Life with Crohn’s: A Visible Person with an Invisible Disability

by Rifa Tusnia Mona (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Image of a vast, white sky and ground covered in small brown pebbles. A person with a backpack stands far away, staring off in the distance.

It’s already been a month since I moved to Lisbon. As an Asian girl setting foot in Europe for the first time, almost everything feels new — the culture, the streets, even the rhythm of everyday life. My university is about an hour away from my dormitory, and each morning I take the Carris — the public bus. It’s often crowded, especially during rush hour. On days when I’m carrying groceries, standing becomes a real struggle.

At the front of the Carris, there are four seats reserved for the elderly, pregnant women, parents with children, and people with disabilities. Every time I see those signs, I ask myself quietly: 

Where do I fit in?

Am I “normal”?

Am I someone with a disability?

For a blind person or someone in a wheelchair, the condition is visible — their challenges are seen and, therefore, more understood. But for someone like me, living with Crohn’s disease, the weakness is invisible. Even carrying my laptop sometimes feels like lifting a boulder. On bad days, groceries are out of the question.

A few times, I’ve taken one of those reserved seats just to rest for a moment — and on more than one occasion, an older passenger scolded me in Portuguese. I didn’t have the words, or the energy, to explain.

To make things easier, I sometimes order my groceries online. But when the delivery person arrives and I ask them to carry the bags up the stairs, I often get that same puzzled, slightly judgmental look — as if I’m just being lazy.

The truth is, many people still don’t know what Crohn’s disease is. And when you’re in a new country with a language barrier, explaining your condition to every stranger sometimes isn’t possible.

One day, I was sharing this with a senior from my university. She listened and then said something that stuck with me:

“From the outside, you just look a bit tired and thin. A lot of people are like that. How would anyone know what you’re going through?”

And she was right. There’s no visible “signature” for people with invisible illnesses like IBD. No sign that quietly says, I’m struggling, even if you can’t see it.

That “signature” matters — not just for access to certain rights or support, but also for empathy. When people can recognize what you’re dealing with, even without words, life becomes just a little more humane.

I’ve been thinking: instead of only pushing for general awareness, maybe it’s time for a more practical step — some kind of universal identifier for invisible disabilities. It could be a color band, a card, a small badge — something that lets others know that, while we may look fine, we’re fighting battles they can’t see.

Because when life is already heavy with these hidden challenges, constantly having to explain yourself shouldn’t be another weight to carry.

Thank you for reading. See you next month.

Featured photo by Kyle Miller from Pexels.

Mental Health & IBD Series

by the 2025 CCYAN Fellows

A graphic of the earth, with black text reading “IBD and Mental Health: Global Perspectives.”

This month, some of our fellows worked together to share perspectives on mental health and IBD. Check out their articles and videos on this topic below!

Insights from Beamlak (Ethiopia), Aiswarya (India), and Lexi (U.S.A.)

Living with inflammatory bowel disease (IBD) is never just about physical symptoms. It impacts mental health, education, relationships, and self-worth. For many patients, the emotional toll can be as heavy as the physical pain. We came together to explore the connection between IBD and mental health, and each of us shares a different perspective, facts, lived experiences, and personal reflections. Together, they form one message: mental health in IBD care is not optional, it is essential. We wanted to show that IBD is both a physical and mental health journey. Data highlights the need for better systems of care, and personal stories remind us of the resilience and strength it takes to keep moving forward. Together, we call for greater awareness, compassion, and support for every person living with IBD. 

Read their perspectives:

• Facts we Can’t Ignore - Lexi

• Diagnosis is a Light, not a Lampshade - Aiswarya

• “Let it” - My Rule for Living with IBD - Beamlak

  
  
  

Insights from Akhil (India) & Alexis (U.S.A.)

