What thirty years of living with Multiple Sclerosis has taught me about stress, emotional wellbeing, boundaries and learning to listen to my body.
Thirty years on, a conversation with my GP.
Last week, I found myself sitting in my GP’s surgery, working through approximately 25 pages of medical questions.
Why?
Because ever since my diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis (MS), the DVLA has only issued me a five-year driving licence. Even now, thirty years later! At the end of our appointment, after reviewing my medical history, my GP turned to me and said:
“This is a clear picture of well managed Multiple Sclerosis.”
And that was the assessment he recorded on my DVLA paperwork. Those words meant a great deal to me.
Thirty years ago, my circumstances looked very different. I had a young child, a manufacturing business to manage and all the pressures that came with juggling family life and running a business. Then came an MS diagnosis, accompanied by the prediction that I could be using a wheelchair within six months. It was a life-changing moment. I began looking for answers, researching nutrition, exploring lifestyle approaches and trying to understand the many factors that influence our health.
That journey eventually led me towards nutritional therapy and naturopathic practice. And one of the biggest things I’ve learned along the way is this:
We cannot look at physical health without considering the nervous system and the emotional environment in which we live.
The nervous system is involved in almost everything we do
When we talk about the nervous system, we often think about the brain, spinal cord and nerves. But the nervous system is involved in far more than movement, sensation and thought.
The autonomic nervous system helps regulate many of the processes happening continuously without our conscious attention.
Heart rate.
Breathing.
Digestion.
Blood pressure.
Our physiological responses to stress.
It helps us respond to changing circumstances and adjust what is happening inside our bodies. When we encounter a challenge, our sympathetic nervous system helps mobilise us for action. When the immediate demand passes, parasympathetic processes contribute to recovery, digestion and restoration.
Both are essential.
A healthy nervous system isn’t one that remains calm all the time. It’s one that can respond appropriately and recover.
This is what I mean when I talk about nervous-system regulation. Not suppressing every stress response, but supporting the body’s capacity to move between activity and recovery. And that can be influenced by our sleep, nutrition, physical health, relationships, surroundings and emotional experiences.
What happens when stress becomes a way of life?
Stress isn’t inherently harmful. We need the ability to respond to challenges. The difficulty comes when the demands keep arriving, but the opportunities for recovery don’t. Many of us live with pressures that become so familiar we barely notice them.
Deadlines.
Financial responsibilities.
Caring for others.
Managing businesses.
Trying to keep everybody happy.
Constantly thinking about what needs doing next.
We may become very good at functioning under pressure without recognising how much it’s costing us. Chronic stress can influence sleep, mood, digestion, cardiovascular function and aspects of immune signalling. Our nervous, endocrine and immune systems are not operating in isolation. They communicate continually.
This relationship is explored through a field called psychoneuroimmunology — the study of interactions between psychological processes, the nervous system and immune function. And it raises an interesting question.
What happens when the stress isn’t simply coming from our workload or external circumstances? What if some of it comes from the way we’ve learned to relate to other people?
When being nice becomes a burden
I’ve been reading the work of Dr Gabor Maté, particularly his ideas about emotional suppression, chronic stress and physical illness. In his book When the Body Says No, and in his article The Healing Force Within, Maté describes patterns he observed during his clinical career.
- People who found it almost impossible to say no.
- People who suppressed anger or disappointment.
- People who felt responsible for everybody else’s needs.
- People who struggled to recognise or express their own.
What interests me is how easily these patterns can be mistaken for positive qualities.
- Being helpful.
- Being dependable.
- Being accommodating.
- Being the person everybody can rely on.
There’s nothing wrong with kindness or caring for others.
But what happens when caring for others consistently means abandoning our own needs?
- When we say yes while feeling exhausted?
- When we agree to something because we cannot bear to disappoint somebody?
- When we swallow our anger rather than risk conflict?
- When we feel guilty for resting?
Maté proposes that habitual emotional suppression may contribute to chronic physiological stress and, potentially, vulnerability to illness. His clinical observations are thought-provoking, although they do not establish that people-pleasing or suppressed anger causes autoimmune disease. Nevertheless, the broader relationship between chronic stress, emotional wellbeing and physical health deserves attention.
Why are autoimmune diseases more common in women?
This is another fascinating area. Approximately four out of five people diagnosed with autoimmune disease are female, although the proportions vary considerably between individual conditions.
Why?
Researchers are investigating several possible explanations. Sex hormones influence immune activity. Genes associated with the X chromosome may contribute to differences in immune regulation. Environmental exposures, infections and other biological factors also play a role. There may be social and psychological influences worth investigating too.
