Before developing a chronic illness, I rarely thought about health and fitness at all. I proudly wrote “none” under medical history, took yoga classes for fun, hit the gym sporadically in the summer, and danced in a studio throughout the year. Fitness felt optional because at the time, my health was a given — a luxury I can barely comprehend now.

I contracted COVID in December of 2020 and had my first ischemic stroke at 21 years old only three months later. In a short span of time, I learned that my internal carotid arteries had become critically stenosed (which is to say, very very small), and I had developed a problematic pseudotumor behind my right eye (which was eventually removed in 2024). I had a long road ahead of me, but in the meantime, all the stability I had grown accustomed to was suddenly and irrevocably lost.

I spent several months in and out of hospital beds, leaning on hospital personnel to make sure I could still walk independently. “You know those will make you blow up, right?” a doctor once asked me during my first hospital stay, referencing the corticosteroids I had just been prescribed. She told me I better start exercising as soon as possible to get ahead of the side effects. In retrospect, I think I had bigger fish to fry mere days post-stroke. Still, when I finally returned home, I realized that even small feats of exercise — like climbing the stairs — felt like a struggle. My return to fitness came purely out of necessity (plus a little health anxiety).

Truthfully, I wasn’t confident enough to go to the gym at first. I had a bad case of gymtimidation, and worried about running into people I might know while feeling at my lowest. My body had changed, my energy was nearly non-existent, and I didn’t know what I was doing to begin with. So I started out slow. As soon as I was cleared to do so, I walked laps around my neighborhood, intermittently checking in with my body via a pulse oximeter my mom bought at CVS mid-pandemic.

I liked my walks, but I grew a bit bored (even with my favorite workout playlists). When I finally felt comfortable, I accompanied my mom to the gym, selecting the easiest elliptical I could find, and challenging myself to work up a sweat. I then found one or two machines I didn’t feel too anxious about trying in public, and that became my gym routine. Was it the most effective? Almost certainly not. But it enabled me to stay consistent — a big ask when you’re chronically ill.

Some fitfluencers might’ve looked at my comfort gym sessions and scoffed. But within months, I started gaining strength, getting my body back, and going about my day more easily — all huge wins for me. In the process of getting back into fitness, I also realized that if I wasn’t feeling up to it, I didn’t have to push myself to the point of a flare up. I could listen to my body, and still show up for it, whether that meant skipping a certain exercise, switching to a lower-impact exercise, like yoga, or just taking a rest day. Over time, I also learned to be OK with modifications, giving myself permission to say no, and doing what felt best for my own body on that day. Spoiler: I still got the results I wanted.

“Sorry, can’t make it to the gym today! My body decided to attack itself again.”

As I continued to experiment with fitness, I also discovered what didn’t work for me. That included strict schedules, unforgiving goals, and intense programming. With chronic illness, setbacks happen all the time, which meant I couldn’t always commit to a rigid workout regimen or year-long Pilates membership (as much as I would’ve liked to).

The same logic applied to workout buddies. “Sorry, can’t make it to the gym today! My body decided to attack itself again.” It felt easier to just work out alone. To this day, there are people who don’t understand my routine, or why I’m so resistant to higher-impact exercises I know my body will hate. But all I can say is that this is what’s worked for me, and I genuinely enjoy it.

It’s important to note that there are some chronic illnesses made worse by exercise (ME/CFS for example). The healthcare system also has a bad habit of turning to exercise as a catch-all solution for chronic illness. My fitness journey did help improve the quality of my life, but it did not cure my chronic illness, nor will it. Still, I’m grateful for what it has done.

Becoming chronically ill changed everything — my stability, my career path, my mental health — but my relationship with fitness was one of the things that evolved for the better. I can’t speak for the entire community, but if you’re dealing with a chronic illness, and your fitness routine looks a little bit different these days, I’ve been there too, and I think you’re doing amazing.

Chandler Plante (she/her) is an assistant health and fitness editor for PS. She has over four years of professional journalism experience, previously working as an editorial assistant for People magazine and contributing to Ladygunn, Millie, and Bustle Digital Group.