How do we begin recognising the new inner landscape when life as we know it changes completely? When the things we once took for granted — movement, breath, energy, ease — suddenly become difficult, or even impossible?
When I was 17, my then-boyfriend (later my husband) was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. MS is a neurological disease that affects the brain and spinal cord, disrupting communication between the body and the central nervous system. After living through the ups and downs of this illness, he died in 1999. I share this not to focus on that chapter of my life, but to offer context: the health challenges I am now facing have been significant — and yet, I know there are others living with greater restrictions, deeper fears and more dramatic changes than my own, and if you are one of those individuals — please know your strength is seen, your experience is honoured and you are not walking alone. Even so, my own health journey has brought its own reckoning.
This article is both a reflection and an exploration — a personal account, yes, but also an invitation. I offer these thoughts not as advice, but simply as one voice among many — a hand reached out in solidarity, for all of us navigating the unknown. There will also be a Part II to this article — in which I will explore some of the emerging treatments and evolving understandings that may help many of us reclaim wellbeing in the face of ongoing illness.
Table of Contents
Recognising the Inner Landscape
Thirty-two months ago, life shifted in a way I could never have anticipated. This article is not focused on the technical details of illness, but on the quiet, internal work that follows when the body falters. It is a story of unlearning and relearning, of recognising old patterns, finding new forms of strength and discovering how to reach outward when inward is no longer enough.
Why have I written this article? Because of the many conversations I have had over the past couple of years — conversations about how we manage ourselves when faced with adversity, transition, change and death. How do we truly listen to our whole system —body, mind, emotions, spirit and make choices rooted in love and wisdom, rather than fear or reaction?
When Health Collapsed
In November 2022, I was admitted to hospital as an emergency. Sirens blazing with me in resuscitation for twelve hours while a medical team fought to stabilise me, before being moved to a high dependency care ward — still with no clear understanding of what was wrong with me. During my stay in hospital, my health continued to be chaotic with my hospital bed tilted at times to 90 degrees in an attempt to reset my failing systems. Despite their best efforts, no clear diagnosis emerged although I was no longer in acute system failure. I was discharged, bewildered, back into a life that no longer moved in straight lines.
In the early months, I resisted the idea that this could be a chronic condition. That phrase felt too heavy, too final, too far from the identity I had lived within. I had always cared for others and been healthy. It was only when hospital letters described me as “admitted with life-threatening collapse” that I began to understand and accept – this was serious.
This was not something I could brush off or simply recover from with effort and willpower. This was asking something different of me.
Wearing the Armour
In those early hospital days and long after, I did what I had always done: I minimised. I smiled through fear, challenge and physical restriction. I reassured my friends and family, saying I would be fine, even when walking more than ten steps sent my heart into a spin and my oxygen levels spiralling dangerously low. Each time at risk of hospital re-admission, only being stabilised by heavy doses of steroids — which, over time, began to lose their effectiveness.
It was not about hiding the truth; it was about surviving. From a Transactional Analysis perspective, I was operating from the ‘Be Strong’ driver — an internal script learned early, telling me that strength and self-sufficiency were the safest way to be in the world. This was not a mask I consciously wore; it was a skin I lived inside without question. The key word here is ‘surviving’.
When I am in survival mode, I am not fully resourced — nor am I self-regulated. My nervous system is elevated, primed. I am vigilant, braced, managing the moment rather than meeting it. From the outside, I may appear calm, even capable. But inside, I am burning through energy reserves at a cost I cannot sustain. This is what the Be Strong driver asks of us: stay functional, stay composed, stay useful. But this is not thriving.
Thriving begins in a different place — not with effort, but with presence. It comes when we allow our system to soften, when we feel safe enough to connect, rest, receive. Thriving means choosing from love, not fear. It is rooted in wholeness, not performance. And we cannot get there through willpower alone.
We get there by recognising when survival mode has outlived its purpose and then gently, patiently, laying the armour down.
Claiming Space and Becoming My Own Advocate
When survival strategies begin to crack, something essential is revealed underneath. For me, it was the realisation that if I did not advocate for myself, no one else could do it for me. We often find it so much easier to advocate fiercely for others — for those we love, for causes we believe in — standing in their corner without hesitation. But turning that same strength inward, standing for our own needs, can feel unfamiliar, even uncomfortable. It was certainly not a place I wanted to spend any time. And believe me, it has been a process — aren’t some phrases just so annoying!
Learning to advocate for myself has not been about shouting, demanding, or hardening. It has been about quietly, consistently stepping into the centre of my own life and saying: “I am here. I matter. My experience deserves to be taken seriously.”
In a society that often rewards productivity over presence, advocating for ourselves — especially when we are vulnerable — is an act of profound self-respect. It asks us to dismantle the stories that say we must earn our place through strength alone. It asks us simply to stand, as we are, and that’s a belief I have been developing and embracing, even though those around me are still used to the version of me who minimises struggle. However, that is no longer my story and if they won’t adapt or hear my voice – time to move on!
Which raises the question: what is your story? You are the originator of that story — so be the author. Take it. Shape it. Make it yours. I remember the moment I realised: this is my life. As time passes, it does not circle back to offer a second chance at that moment. It moves forward. That moment is gone. So today and into the future. I am recrafting my story. How will you recraft yours?
Reflective Check-In: Listening to Your System
In the spirit of integration, here are a few questions I now carry with me, you may wish to do the same. They are offered to support you as you reflect on your own journey: whether of health, change, or simply being human, here are a few gentle questions to consider:
- What are the early scripts or ‘drivers’ that shape how I respond to challenge? (e.g. Be Strong, Try Hard, Please Others, Be Perfect, Hurry Up)
- When something feels difficult, do I tend to minimise, mask, or override my experience?
- What does that cost me over time?
- Am I operating from survival mode — or is my system resourced and regulated enough for thriving?
- How does my body let me know the difference?
- Do I find it easier to advocate for others than for myself?
- What might it look like to stand in my own corner, with compassion and clarity?
- What kind of support do I allow myself to receive?
- Where do I feel safe enough to soften?
- Am I acting as the author of my own story — or waiting for someone else to write it for me?
- What chapter needs my voice now?
- What would it mean to meet myself — as I am — with less judgment and more care?
- What becomes possible then?
When the body speaks, may we listen.
Not with fear, but with fierce kindness.
Not to fix, but to understand.
To honour the signal, not silence the sound.
We are not broken — we are becoming.
Each breath, a step into authorship.
Each choice, a shift from surviving to living.
This story is ours — and it is still unfolding.
Pheona Croom-Johnson
Co-Founder and Academic Director of Sandown Business School. She has been in the OD field for over 35 years, partnering with Coaches, C-Suite and Senior Leaders.
Pheona is a triple credentialed Master Coach (ICF, EMCC, AC), Master NLP Trainer, Team Coach Supervisor (ACTC, ICF) and credentialed Supervisor (ESIA, EMCC), IFS Trained therapist (Level 1) with psychological foundations and training (BPS). She has an MA in Psychological Coaching and an MSc in Psychology of Change Agency.
Get in touch to find out more about coaching, leadership and/or supervision.
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