City Living With Chronic Illness, Part 2

Read part 1 here (where I go over how city life affects me, and how it's affected others). In this part, I'll go over what people go through when they have to live in a city — or when they choose to leave a city to benefit their health and wellness.

What inspired this series? Well, after talking to various people who live with chronic illness and ankylosing spondylitis, I found that the conversation around place is one that actually comes up a lot, and which deserves a lot of nuance and sensitivity. Place is merged tightly with our identities, experiences, traumas, and needs — and cities have a way of pushing us to confront these realities.

Some people with axial spondyloarthritis stay in their cities

They stay despite hardship — because they have no other options. Or they stay for their access to specialty healthcare and community resources. Some people stay simply because they are frightened of giving up, so they put up with the limitations and the burdens, constantly living in a state of making do.

But then again, some people with chronic illness leave city life

And then there’s the issue of the expensive lifestyle that the city sometimes requires. It can be very difficult to pay medical bills when you are sick, which sometimes forces people out of the city that they love simply because they can no longer afford it.

By the way, it isn’t fair to say that people living with a disability or a chronic illness should all just move out of the city because it’s inaccessible; we should be able to advocate for and enjoy accessibility in the places that help us thrive, and that feels like home to us. We shouldn’t be driven out because we aren’t "good enough" to be there. This is why talking about ableism matters so much.

And yet — we shouldn't blame people for leaving a city

We can reframe our experiences and adjust our lifestyles, but sometimes it just doesn't work. It doesn't mean you "can't hack it" or that they're quitters. It means the city doesn't or cannot offer enough to you at that time.

I have had to accept a harsh reality: I no longer have the energy nor the capacity to do everything I once did in my city (NYC) — and this affects the way I feel about being here. I mourn the old me, who is out there right now, running around, saying yes to everything.

I've had to reframe my city, find magic in different kinds of moments, and create an intentional life that doesn't require all of my energy. I've had to start planning trips to museums and beaches and cool city spaces around my energy level, and this requires work and dedication — because I don't want to miss out on why I came here.

Thinking about this stuff doesn't mean you don't love your city; it means you're trying to understand it and what works for you.

I've also had to start working from home (an incredible privilege I am aware of) while being mindful not to become too lonely in my house. In the end, I can see myself leaving for a smaller, more manageable city in the future — but I'm not sure where life will take me just yet.

How do you fare living in a city with a chronic illness? I would love to know.