The Invisible Battle

Justine Wisdom

Oct 12

15 min read

Updated: 4 days ago

The Invisible Battle I Never Understood, The strength I thought I needed, and the God who is teaching me to slow down.

October 12, 2026

The Girl Who Was Born to Move!

Many of my blogs are about battles.

The battle against sin, the battle with our emotions, the battle within relationships, and ultimately these battles are what shape us into the people God calls us to be.

But perhaps this battle is a little different…

It is a battle I have been fighting for 22 years, although for most of that time, I did not even understand what I was fighting.

To explain how I got here, I have to take you back to the beginning. Back to the little girl who loved to run, who dreamed of becoming an elite athlete, and who genuinely believed that if she worked hard enough, she could accomplish just about anything.

Growing up, I was incredibly athletic. Honestly, I felt like I was designed to be an Olympic athlete. I wanted to be the best, the fastest, and the strongest, and I was definitely dedicated to becoming exactly that!

I remember achieving a four minute and 15 second mile. My dad saw my potential because he was athletic himself. He played football and even pursued becoming a firefighter for a time. I believe a lot of my driven nature comes from him. I grew up mostly with my dad, so in many ways, I had my own personal coach. I am genuinely grateful that he taught me discipline, encouraged me to recognize my strengths, and helped me understand my weaknesses.

I wanted to be the fastest in my class, and I was. I ran every day, participated in races, and absolutely loved it. Running daily, participating in junior cross country and track quickly became more than just sports. They gave me something to work toward, something I could be proud of, and something that felt like mine.

Life had not always been easy, and being an athlete gave me purpose and confidence. It was a place where I felt capable, where hard work seemed to have a predictable outcome. You put in the training, you get stronger. You practice, you improve. You push yourself, and eventually, you see the results.

At least, that is what I believed.

By middle school, I was still that girl who loved to run. I played football with the boys, and capture the flag was my favorite because, as you can probably guess, nobody could catch me. Tag? I was the QUEEN of tag.

People would often tell me, “Wow, you are built for the military. You are so disciplined and headstrong.” My dad would even take me to Army base camps and I would just daydream about being the very best soldier!

Looking back, I can laugh at how determined I was. I had big dreams, endless ambition, and a genuine love for pushing myself physically. I had no idea that the very thing I loved most would eventually become something I would struggle to do.

The Illness

Somewhere along the way, I kissed a boy who probably was not the best person for me to be interested in, and I ended up getting mono, also known as infectious mononucleosis, or commonly called Epstein Barr virus.

Apparently, my teenage dating life came with an unexpected souvenir... I was around fourteen years old when I became incredibly sick.

I remember having a dangerously high fever. My mom put me in the shower and turned on the cold water while I just lay there. I genuinely thought I was going to die. It was frightening. I eventually recovered from the initial illness, but I remember being exhausted and desperately wanting the virus to leave my system so I could get back to normal.

I wanted my life back. I wanted to run, compete, and be the girl I had always been. Little did I know that I would spend the next 22 years trying to understand why I never seemed to get completely back to the person I had been before.

Epstein-Barr virus is actually incredibly common, it has affected 95% of the population. Although most people recover from the initial infection, some infections can precede the development of ME/CFS. Researchers are still working to understand why this happens to some people and not others.

At fourteen, I knew nothing about any of this. I was a teenager who wanted to get back to her life. My parents did not understand what was happening, and neither did I. Life went on, and I was expected to get back to it. Some of my struggles were chalked up to adolescence, and I continued trying to push through.

As I have shared in my testimony, my life growing up was not always easy. My parents did not always know what to say or how to treat me in ways that helped me. I love them, and to this day, I pray for their salvation and healing. I can acknowledge the difficulties of my childhood while still loving them and wanting the best for them.

Meanwhile, the exhaustion continued.

I would think of different careers to pursue and tried to finish high school, all while struggling with fatigue and periods of being incredibly unwell. I remember sleeping for days. My mom would become upset with me for not waking up for school, and I did not know how to explain what was happening.

I could not explain it because I could not understand it myself.

What was happening?

I assumed I was tired. I assumed I was doing too much. And because athletics had taught me that hard work was the answer to almost everything, I believed the solution was probably to become stronger, train harder, or push myself a little further.

