We often speak of autoimmune diseases as if they appear out of nowhere, a random glitch in the system. For me, however, it feels less like a glitch and more like a perfect storm.
My body has always carried the blueprint for this. My father had psoriatic arthritis for many years. My mother lives with rheumatoid arthritis and polymyalgia rheumatica. My grandparents, aunt and cousin have all navigated their own autoimmune battles. The genetics were there; the loaded gun was always on the table. Yet a gun needs a trigger.
For me, the trigger was not a single event, but a relentless accumulation of them.
It began in 2018. It was a year of high-stress activity: having my roof replaced while simultaneously fighting to get a diagnosis for my sick dog, who was eventually diagnosed with Hashimoto’s. I was running on adrenaline, managing crises and ignoring the warning signs my body was sending. It was a time when rest felt impossible, and my body was stuck in what I call survival mode, unable to switch off even when I tried to sleep.
Then came 2019. I suffered a severe health flare that landed me in A&E. I was diagnosed with diverticulitis and ovarian cysts. In the midst of the pain and confusion, I underwent a CT scan with contrast dye. At the time, it was simply a necessary medical procedure. Years later, I have read extensively about how the massive iodine load from contrast dye can act as a catalyst for thyroid autoimmunity in genetically susceptible people. Looking back, I wonder if that scan was the final straw, the moment my already stressed thyroid decided to turn on me.
Shortly after, I was also diagnosed with Hashimoto’s. I am not medicated, but the antibodies remain, a silent testament to that period.
The story did not end there. Life kept throwing curveballs. In 2020, I moved house during the height of the pandemic. Then came the heartbreak of a breakup in 2022, followed by a nightmare battle with a tenant who was destroying the home I’d rented out so I could live with my now ex-partner. For nearly two years, I felt trapped in my own life, unable to evict him, living in a big house alone with an unsupportive ex-partner.
That chronic, unrelenting stress did not just wear me down emotionally; it seemed to keep my immune system in a permanent state of alert. By late 2024, the pattern continued. After starting HRT in 2023, which helped some symptoms but did not stop the progression, I was diagnosed with Sjogren’s at the start of 2025.
So, what is the lesson here? It is not about blaming myself for the roof, the dog or the scan. It is about understanding that our bodies are not separate from our lives. When we carry deep genetic risks, the stress of daily life, especially when it piles up without relief, can tip the scales.
I share this not as a doctor, but as a woman who has lived through the fog. If you are navigating your own autoimmune journey, know that your story matters. Your stress, your history and your unique triggers are part of the puzzle. Healing is not just about medication; it is about making sense of the storm so we can learn to navigate it with a little more grace.
How do you think your own life stressors have impacted your health? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
For more on the invisible challenges of chronic illness, you might like to read my thoughts on living with what people can’t see.