From healthcentral.com
By Meaghan Quirin
Your 30s are supposed to be this big decade. Where you make career moves, settle into adult relationships, maybe build a family or buy a home, whatever version of that typical life arc applies. But when you’re living with a chronic illness like psoriatic arthritis (PsA), it often doesn’t unfold that way. Instead of building momentum, you’re just trying to keep your head above water. Or backtrack and rebuild. Or grieve the version of your life you thought you’d be living by now.
I’ve spent a lot of my 30s figuring out how to manage this disease and all the ripple effects that come with it, physically, emotionally, and logistically. That includes trying medications that don’t work, recovering from flare-ups that knock me down for weeks, advocating for myself in medical spaces, and reimagining what I can handle professionally, socially, and personally. These aren’t things most people see from the outside.
That’s the hard part, PsA is mostly invisible. So when you aren’t hitting those expected milestones or moving through life at the same pace as your peers, people don’t always know why. There’s this silent pressure: Do they think I’m lazy? Unmotivated? Just not trying hard enough? It can feel incredibly isolating. Especially when you’re comparing yourself to others who seem to be charging ahead while you’re sidelined by symptoms you didn’t ask for and can’t always control.
There’s also the added emotional weight of knowing how many decisions get shaped, or delayed, by this illness. People don’t realize family planning might be on hold, not because of lack of desire, but because your disease isn’t stable enough or your medications aren’t pregnancy-safe. Career changes might not be bold leaps, but necessary pivots to survive the demands of full-time work with chronic fatigue and joint pain. Even social stuff becomes complicated like attending weddings, traveling, showing up for friends, sometimes it’s just too much, and you have to constantly navigate your limits.
What I wish more people understood is that living with PsA in your 30s doesn’t mean you have to you stop trying, or that you have to give up on the life you want. It might mean your timeline looks different. Your priorities shift. And so much of your energy goes toward things other people never have to think about, like what combination of meds will allow you to function without making you feel worse, or how to schedule rest before and after basic life events. It’s not just physically exhausting, it’s emotionally exhausting, too. And yet, you keep going. You keep finding ways to adapt, to create space for yourself, to build a life that honours both your goals and your reality. It might not look like what you imagined, and it’s OK to feel however you need to about that.
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