So that is what I did.

For years, I treated my exhaustion as something I needed to overcome rather than something I needed to understand.

I had no idea that I might be dealing with something much more complicated than ordinary fatigue.

Left To Suffer

In 2017, I began pursuing competitive cycling.

I trained every day and spent so much time on the road. Cycling became another way to challenge myself, another way to pursue the athletic life I loved.

Then I was hit by a car on my bicycle in a hit and run incident.

That is a story of its own, and one I hope to share someday. For now, I will simply say that my life was turned upside down that day.

I suffered a brain bleed, a subdural hematoma. And by the grace of God, I survived. An absolute miracle. I believe my recovery was a testament to both the resilience of the human body and the endless mercy of God.

My brain bleed stopped, and my hematoma began to heal. I recovered remarkably well from those injuries, and I will never stop being grateful for that.

But even after my physical injuries healed, something still did not feel right. I continued struggling with exhaustion. I was losing jobs, losing friendships, and struggling to reach the goals I had set for myself as an athlete.

I would join teams, attend races, train hard, and push myself every single day. People saw my potential, and I was fast… very fast. I saw my potential, I saw being a professional cyclist. I wanted so badly to get where I knew I could go.

But I kept crashing, kept sleeping, and kept getting sick.

I thought it was burnout. I thought I was doing too much or perhaps not taking care of myself properly. I tried to make sense of it through everything I already knew about discipline, training, and recovery.

I did not realize that what I was experiencing might be something much more complicated than burnout.

It was as though my entire body was shutting down after exertion, and I could not understand why.

I had always believed that if I wanted something badly enough, I could work toward it. I had spent my childhood proving that to myself.

Now, I was working just as hard, sometimes harder, and watching my body respond in a way I could not control.

That was a difficult thing to reconcile.

The Switch

In 2022, I met my husband, and what a gift that was.

I had prayed for this man for 10 years, and the Lord brought us together! He’s the love of my life, my best friend, and the most incredible partner.

My husband noticed how driven I was. He also noticed something that did not seem quite right most of the times. He loves to call me “Switch” because I can go from zero to one hundred when I am on.

I am ALL the way on.

I want to do everything, accomplish everything, and make the most of every ounce of energy I have.

But when I am off, I am ALL the way off.

There is no in between.

Even then, I was sometimes riding up to 200 miles a week. I kept trying to live like the athlete I had always been, even as I began recognizing that something was wrong.

I had incredibly difficult days. I was diagnosed with endometriosis and underwent complete ACL surgery. Throughout these experiences, I continued having crashes that sometimes left me unable to get out of bed for weeks or even months.

Now, I am unemployed because my health has reached a point where I cannot work.

That is not something I ever imagined saying.

I have always wanted to work, achieve goals, participate in life, and be someone others could depend on. I never imagined being in a position where I could not reliably show up, where I had to cancel plans, or where I could not promise that I would have the energy to do something the next day.

You want to be dependable. You want to show up for your friends and family. You want to say yes to adventures without wondering whether you will spend the next week in bed.

You want to be able to make plans without calculating the potential cost to your body. And when you cannot do those things, it affects more than your physical health. It affects your relationships, your confidence, your independence, and the way you see yourself.

For a long time, I kept asking myself what I was doing wrong.

Why could I do something one day and struggle to function the next?

Why did I keep losing the ability to do the things I loved?

Why did the discipline that had served me so well throughout my life seem to make so little difference?

I was searching for answers, but I did not yet have the language to describe what I was experiencing.

Then came a bike ride that changed the way I understood my own body.

What is PEM?!

I took a break from training hard and this was another mistake that I’ve learned with ME/CFS, it’s called deconditioning. I finally took a moment and thought, maybe I am pushing myself too hard? But then I slowly started to go on more and more bike rides again, taking it easy only a few times a week. I went on a 50 mile bike ride with some amazing friends and members of my cycling community.

In the moment, I could enjoy the ride and feel connected to the athletic part of myself that I had fought so hard to hold on to.

But afterwards, I ended up going from the couch to my bed, back to the couch, and back to bed again for seven days.

