How Do You Explain a Flare to Someone Who’s Never Been in One?

The pain, the panic, and the part no one sees.

A flare doesn’t always show up with a warning. It doesn’t knock. It just takes.

One minute you’re okay. Maybe not thriving—but okay. And then out of nowhere… It’s like your body hits a wall you didn’t see coming. Everything in you slows, stiffens, spins. You feel like you’ve been unplugged—but the wires are still buzzing underneath your skin.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like when your body turns on you mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-hope. It’s even harder when you still look fine.

Here’s what most people don’t see:

You’re not just tired. You’re electric-shock-level wired but too drained to move tired. Your legs aren’t just weak—they're unreliable. Your brain isn't just foggy—it’s like someone pressed mute on your thoughts and handed you the remote, but it’s not working.

And your skin? Even the softest shirt can feel like sandpaper. Sounds you usually ignore are unbearable. Light feels too bright. Smells are too much. Everything is too much.

And at the same time—nothing touches it. Not a distraction. Not TV. Not sleep. Even your favorite comfort show blurs into static. You try to watch something, anything—but you’re not in it. You’re just trying to survive until your body gives you a break.

You know who really knows you?

The people who don’t ask, “What triggered it this time?”— The ones who don’t need you to explain why you're canceling.The ones who know that even answering a text during a flare can feel like trying to lift a brick.

The people who know how to be with you in the fog without needing a map.

I’ve had flares that made me forget how to hold a toothbrush. Flares that made me cancel things I was looking forward to for weeks. Flares that left me in bed, unmoving, with a body screaming for help and no words left to explain it.

The truth is: Even if you explain it perfectly, most people still won’t get it. Not because they don’t care, but because their bodies have never betrayed them like this.

And you can’t understand this kind of pain until it’s lived in you.

So what do you do?

You stop trying to convince people who won’t understand. You start anchoring to the things that help you survive the spiral.

Maybe that’s a playlist. A go-to person who doesn’t ask questions. A sentence you whisper to yourself in the worst moment: “This will pass. I’ve done this before. I’ll do it again.”

You’re not being dramatic. You’re not too much. You’re in a body that’s overwhelmed and overfiring and trying to survive.

And so are you.

If you’re in a flare right now, please know this:

You don’t need to explain it. You don’t need to fix it today. You just need somewhere safe to land.

📌 If you want to talk—or even sit in the silence together—I’m here. I offer free 1:1 calls where you don’t have to perform. Just show up.

Book my FREE call now!

You’re doing more than most people could handle. And I see you. Truly.

💚Samantha