Akhil & Alexis (alongside 2022 CCYAN Fellow Maalvika & CCYAN’s Program Manager Rosa) presented about the intersections of Chronic Illness, Mental Health, and Cultural Considerations at the 2025 Bridging Voices, Building Futures: Youth Innovation in Mental Health Conference (hosted by Generation Mental Health). View the presentation below:

“Silent No More: We are the Story and the Solution”

Check out more of our 2025 fellow’s articles and videos on other mental health topics:

What it’s Like Working Through Phobias - Kaitlyn Niznik

Through (on Stigma, Shame, and Talking about IBD) - Michelle Garber

God of Small Things: A Crohn’s View (on Stigma and Connection) - Rifa Tusnia Mona

IBD & Grief by Akhil Shridhar

Internalized Stigma in IBD, Mental Health, and Quality of Life by Aiswarya Asokan

Mental Health & IBD (An Infographic) by Lexi Hanson

Some Do’s and Don’ts of Travelling Internationally with IBD

by Rifa Tusnia Mona (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Last month, I took my very first cross-border trip—from Dhaka, Bangladesh, to Delhi, India. It wasn’t just my first international journey; it was also my first time traveling by air. That alone is exciting enough, but there was something more that made it meaningful: it was my first adventure after being diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD).

Traveling is always a mix of excitement and unpredictability. Add a chronic illness to the equation, and every small detail becomes a bit more complicated—navigating airports, managing fatigue, handling meals, and dealing with unexpected flares. But from this experience, I learned some lessons I believe could help others who are walking the same path. So, here are a few do’s and don’ts for fellow warriors out there traveling with IBD:

✔️ Do: Plan Your Journey Thoroughly
When you live with IBD, planning isn’t optional—it’s survival. While no amount of planning can prevent every hiccup (hello, Murphy’s Law), it certainly softens the ride. For instance, simple things like knowing where to buy a local SIM card, or how to book an airport cab ahead of time can make a huge difference in having a smooth start!

✔️ Do: Ask for Help When Needed
This is something I struggle with, especially as an introvert. At the airport on my return flight, I was utterly exhausted and going through a flare-up. A kind airport staff member offered to assist me, but I declined—probably out of habit or hesitation. I regretted that later. When you’re in an unfamiliar place, everyone is technically a stranger anyway. So if help is offered, take it. Even small support—like directions to the washroom or help carrying your bag—can be a huge relief when your energy is limited.

❌ Don’t: Follow Others’ Travel Routines Blindly
Everyone’s body is different. What works for your friend might not work for you—and that’s okay. Several people recommended I take the Delhi Metro to get around. It sounded smart, economical, and even a little adventurous. But for someone already fatigued, changing between the Yellow and Pink lines during rush hour turned into a nightmare. That day ended in a flare-up. Lesson learned: listen to your body first. Your energy is precious—don’t waste it trying to keep up with someone else’s idea of efficiency.

These are just a few of the moments from my first international trip with IBD. Traveling with a chronic illness can be isolating. Often, it’s hard to explain your condition or expect some stranger to truly understand it. But the truth is: you understand it. And that’s enough.

Acceptance and self-awareness are your greatest tools. Don’t let IBD define your boundaries. Opportunities are still out there, and you deserve to chase them. If you make room for compassion—for yourself first—you’ll find that you’ve already conquered half the challenges.

Don't forget to enjoy my short video of the journey (linked below!). Again, I thank you for reading this far. See you next month!

Flare-up: A Downward Spiral

by Akhil Shridhar (Bengaluru, India)

A black and white image of a spiral staircase (view from above).

It all begins with a flare-up. For most of us, the diagnosis comes only after enduring symptoms for days or months, dismissed as a stomach bug. But when the discomfort escalates into a significant disruption, we hear the term “flare-up” for the first time. The symptoms build like a chain reaction, growing worse until urgent medications—usually steroids or antibiotics—are prescribed for relief.

Difficulty with Food

Almost every food item can trigger nausea or an urgent trip to the restroom, making nutrition a frustrating challenge. While some believe short-term food restrictions might ease inflammation, prolonged deprivation causes more harm. In countries like India, navigating diverse dietary recommendations complicates matters. As newly diagnosed individuals we often seek advice in support groups, hoping for recipes or meal plans that won’t worsen symptoms. But in most households, skipping meals isn’t acceptable. Our parents insist on “good food,” unaware that their concern often fuels the next domino.

