Today I want to share my thoughts on a book I recently finished: The Invisible Kingdom by Meghan O'Rourke.
It’s a profound exploration of chronic illnesses—especially those that evade clear diagnoses. I feel called to share my reflections because managing chronic conditions is a significant part of my healing journey, and for me, yoga extends far beyond the mat. Yoga is how we live, through our choices, our actions, our direction.

I am deeply grateful that Meghan O'Rourke wrote The Invisible Kingdom: Reimagining Chronic Illness. I happened to read it at a moment when I desperately needed inspiration, healing, and a reminder that I know how to take care of myself.

Three weeks ago, I had minor surgery, but the recovery has been more difficult than expected. The anesthesia, the stress around the surgery, a few missteps in my diet, and some personal emotional pressure have made this healing process longer and more challenging. I'm finally starting to feel better now. I probably should have rested more, but teaching yoga has been a source of comfort and strength for me. Knowing I can hold space for my students, even in small ways, has kept me going. These past few days, though, my body has insisted that I slow down, and I’m listening. I haven’t stopped working entirely, but I’ve pared down other activities, focused on eating clean and nourishing food, taken my supplements, and consciously reduced stress. And it’s working. I’m starting to feel like myself again.

As I read O’Rourke’s words, I recognized a deep search for answers. People with chronic or invisible illnesses often live in that search, yearning to know why their bodies feel the way they do. She, too, was looking for something to name her suffering. But what struck me is that she seemed to rely on the medical system (conventional and alternative) for far too long, waiting for someone else to give her the answer. To diagnose. To cure.

So much of what she described mirrored my own experience. The symptoms, the confusion, the despair. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying and to have no one give you a name for what’s happening. I’ve been there, terrified, frustrated, and hopeless.

But for me, that period of uncertainty lasted about a year. Because after going through an exhausting list of doctors and tests, I made a radical decision: I stopped looking outward and began listening inward. I took full responsibility for my own health. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I quit my job. I enrolled in a school for macrobiotic therapy and cooking. I completely shifted my diet and lifestyle. I removed many foods I loved and choosing myself over and over again. It took immense trust, but that trust saved me. It brought me to a level of health I had never experienced before.

(If you want to read more about my story, click here.)

Our bodies are miraculous ecosystems, not collections of disconnected parts. When something isn't working, there is usually a deeper root, a chain reaction. Symptoms are only the surface. Medication may soothe, but if the root cause isn’t addressed, the imbalance will simply show up somewhere else, in some other form, with or without a name.

Part of my path also involved a deeply personal decision: I chose not to become a mother. My body has always been unpredictable, and I wanted to honor its limitations. While this choice was clear for me, I hold no judgment for O'Rourke or anyone who chooses parenthood despite chronic illness. Being a mother is a beautiful and brave journey—and everyone’s path deserves compassion and respect.

In the final chapter, O’Rourke expresses a kind of bitterness, even cynicism, saying there is no wisdom in being ill. I understand this completely. When my symptoms flare up, I too feel frustrated, and ache for “normalcy.” But over time, illness has been one of my greatest teachers. I didn’t want this journey, but it led me to myself. Not through doctors, but through listening to my body, so deeply that I was finally able to hear the truth it had been trying to tell me all along.

I don’t need my illness to be recognized or validated in order to feel whole. I don’t want pity. I am who I am. I am different. But different from whom? We are all different in one way or another. I simply decided to embrace this difference fully, rather than accept a life of chronic pain as my “normal.” I decided to find myself, and once I did, I embraced that version of me without question, without waiting for permission or a label. I just listened. And trusted.

I know not everyone has the time or resources to dive into healing the way I did. Life is complicated. But I also believe that many people avoid this kind of commitment not because they can’t but because it’s terrifying to take full responsibility. It’s easier to hand that responsibility over to someone else. To blame someone else when things go wrong. But healing doesn’t work that way.

O’Rourke’s book brings to light the very real struggles of invisible illness. But I wish she had gone deeper into the power of self-advocacy. Of trusting your body. Of becoming an active participant in your own healing. Yes, the medical system can be supportive, but true healing often begins with deep listening, radical self-responsibility, and the courage to be different.

Living with chronic illness demands a strong relationship with your body. It means recognizing which movements soothe or flare symptoms, which foods bring relief or cause harm, and which people or situations add stress. My current routine includes gentle yoga, meditation, Yoga Nidra, short walks, and, crucially, rest. I avoid refined sugar, dairy, caffeine, gluten, and other triggers. Some might find that boring. But being sick is far more boring and painful. I choose vibrant health over momentary pleasure again and again, because I want to live fully.

I’m also learning to be gentler with myself, which may be the hardest part of all. Letting myself rest. Allowing others to worry about me. Feeling vulnerable. Asking for help. These are not my strengths. But this, too, is part of the healing: trusting not just my body, but also the people who love me. Trusting life. Trusting humanity.

And so I’ll end with this quote from Mahatma Gandhi that reminds me why I keep going:

“You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.”