More Than A Prayer Request

Why chronic illness is never a moral or spiritual failure.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I posted a note the other day about how chronic illness has made my world so much smaller. I talked about how my neurological condition has meant I’ve had to spend more time than I’d like to in bed—and how Substack has brought me connection, purpose, and joy during a difficult time in my life.

I also mentioned that I’m hopeful my body will continue to heal and I’ll be able to get back out in the world more.

I got so many lovely, supportive responses, as usual. But there was one that didn’t sit right with me—and it inspired this essay.

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Someone who doesn’t subscribe to me (which makes me suspect they don’t know much of my story) wrote: you will heal, believe it, have faith, confess.

The comment made me pause. It took me back to my church-going days when so many people would ask if they could pray over me for my healing.

Now, I have no problem at all with people praying for my healing—in fact, I think it’s a beautiful, kind thing to do.

And although I honestly don’t know where I stand with the modern Christian faith these days, I still talk to God and pray myself.

But this isn’t an essay about Christianity or my faith. It’s about the well-intentioned words people can say to the chronically ill that ultimately harm more than they heal.

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There are many reasons I wrestle with my beliefs and those of the Christian faith these days and lots of things led to my husband and I leaving the church. That’s an essay for another day.

And let me preface this by saying: the majority of the people at the church we attended years ago were wonderful, kind humans. Good people. That’s why we kept going back.

But over the years, one of the things that became hard for me was that I began to feel more like a prayer request than a person.

And there were people who actually believed that my circumstances were due to a lack of faith or even some kind of unconfessed sin.

These beliefs hurt.

So when I read that comment, insinuating that if I just believed a little more, had more faith, or confessed my sins, I would heal, it took me back there.

It hurt then.

It hurts now.

The biggest problem with these kinds of comments is that they put even more shame on a person who is already carrying enough. Because when you have a chronic illness, no matter how much inner work you’ve done or how much self love you’re able to muster—it’s highly likely that you struggle with some level of shame and guilt.

Shame from a society that treats disability like a personal failing.

Guilt that your needs make you a burden.

The unspoken belief that if you just tried a little harder, you might not be so sick.

Telling people to have more faith adds to that shame. It makes people feel like, maybe if I believed a little more fully, or read my Bible a little more, or never said a swear word or lost my temper in traffic again—maybe then my body wouldn’t hurt so much.

And making people believe that they have some kind of unconfessed sin stopping their body from healing—that just adds to the weight of feeling like this illness is somehow my fault.

Because chances are, that person you know with a chronic illness already wrestles with that ableist belief rattling around in the back of their head. And if that person is you, let me just take a moment to say this loud and clear: it is not your fault.

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Listen, I understand that many people just don’t know what to say to someone enduring deep pain. And I believe most people’s intentions are to help and not harm.

But the words we choose matter, especially when someone is already struggling.

So what can you say to a person going through a tough time with their health?

That must be so hard.

I’m here for you.

Tell me more.

I believe you.

How can I best support you?

Something I’ve learned is that most of the time, people who are in pain are not looking for advice or solutions. They are looking for a loving witness. Someone to sit with them and say, I see your pain. And I’m not looking away.

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Maybe your faith tells you to believe in miracles. If so, I genuinely hope you keep praying for the people you love. There is nothing wrong with hope. There is nothing wrong with believing healing is possible.

But please don’t place the responsibility for that healing on the shoulders of the person who is suffering.

Because if their body doesn’t recover, the last thing they need is to wonder if they somehow failed God, or failed themselves.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can offer another person isn’t an explanation. It isn’t advice. It isn’t certainty.

It’s compassion.

It’s staying present when there are no easy answers.

It’s reminding someone that their worth has never depended on whether they get better.

People living with chronic illness don’t need to earn compassion through perfect faith, perfect positivity, or perfect perseverance. They deserve to be loved exactly where they are.

Sometimes healing comes.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

But everyone deserves to be seen, believed, and loved either way.