Maté encourages us to consider whether expectations around caregiving, emotional restraint and prioritising others’ needs create particular burdens for women. It’s an interesting question, especially when we consider how many women spend years managing families, careers and caring responsibilities while placing themselves last. But it is important to distinguish this hypothesis from established explanations.
We cannot conclude that women develop autoimmune conditions because they are too accommodating or because they suppress their emotions.
Autoimmune diseases are complex, and nobody should be made to feel responsible for developing one. What we can do is recognise that emotional wellbeing deserves attention alongside the biological aspects of health.
What my own journey has taught me
Looking back over the last thirty years, I can see how much my understanding of health has changed. Nutrition remains enormously important to me. What we eat provides the energy and nutrients our bodies need to function. But I’ve also become increasingly interested in what happens around the food.
- How well are we sleeping?
- Are we moving in ways that suit our bodies?
- Do we spend time outdoors?
- Are we constantly rushing?
- Do we have supportive relationships?
- Are we able to recognise when we’ve reached our limits?
And perhaps most importantly:
Do we give ourselves permission to listen to what we need?
For me, nervous-system regulation has become a central part of how I think about supporting my health. That doesn’t mean I attribute the course of my MS to one particular intervention, or that the same approach would produce the same outcome for somebody else. MS is a complex neurological and immune-mediated condition, and medical care remains essential. But my experience has shaped the way I approach wellbeing. I want to understand the whole person, not simply an isolated symptom or nutrient.
Sometimes my best support has four legs
One of the ways I nourish my own nervous system is through my animals. My horses and dogs are an important part of my life. There’s something wonderfully grounding about being around them. Animals bring you into the present. They respond to what’s happening now and don’t care about your unanswered emails, tomorrow’s appointments or the list of things you haven’t finished. Spending time with them gives me an opportunity to step away from the constant mental activity of everyday life. Being outdoors brings movement, fresh air, changing surroundings and contact with nature. And there’s the companionship itself. The familiar presence of an animal. The routine of caring for them and the simple pleasure of being together. For me, those experiences are deeply nourishing.
Photography offers something similar. When I’m behind a camera, my attention shifts towards light, movement, colour and the details of the world around me. Both activities help me become present without having to force myself to relax.
And I think that’s important.
Nervous-system support doesn’t always have to look like a formal wellness practice.
Sometimes it’s already there in the things we love.
Learning to say no can be an act of self-care
Returning to Gabor Maté’s ideas, one of the most useful questions for me is this: What would happen if we became as attentive to our own needs as we are to everybody else’s? That doesn’t mean becoming selfish, it means recognising that we have limits and that rest is sometimes necessary. That disappointment is part of human relationships. That we can care about somebody without being responsible for everything they feel. And that saying no doesn’t make us unkind.
Sometimes a boundary might look like declining another commitment. Sometimes it’s asking for help. Sometimes it’s expressing something we’ve been holding back. Sometimes it’s admitting we’re exhausted. And sometimes it’s simply giving ourselves permission to do something enjoyable without feeling that we should be doing something more productive. These things won’t eliminate every source of stress. But they may help us create more sustainable ways of living.
Nervous-system regulation isn’t another thing to get right
There’s a danger that nervous-system regulation becomes yet another item on an already overwhelming wellness checklist.
- Breathe correctly.
- Meditate every morning.
- Do the perfect amount of exercise.
- Follow a strict routine.
- Never become stressed.
But that’s not what I’m talking about.
We are supposed to experience stress, excitement, frustration, sadness, joy and challenge.
Our nervous systems are designed to respond to life. What matters is having the resources, support and opportunities to recover. For one person, that might involve improving sleep, for another, it could mean regular movement or nutritional support. For somebody else, it might mean counselling, addressing an overwhelming workload or learning to establish boundaries. And for me, sometimes it means spending time with my animals or picking up my camera. There’s no single formula.
Listening to the body
When I think back to that appointment with my GP, I feel an enormous sense of gratitude for the journey I’ve travelled. Thirty years ago, I was facing a frightening and uncertain future. Last week, I was sitting in a consulting room hearing my MS described as well managed. That doesn’t mean I have all the answers. Far from it, I’m still learning. But one thing has become increasingly clear to me.
Health is not simply about what we put into our bodies. It’s also about the lives we’re asking those bodies to live.
- Our nutrition.
- Our nervous system.
- Our relationships.
- Our emotional experiences.
- Our environment.
- Our ability to rest, recover, connect and experience pleasure.
They all deserve a place in the conversation. And perhaps one of the most valuable questions we can ask ourselves is not simply:
What else should I be doing to improve my health?
But:
What is my body telling me it needs — and am I allowing myself to listen?
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