Waiting for medical answers can feel harder than the diagnosis itself. In this solo episode, April talks about the emotional toll of living in the in-between — the fear, grief, and exhaustion that come with waiting for test results, scans, and clarity while managing chronic illness. This episode offers validation, gentle grounding, and honest faith for anyone stuck in the middle.

What You’ll Learn

• Why waiting is so hard on the body and nervous system

• The common lies that get louder when answers are delayed

• How to care for yourself without pretending everything is fine

• What faith can look like without certainty or resolution

Memorable Quotes

• “Waiting isn’t passive. It costs energy.”

• “The middle matters, even when nothing is settled.”

• “You’re not failing because this feels heavy.”

Reflection / Journal Prompt

What part of the waiting is hardest for me right now — the uncertainty, the loss of control, or the fear of what comes next?

One Tiny Step

Choose one thing you won’t do during this waiting season — over-explaining, over-Googling, or over-bracing — and give yourself permission to stop.

Resources

Listen to the full episode

The Invisible Illness Club

Credits

Hosted by April Aramanda

Music via Audio Jungle

Transcription

Today’s episode isn’t about answers.

It’s about the space before answers.

The waiting.

The tests, the labs, the scans, the “we’ll know soon.”

The part where something feels off, but nothing is settled yet.

This is the stretch no one prepares you for.

Where your life keeps moving, your body keeps reacting, and your nervous system never fully stands down.

Waiting isn’t quiet.

It’s loud in a low-level way.

It hums under everything.

If you’re living in that middle right now — not diagnosed, not resolved, not okay enough to relax — you’re not imagining how hard this is.

Let’s talk honestly about life, faith, and chronic illness.

I’m in a waiting season right now.

Between appointments. Between tests. Between answers.

And what keeps surprising me is how much energy waiting takes.

Nothing has technically happened yet.

And still, my body is tired.

That’s the part people miss.

Waiting keeps your nervous system on alert.

Not full panic. Not calm either.

Just… braced.

Your body keeps asking, Are we safe yet?

And there’s no clear answer.

So you stay half-tense all the time.

Sleep doesn’t fully land.

Rest doesn’t feel restorative.

Your thoughts don’t shut off when the room gets quiet.

Waiting is not passive.

It costs energy.

Here’s another thing waiting does.

It makes lies louder.

Not dramatic lies.

Reasonable ones. Sneaky ones.

“If it was serious, someone would have called by now.”

“I’m probably overreacting.”

“Other people have it worse.”

“I should be handling this better.”

Those thoughts don’t usually shout.

They sound responsible. Mature. Logical.

And they wear you down.

Because instead of letting yourself feel what’s real, you start managing your reaction to it.

You minimize. You explain. You tell yourself to calm down.

All while your body keeps saying, Something isn’t settled.

No fixing here.

No reframing.

Just naming what shows up in the in-between.

So what actually helps while you wait — without pretending you’re fine?

For me, grounding has to be physical.

When my thoughts spiral, logic doesn’t help much.

Touch does.

Feet on the floor.

A hand on my chest.

Naming where I am in the room.

Simple. Boring. Effective.

I’ve also had to hold one clear boundary during waiting seasons:

I don’t owe everyone an update.

Explaining everything — symptoms, timelines, possibilities — drains me faster than silence.

So I choose a few safe people.

The rest get less detail.

And I’ve stopped over-Googling.

Not forever.

Just in seasons like this.

Because every search tightens my body instead of helping it settle.

Faith in the middle looks different than faith at the ending.

It doesn’t feel peaceful.

It doesn’t come with clarity.

Right now, faith looks like showing up without resolution.

Trust without certainty.

Prayer that sounds more like, I’m here, and this is hard.

I’m learning that faith doesn’t require calm to be real.

It requires honesty.

God doesn’t need me to tidy up my fear before bringing it.

If you’re waiting right now, hear this clearly.

Waiting doesn’t mean you’re failing.

You’re not weak because this feels heavy.

And this middle matters, even when nothing is settled yet.

You’re not behind.

You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re living in an unresolved space — and that is legitimately hard.

You’re not alone here.

One tiny step, if you want one.

Choose one thing you won’t do during this waiting season.

Over-Googling.

Over-explaining.

Over-bracing for the worst.

Just one.

Let your body save that energy.

I’m glad you’re here.