The Washroom Runs

Initially, the frequent restroom trips are an inconvenience—but soon, they dictate life. The unpredictability makes outings stressful, and hesitation around food becomes constant. Exhaustion follows, leaving us dehydrated, fatigued, and mentally drained. The cycle feeds itself: eating triggers symptoms, symptoms disrupt daily activities, and fatigue makes even basic tasks overwhelming.

The Mental Toll

Beyond the physical struggle, IBD takes an emotional toll. The anxiety of unpredictability, the frustration of adapting to a condition that doesn’t follow rules, and the isolation of feeling misunderstood weigh heavily. Conversations become filtered—friends may not fully grasp the challenges, and outings are haunted by the fear of urgently needing a restroom. 

Sleep Struggles

IBD doesn’t stop at meals—it disrupts rest too. Pain, restroom trips, and anxiety make sleep elusive, worsening inflammation and fatigue. Poor rest perpetuates the cycle, making daily recovery harder. Many of us try strict bedtime routines, meal adjustments, or sleep aids to reclaim rest. While perfect sleep remains rare, small efforts help ensure the limited hours of sleep offer some recovery.

Finding Balance

What I have realised after a few misadventures is that the best way to get out of this spiral is to consult your medical team and get the required medications right away. The damage that prolonged inflammation has is quite severe and takes months if not years to reverse, sometimes is unfortunately irreversible, therefore it is not worth the risk of ignoring it.

IBD is unpredictable and exhausting, but it doesn’t define life. Over time, we find dietary adjustments, support systems, and coping mechanisms to regain control. Gradually, these adjustments help restore control—accepting the hard days, seeking support, and celebrating small victories. While flare-ups will always come and go, so does recovery. Life continues, not perfectly, but uniquely. And within that cycle, resilience proves stronger than the condition itself.

Image from meister_photos on Unsplash.

God of Small Things, Arundhati & THE LOVE EQUATION - A Crohn’s View

by Rifa Tusnia Mona (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

A single yellow flower with dark green leaves rests against a light background.

Stigmas Have Power! You might wonder why I say this as an IBD advocate. After all, stigmas are often baseless and untrue. But when they come at you from all directions—constantly, persistently—they start to wear you down. That’s when the real distraction, aka destruction, begins.

Imagine this:

One morning, you wake up feeling like something is coiling and twisting inside your stomach. You can’t eat. Or if you do, your body refuses to digest. Nausea takes over. You vomit again and again. The cramps hit without warning, stabbing, vanishing, then returning like waves from a storm. You feel trapped in a body that’s turning against you.

At first, people think it’s temporary—just a bug, maybe food poisoning. But then, something changes. The concern fades, and in its place, they start labeling you.

One morning, your mother decides to take you to church. If you’re Muslim, maybe it’s a hujur or a Sufi healer. Neighbors drop by. They don’t bring comfort; they bring unsolicited advice. "Have you tried this doctor?" "You should pray more."

Later, one morning, you find yourself lying in a hospital bed. A nurse enters and says, “Ask God for forgiveness.”

It hits differently. You’re not just battling a disease anymore—you’re battling judgment.

That’s the thing about stigmas: they’re powerful because they echo from everywhere. Different mouths, same message. And it always seems to come when you’re at your weakest.

But the hardest part?

When it comes from the people you love—your friends, your family—the ones who’ve always stood by you. That’s when the real confusion begins. You think, They care about me. They’ve never meant me harm. So maybe… maybe they’re right?

And just like that, you start to question yourself—not your illness, but your worth.

It took me a long time to realize that human minds are incredibly complex. I used to carry the weight of every cruel word, every dismissive act, thinking I must’ve done something to deserve it. But over time, I began to understand: most of the time, it’s not about me.

People don’t always act from a place of clarity or kindness. Sometimes, they hurt others to soothe an old scar within themselves. Sometimes, they mirror the pain they once suffered. And sometimes, they hurt simply because they don’t know how not to.

