We often mistake advice for support, but the human soul craves validation over solutions. From a friend ignoring a "no" in college to a doctor dismissing chronic illness symptoms as a "time limit" issue, the weight of being unheard is a universal burden. By embracing the "Giraffe" identity—complex, unique, and often misunderstood by a medical system looking for "horses"—we can move from the distance of sympathy to the connection of empathy. Ultimately, being "too much" isn't a flaw; it's a reality that deserves to be seen, heard, and accepted.

Are you tired of feeling like the camel whose back is perpetually about to break? As a mental health counselor living with MS, I know the old 'straw' analogy falls short—especially when dealing with the cumulative, delayed effects of chronic illness and stress. My latest post explains why stress is more like a slow, accidental 'drinking spree' than a pile of straw. More importantly, it shows you how to move from being the passive victim of circumstance to the empowered person who chooses their 'last call,' embracing the critical difference between fault and responsibility.

I was the capable, steady leader—The Driver—until chronic illness shattered that identity. The ultimate lesson of MS is that I can't swap my hand for a healthier one. I had to face the No Redeal Reality and learn to modify the game.

I realized I wasn't just fighting for accommodation; I was actually fighting for acceptance—the fundamental acknowledgement that my reality is real. My cardiologist gave me that gift, telling me I wasn't making it up. But when bureaucratic systems like the IRS deny you what is rightfully yours and demand proof, they drain the finite energy you need to manage a migraine that’s lasted three weeks.

My husband's journey and my cat, Charlie, taught me the blueprint: Strategic Success. I am choosing the kindest path by not wasting energy performing capability for a hostile system. Are you wisely redirecting your energy, or letting the system wear you down?

It's shocking for me to think about now. In contrast, today I wasn't sure I would make it through my 9-5 workday. Golden me from back then would tilt my head with one eyebrow up hearing the struggle I was currently having.

'What do you mean, you’re mostly sitting… how bad can it be?'

Yet, by 2 pm today, I had my feet up, hoping to encourage blood to get back to my heart and brain. Walking the last few clients out of my office, I've had to sneakily close my eyes and hold on to the walls as the world goes black. Repeating to myself 'please don’t pass out in front of a client' quietly in my head.

My body may have different plans, but I still want to be the fun, go with the flow, exciting person I can remember. Maybe it is more about balance. Maybe we are not meant to be full black cat or Golden. It’s possible that our job as a person, parent, or for me, as a therapist, is to find and embrace moments of each.