Seven days!

I could barely get up and function normally.

I remember thinking, this cannot be normal. Am I really that out of shape? How could I complete a 50 mile ride and then be so physically unwell that I could barely take care of myself?

I started researching and pursuing even more medical help. I started asking questions. I began looking into ME/CFS and came across something called post exertional malaise, or PEM.

PEM! THIS IS IT! THIS IS WHAT I EXPERIENCE!!!

For the first time, I encountered an explanation that seemed to describe the pattern I had been living with for years. PEM is a worsening of symptoms after physical, mental, or emotional exertion. It can be delayed by hours or even a day or two, and recovery can take days, weeks, or longer. It is not simply feeling tired after exercise. For people with ME/CFS, exertion can trigger a significant worsening of symptoms that affects their ability to function.

Suddenly, so much of my life began to make sense.

I could go on a bike ride, go for a run, or participate in an amazing adventure and feel wonderful in the moment. I could feel like myself again. I could feel that fire inside me and believe I was finally getting back to normal.

Then, 12 to 24 hours later, I could be completely shut down and bedridden.

My friends would ask, “Hey, let’s go again today!”

And I would have to say no because I was physically incapable of doing anything.

Sometimes I would tell people I thought I was coming down with something because I did not have the words to explain what was happening. How could I explain that I could feel well enough to complete a long bike ride and then spend the following week struggling to function?

I had spent years assuming I was doing something wrong. Now, I was beginning to understand that exertion itself might be triggering a very different response in my body.

I have seen a cardiologist, a neurologist, and an endocrinologist. I have tried to find answers and understand what is happening inside my body. Discovering PEM gave me a way to describe something I had struggled to explain for most of my life.

ME/CFS is a complex, chronic illness that can affect multiple body systems, causing inflammation in the brain and spinal cord. Researchers are continuing to investigate the biological processes involved, including immune function, the nervous system, autonomic regulation, and energy metabolism. There is no single test that confirms ME/CFS, and people can spend years searching for answers.

I am still pursuing proper medical guidance. I do not yet know whether ME/CFS will ultimately explain all of my symptoms, whether my accident played a role, or what recovery might mean for me.

But finding PEM gave me something I had not had before.

A possible explanation.

And when you have spent years wondering why you cannot do what you used to do, why you keep crashing, and why pushing harder does not fix the problem, having a possible explanation can feel like finally being able to breathe.

Called To Live... Slow?

Here is where my faith comes into this story.

I have always been someone who wanted to be the best. I loved being an athlete, pushing my limits, challenging myself, and discovering how far I could go. But somewhere along the way, I became so consumed with pushing myself that I no longer knew how to stop.

Honestly, after all the research I have done, the diets I have tried, the supplements I have looked into, and the herbs I have experimented with, I feel like I could be a naturopath by the end of this!

I have spent countless hours searching for answers, doctors appointments, trying to understand what might help, and learning just how complex the human body really is.

I want to heal. I want to feel better. I want to understand what is happening to me, and I intend to keep seeking appropriate medical advice and support. But through all of this, I have also been praying and trying to keep my heart open to what the Lord might be teaching me.

He created me. He knows my body, my heart, my desires, and my limitations. He knows the little girl who wanted to run faster than everyone else, the teenager who was sick and did not understand why, and the woman who spent years pushing through because she believed she simply needed to try harder.

And He knows me now.

I cannot say with certainty why He has permitted this suffering in my life. I do not believe illness is a punishment, nor do I want to pretend I understand God’s plans.

But I have begun to wonder whether this season is inviting me to learn something I have struggled with for a long time.

What if I am being called to live differently?

What if my life is not meant to be measured by how much I can accomplish, how far I can ride, how fast I can run, or how much I can endure?

What if I have been so focused on becoming the strongest version of myself that I have forgotten to let God show me what strength really looks like?

As Christians, we know that following Christ means taking up our crosses and walking with Him, even when the road is difficult. That does not mean ignoring our health, refusing medical care, or pretending suffering is easy. It means continuing to turn toward Him in the midst of it all.

I can pray for healing while learning patience. I can seek medical answers while surrendering what I cannot control. I can grieve the life I imagined while remaining grateful for the life I have.

