Redefining 100: Living with an Invisible Illness

By: Mallory Hudson 

I’ve spent my whole life living ten steps into the future. I’m a type-A planner, organized, driven, and always thinking ahead. Growing up, I was often called an “old soul,” and I embraced it. I liked the idea of being wise beyond my years. What I never expected was that one day I’d feel old in my body, too, long before I ever should have.

In September 2024, shortly after finishing my year of service as Miss Kentucky, I started feeling sick while visiting a college with my sister. The illness disappeared almost as quickly as it showed up, but the swollen lymph nodes in my neck never went away. Fast forward to January 2026, and they’re still here, along with swollen tonsils, persistent throat, ear, and neck pain, and a level of fatigue I can’t explain.

After countless visits to healthcare professionals and thousands of dollars in bloodwork, the only thing that’s ever come back positive is EBV, the Epstein-Barr Virus, commonly known as mono. The “treatment”? Rest. And I’ve been resting for sixteen months.

No one can fully explain why my symptoms have lingered this long. Maybe they never will. Some research, including findings from the Cleveland Clinic, suggests COVID-19 may trigger dormant EBV, causing long-hauler mono symptoms. I remember classmates in high school having mono, sitting out of gym class, joking about the “kissing disease,” and moving on. For me, mono has become something else entirely. Something that has quietly stolen what sometimes feels like years of my life.

Some days, pulling on a pair of leggings feels like running a marathon. Midday naps are non-negotiable, even after nine or ten hours of sleep. My 24-year-old body feels decades older than it is. And beyond the physical symptoms, I’ve faced health anxiety for the first time in my life, alongside the grief of feeling like I’m missing the prime of my youth.

I thrive on movement. I have always loved full calendars, busy days, and a little chaos. Instead, I’ve had to completely redefine what giving 100% of myself looks like. That’s been one of the hardest parts, especially when your early twenties are supposed to be about risk-taking, traveling, chasing dreams, and saying yes to everything. Meanwhile, I’ve been navigating an invisible illness that almost no one outside my closest circle even knows about.

There’s something deeply frustrating about secretly operating at what feels like 60% capacity during the very season of life when you’re told to give 150%, all while wondering if you’ll ever make it back to 100%.

I’m learning how to care for myself more holistically: through intentional movement, lymphatic drainage, supplements, and, most importantly, listening to my body in ways I never had to before. I’m still figuring it out. I’m still holding out hope for answers.

As I’ve learned to listen to my body, I’ve also learned how quickly women’s symptoms are dismissed, particularly in medical settings.

In August 2024, after carefully laying out my story to a male ENT, someone widely regarded as one of the best in my region, he asked me, before even examining me, whether I had health anxiety. The question landed like a verdict. Not because anxiety hasn’t been part of this journey, but because it felt like a conclusion reached before my body was ever given the benefit of being believed.

This isn’t a one-off experience. The United States has long treated women’s health as something to react to rather than protect, minimizing symptoms until they become undeniable, or dangerous. Elizabeth Comen, M.D., author of All in Her Head, puts it plainly: “There’s a long-standing idea that because we endure childbirth, we’re meant to endure pain.” That expectation, to tolerate, to push through, to stay quiet, has been passed down for generations and continues to shape how women are treated in medical spaces today.

According to Psychology Today, “A recent survey of 900 women aged 25-34 found that 93% reported feeling dismissed when seeking medical help. The survey also found that over 40% visited multiple providers to receive a diagnosis, and almost the same percentage were prescribed medications without a full investigation into their symptoms. Many respondents were told that their symptoms were “just due to stress” or that they were too young for severe conditions.” 

Some days, I can’t help but wonder if the lack of answers about my health has less to do with medicine and more to do with bias. I’m a young woman, healthy on paper, with no major medical history. If my symptoms were louder, my body looked different, or my voice came from someone else, would I still be waiting?

Advocating for yourself is exhausting, but it’s necessary. If something feels wrong, keep pushing. Keep asking. You deserve more than dismissal. You deserve to be taken seriously.

Living with an invisible illness has forced me to slow down, but it hasn’t taken my voice. I’m learning, sometimes painfully, that redefining 100% doesn’t mean giving less. It means giving what you can, with intention, compassion, and courage.