Unreliable

There is a particular kind of anxiety that begins before the phone is even picked up.

It lives in the pause. In the rehearsed sentence. In the careful consideration of tone. It sounds simple: “I’m not well enough to come in today.” It feels anything but simple.

Calling in sick should be straightforward. If you are unwell, you stay home. You recover. You return when you are able.

Chronic illness complicates that logic.

Multiple sclerosis does not follow neat timelines. Symptoms fluctuate. Fatigue can be overwhelming without visible evidence. Pain can be present without explanation. Some mornings begin with certainty that functioning normally is not possible.

The body knows it.

The mind argues anyway.

Are you really that unwell?

Could you push through?

Will they believe you?

Will this make you look unreliable?

The fear is rarely about the illness itself. It is about perception.

Invisible illness creates doubt. There is no visible injury. No dramatic symptom to present as proof. Fatigue cannot be photographed. Neurological exhaustion cannot be demonstrated over the phone.

Calling in sick becomes an act of justification.

You calculate how many days you have already taken. You consider how your absence will affect others. You anticipate irritation, disappointment, inconvenience. You weigh your body’s needs against workplace expectations.

This calculation is exhausting before the day has even begun.

For someone with chronic illness, absence can feel dangerous. Workplaces often prize consistency. Reliability is rewarded. Pushing through discomfort is admired. Chronic conditions disrupt that narrative.

The fear of being labelled unreliable lingers.

It is not only about losing income or professional standing. It is about identity. Work becomes tied to worth. Showing up becomes proof of capability. Calling in sick threatens that proof.

Even when illness makes working unsafe, guilt arrives first.

Guilt for letting people down.

Guilt for disrupting schedules.

Guilt for not being strong enough to cope.

This guilt ignores reality.

Working through severe fatigue can worsen symptoms. Pushing past neurological warning signs can trigger longer recovery. For many with MS, overexertion carries consequences that last far beyond a single day.

Rest is not indulgence. It is prevention.

Yet the fear remains.

There have been mornings when I stared at my phone, knowing I could not function safely, and still hesitated. Hesitated because I did not want to appear weak. Hesitated because I did not want to confirm someone else’s assumption about what disability means.

Chronic illness forces you into a position where your honesty can feel like liability.

The voice in my head often echoes the same message: others manage more. Others cope. Others show up. That comparison is rarely accurate. It is shaped by a culture that equates endurance with virtue.

Calling in sick challenges that culture.

It says that the body matters more than perception. It says that health is not negotiable. It says that sustainability is more important than a single day’s productivity.

Learning to make that call without apology takes time.

It requires trust in your own experience. It requires accepting that invisible illness is still illness. It requires understanding that prevention is not weakness.

The fear does not disappear overnight.

It softens when workplaces respond with understanding. It softens when colleagues show compassion. It softens when you begin to see that one day of rest can prevent many days of decline.

Chronic illness teaches a different kind of responsibility.

Responsibility to the body. Responsibility to long-term stability. Responsibility to survival.

Calling in sick, when needed, is not failure.

It is protection.

It is choosing sustainability over performance.

It is recognising that strength is not measured by how much you endure, but by how well you listen.

The phone call may always carry hesitation.

The difference now is that I make it anyway.