And I can trust that my worth has never depended on my athletic achievements.

Perhaps the Lord is teaching me to slow down. Perhaps He is inviting me to find beauty in the ordinary, to live more intentionally, and to recognize that a meaningful life does not have to be a constantly busy or productive one.

For someone like me, that is a difficult lesson.

I am still that driven girl on the inside. I still have dreams. I still want to accomplish things, and I still hope that one day I may be able to return to competitive athletics in some capacity.

I do not want to pretend those desires have disappeared, because they haven’t.

But for now, my focus is changing.

I want to learn how to live the life God has placed before me rather than constantly fighting against the limitations I face. I want to care for the body I have been given, listen to what it needs, and learn to rest without feeling guilty for doing so.

I want to build a slower, more intentional life centered on Christ, even if that life looks very different from the one I once imagined.

A Different Battlefield

Perhaps this is where the meaning of Made for Battle is beginning to change for me.

When I think about this journey, I realize that this battle is different from the ones I have written about before. This is not simply a battle against sin, difficult emotions, or challenging relationships.

It is a battle that has affected my physical body, my independence, my work, my relationships, and the dreams I once held for my future.

It is also a battle that many people cannot see.

Living with symptoms that others may not understand, searching for answers without knowing exactly what is wrong, and trying to make sense of a body that no longer responds as it once did can be exhausting.

There is grief in realizing that things you once took for granted may no longer be possible in the same way. There is frustration in wanting to do more while knowing that pushing harder is not always the answer.

And there is the difficult process of learning to accept help when you have spent most of your life believing you should be able to handle things yourself.

But I am beginning to understand that not every battle is won through greater effort.

Sometimes, the battle is learning to rest without guilt. Sometimes, it is asking for help when you would rather handle everything yourself. Sometimes, it is accepting that today will look different from what you hoped.

And sometimes, it is simply getting through another difficult day and choosing to trust God, even when you cannot understand what He is doing.

Perhaps strength is not always about how much I can push through.

Perhaps it is also about knowing when to surrender, when to be still, and when to allow God to meet me in my weakness.

I am still learning what that looks like.

I do not know exactly what my future will look like. I am still searching for answers, still seeking appropriate medical guidance, and still hopeful that I can move toward better days.

But I am learning that I am more than my illness. I am more than what I can accomplish, more than the things I have lost, and more than the things I can no longer do.

I am still me.

I am still the very driven girl who dreams big, the woman who loves deeply, and the soul who wants to give her life to God.

Because I will not allow this condition to steal my life.

My circumstances may have changed, but my calling to love Him and pursue holiness has not disappeared. I can still grow in holiness. I can still love others, pray, serve in the ways available to me, and become the woman God is calling me to be.

My life still has meaning, even when my days look different from what I expected.

Maybe I will race again one day. Maybe I won’t. Maybe my health will improve in ways I cannot yet foresee.

I am leaving room for those hopes without making them the measure of my happiness or my worth.

For now, I want to begin here: with prayer, patience, the willingness to listen to my body, the determination to keep seeking answers, and the hope that even in this difficult chapter, God can continue to shape my heart.

I may not understand why this is happening, and I do not need to pretend that I have found some beautiful lesson in every painful moment. There are still hard days, unanswered questions, and things I wish were different. Faith does not make those struggles disappear.

But I can keep bringing them to the Lord. I can keep asking Him for healing while trusting Him with the parts of my story I cannot yet understand. And I can remind myself that even when I cannot do everything I once could, I am still called to live faithfully, love deeply, and follow Him one day at a time.

If you or someone you love is experiencing something similar, please know that you are not alone in the struggle to find answers. Living with an invisible illness can be incredibly difficult, especially when you do not yet understand what is happening.

Keep seeking appropriate medical care, keep asking questions, and give yourself permission to acknowledge what you are experiencing. You do not have to minimize your struggles simply because others cannot see them.

I am still learning how to navigate this unfamiliar road. I am still hoping, still praying, and still discovering what it means to surrender my plans without surrendering hope.

I am still learning.

I am still healing.

I am still growing.

I am still becoming who God created me to be.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. God Bless You, Always.