possibility that it will become part of my regular wardrobe.

Halloween costume?

Absolutely.

Chronic illness comfort garment?

Also, absolutely.

Will I wear it on a random Tuesday because my body hurts and I want to be comfortable?

Let’s not pretend that isn’t already a possibility.

It’s soft.

It’s cozy.

It makes me happy.

That’s pretty much the entire decision-making process.

🍕 Halloween Dinner, but Make It Personal

We’re also planning to make mini personal pizzas using the mini naan breads we got from the food pantry last Saturday.

All we need to do is make some homemade pizza sauce, add shredded mozzarella, pick our toppings, and bake them.

Easy.

Comforting.

Customizable.

And perfect for a movie night.

The best part about personal pizzas is that everybody gets to make what they want.

Pepperoni?

Go for it.

Plain cheese?

Absolutely.

Vegetables?

Wonderful.

No vegetables?

Also fine.

We’re not holding a pizza summit to determine the correct topping configuration.

We’re making dinner.

And if we want some pizzas with different toppings, we can make them.

It’s a little thing, but I love meals like this.

Everybody gets something they enjoy, there’s no need to make one enormous pizza that has to satisfy everyone’s preferences, and we get to have a cozy evening together.

Sometimes, the little things are the things that make a day feel special.

And when you’re having a difficult week, little things can be worth a lot.

🍬 The Candy Situation

Obviously, I have Sour Patch Kids.

We all know how I feel about sour candy.

M&M has chocolate.

And we have candy for the Yard Yeti, whether or not he chooses to participate in the nonsense.

Because that’s just who we are these days.

A little sweet.

A little sour.

A whole lot chaotic.

And if we end up baking brownies?

Wonderful.

If we end up making those silly Pillsbury ghost-shaped cookies that you just slap onto a cookie sheet?

Also wonderful.

I love those cookies.

I refuse to apologize for it.

Sometimes, you need a complicated, homemade dessert.

Sometimes, you need to put a tray of ghost cookies in the oven and enjoy the fact that somebody else has already done most of the work.

Both have their place in a balanced Halloween.

And if the evening involves candy, movies, comfy pajamas, and a collection of creatures who probably don’t understand why we’re making such a big deal about pumpkins…

I think we’ll have done pretty well.

No grand production required.

Just a little Halloween magic at home.

💜 So, How Am I Actually Doing?

Honestly?

It’s been a week.

A really difficult one.

I’m trying to manage a pain flare.

I’m struggling with my mental health.

I’m dealing with the anniversary of a car accident that continues to affect how I feel about driving.

I’m grieving Bear.

I’m missing Grandma.

I’m sad about Patrick Stewart.

And I’m trying to care for a sick family member while keeping up with everything else that still needs doing.

That’s a lot for one person to carry.

Especially when that person is already living with chronic illness.

Especially when that person’s body has a habit of making difficult situations even more difficult.

And especially when that person is trying to keep up with a life that doesn’t pause just because they’re struggling.

I haven’t been sleeping as well as I’d like.

I haven’t been writing as much as I’d like.

I’ve been spending too much time scrolling on my phone and not enough time doing the things that usually help me feel more like myself.

I’ve been trying to get out of the house, keep up with my responsibilities, and make memories with the people and animals I love.

Some of that has gone well.

Some of it hasn’t.

And I’m trying to accept that both can be true.

I don’t have a dramatic medical breakthrough to report.

I don’t have a shiny new treatment plan.

I don’t have a list of accomplishments that proves I’ve somehow managed to conquer everything that’s been happening.

What I have is a difficult week.

A body that hurts.

A brain that feels tired.

A heart that’s carrying a lot of grief.

And a determination to keep making room for the things I love, even if I have to do them a little differently.

I think sometimes we expect health updates to be about improvement.

Better symptoms.

Better numbers.

Better test results.

More energy.

Fewer problems.

And when those things aren’t happening, it can feel like there’s nothing worth reporting.

But that’s not true.

Sometimes, the important update is that you’re struggling.

Sometimes, it’s that you’re recognizing a pattern and trying to respond to it.

Sometimes, it’s that you’re giving yourself permission to change your plans.

Sometimes, it’s that you’re finding ways to make your life a little more manageable when your circumstances aren’t cooperating.

And sometimes, it’s simply admitting that you aren’t doing very well.

Without minimizing it.

Without apologizing for it.

Without turning it into a lesson for somebody else.

This week hasn’t been easy.

I’m not going to pretend it has.

But I’m still here.

Still writing, even when the words take longer to come.

Still loving my family.

Still taking care of my critters.

Still finding things to look forward to.

Still trying to make a life that feels like mine, even when my body and brain make the process more complicated than I’d like.

And right now, that has to be enough.

🌙 Before You Leave the Lunatic Café…

If something in today’s update hit close to home…

You’re not alone.

If you stayed anyway…

Thank you.

You don’t have to earn your place here.

You don’t have to prove your pain.

You don’t have to be inspirational about it.

You don’t have to turn a difficult experience into a lesson before you’re allowed to talk about it.

Sometimes a health update is:

“I hurt.”

Sometimes it’s:

“I survived.”

Sometimes it’s:

“I got better.”

Sometimes it’s:

“I got worse.”

And sometimes…

It’s:

“Nothing happened this week, and thank God.”

All of those are valid updates.

Some weeks are enormous.

Some weeks are quiet.

Some weeks are full of appointments, medications, symptoms, tests, recovery, and enough medical nonsense to qualify as a limited series.

Other weeks are just maintenance.

Rest.

Hydration.

Keeping up with what needs doing.

Listening to the body.

Getting through the week without adding another emergency to the calendar.

Quiet isn’t failure.

Quiet is allowed.

And a difficult week doesn’t erase the progress you made before it.

Before you wander back into the woods, here’s your gentle reminder from the Den:

Take your meds if it’s time.

Drink some water.

Eat something if you can.

Rest if you need to.

Stretch if your body likes that.

Don’t stretch if it doesn’t.

Ask for help if you need it.

Accept help if someone offers it.

And if all you managed today was surviving…

That still counts.

🐾 Luna’s Health Reminder

Your body is allowed to have limits.

Listen when it talks.

And drink the water.

I mean it.

🐄 Binka’s Health Reminder

DO ONE HAPPY THING.

Not because you earned it.

Not because you were productive.

Because happy things are good.

Maybe eat a snack.

Maybe watch something cozy.

Maybe go outside.

Maybe pet a dog.

Maybe be the person who gets to lie under six blankets and call it an excellent afternoon.

MOO MEMO:

YOU DESERVE HAPPY.

MAMA SAYS SO.

I SAY SO TOO. 🐄

🐈 A Little Purrgatory Perspective

The kitten has not, to my knowledge, developed any meaningful opinions about pain flares, PTSD, anniversaries, or the existential burden of being a functioning adult.

His current areas of expertise appear to be being adorable, demanding attention, and reminding the household that there is a small creature who expects us to participate in his life.

Honestly?

There may be something to learn from that.

Not that we should ignore our problems.

Not that we should pretend everything is fine.

But that the ordinary parts of life are still happening alongside the difficult ones.

There are still meals to eat.

People to love.

Animals to cuddle.

Small moments to enjoy.

And, apparently, a kitten who has absolutely no intention of letting the household forget he exists.

Purrgatory remains open for business.

The management is tiny, furry, and probably up to something.

💜 And From Me…

I’m still learning that healing isn’t always obvious.

Sometimes it looks like a better lab result.

Sometimes it looks like getting through an appointment.

Sometimes it looks like finally asking for help.

Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed.

Sometimes it looks like laughing so hard with your puppy that your body hurts for an entirely different reason.

Sometimes it’s Luna doing her job.

Sometimes it’s Binka making me get up because apparently the baby requires outside immediately.

Sometimes it’s M&M quietly asking:

“Do you need anything?”

And sometimes…

Healing is simply realizing that you’re still here.

Still making things.

Still loving people.

Still being loved.

Still finding reasons to laugh.

Still building a life around the body you have instead of waiting for the body you wish you had.

I’m not always good at remembering that.

But I’m learning.

And I’m trying to give myself permission to learn it slowly.

I don’t have to turn every difficult experience into a triumph.

I don’t have to find the silver lining in every painful memory.

I don’t have to pretend that grief is beautiful or that struggling makes me stronger.

Sometimes, things just hurt.

Sometimes, life is unfair.

Sometimes, you can do everything you know how to do and still have a difficult week.

And sometimes, the best thing you can do is acknowledge that you’re struggling, give yourself a little grace, and keep going in whatever way you’re able.

Not because you’re obligated to be strong.

Not because you owe anybody a happy ending.

But because your life still belongs to you.

And you deserve to experience the good parts of it, too.

Even during a pain flare.

Even while grieving.

Even when your mental health isn’t cooperating.

Even when the writing is slow and the laundry is waiting and your nervous system has apparently filed a formal complaint against your entire existence.

You are allowed to have a life that contains both pain and joy.

You are allowed to be a whole person rather than a collection of symptoms.

And you are allowed to have a bad week without believing that the bad week is the whole story.

So, this week, I’m going to keep trying.

I’m going to make room for Halloween.

I’m going to love my family.

I’m going to take care of my critters.

I’m going to give myself permission to rest when I need it.

And I’m going to remember that Addie Unwritten will still be waiting when I’m ready to return to it.

The stories aren’t going anywhere.

Neither is the love.

And even when grief makes the world feel a little smaller, there’s still room for new memories.

I want to keep making them.

Thank you for sitting with me through the uncomfortable stuff.

Thank you for letting the quiet weeks be quiet.

Thank you for celebrating the good ones.

And thank you for remembering that this is a whole life, not just a medical chart.

Love you.

Now say it back.

– Sky

© The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Chronic illness. Honesty. Survival without the performance.

🐾 Luna: Helping.

🐄 Blitzø: Healing.

💜 Sky: Still here.

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

No pressure to donate. Reading, sharing, and existing alongside me is already enough.

For friends and family who have asked about ways to help with health-related needs, I also keep a Health Wishlist available.

There is never, ever an expectation attached to it.

No guilt.

No obligation.

No pressure.

Sometimes people simply want a tangible way to say, “I’m thinking about you.”

If that’s you, the wishlist is there.

And if it’s not…

Your presence still counts.

Your messages count.

Reading counts.

Sharing counts.

Existing alongside me counts.

If you want to support the long, unglamorous work of survival, mobility, recovery, and building a life anyway:

💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility

Take care of yourself.

I’ll see you next week.

Hopefully with nothing dramatic to report.

Honestly…

Boring health updates are excellent health updates.

🐾🐄🐈💜