That’s when it hit me—pain is transferable.

It doesn’t just live in one person; it moves, it multiplies, it morphs into behaviors, into beliefs, into judgment. And many of those who hurt us are, in fact, carrying unresolved pain of their own. 

“The God of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy feels like a masterpiece to me—layered, lyrical, and hauntingly beautiful. But if I had to pick one part that truly stayed with me, it would be the part about what Roy calls ‘The Love Laws’—or, as I like to think of it, the unspoken equation of love.

“That it really began in the days when the Love Laws were made. The Laws that lay down who should be loved, and how, And how much.”

-Page 33, Chapter 1, Paradise Pickles and Preserves, The God of Small Things

According to this idea, the amount of love we receive can sometimes feel predetermined—set by invisible rules we never agreed to. From Arundhati Roy’s words, I understood that love is often measured through two things: care and concern. These are the true units that define the depth of a relationship.

For love to feel genuine and meaningful, both must be present—together. When only one shows up, or when they're offered inconsistently, the relationship starts to feel imbalanced. It turns into something less whole, something we try to justify as "complicated" or label as, “Please, try to understand.” But deep down, we know—it’s a compromised connection.

“After Ammu died (after the last time she came back to Ayemenem, swollen with cortisone and a rattle in her chest that sounded like a faraway man shouting), Rahel drifted. From school to school. She spent her holidays in Ayemenem, largely ignored by Chacko and Mammachi (grown soft with sorrow, slumped in their bereavement like a pair of drunks in a toddy bar) and largely ignoring Baby Kochamma. In matters related to the raising of Rahel, Chacko and Mammachi tried, but couldn’t. They provided the care (food, clothes, fees), but withdrew the concern.”

-Page 15, Chapter 1, Paradise Pickles and Preserves, The God of Small Things.

There was a time when I was hospitalized for over a month. My father had a full-time job, and my mother had to juggle between caring for me and my younger sister. With both of them stretched thin, I reached out to every friend and relative I knew, hoping someone could step in as a caregiver. But no one came forward.

I was already battling an undiagnosed illness, and on top of that, navigating hospital departments alone, collecting test results while being so physically unwell—it felt like walking through fire. In that moment, a thought struck me hard: “After living over two decades, have I still not understood the love equation?”

Living with a chronic condition like Crohn’s has, in a strange way, been like being handed a special lens. I began to see certain relationships for what they truly were—fragile, one-sided, and built on illusions. That clarity gave me the strength to say “No” and walk away from connections that no longer served me.

It might sound harsh, but when your body is already carrying so much pain, the weight of empty relationships and unmet expectations becomes unbearable. Letting go became a form of relief, a way to breathe again. I’ve come to believe that sometimes, releasing old bonds opens up space for new, more meaningful ones. And life, quietly but surely, moves forward.

In a world where being "different" is often taboo, genuine relationships—the ones rooted in care and understanding—can feel like a warm shield. They make all the difference.

These are just my reflections, and as a reader, you’re welcome to hold your own. But thank you for making it this far—I appreciate your presence here, and I hope to meet you again in my next write-up.

Featured photo by Kaboompics.com from Pexels.

I am more than what you see: Living with IBD body changes

by Beamlak Alebel (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

A person in a dark blue shirt holds a rectangular mirror over their face. The bright blue sky with clouds is reflected in the mirror.

Living with inflammatory bowel disease, my body has changed in ways I didn't choose. People see my outward appearance and make assumptions. Often, they don't wait to hear your story, and they judge you based on your size or looks: no words, no chance. It hurts because words can't always express what we feel inside.

They don't see the battles I fight every single day. I’ve heard it all: 

"You are too skinny." 

"You don't look strong." 

"You must not eat enough."

But I know myself - I am strong. My journey is filled with courage, healing and hope. I don't have to be judged by my size, I am more than that. My size doesn't define my strength, my resilience does. 

I have faced many tough times, but people don't see me as a serious person because of my appearance. I have survived painful flare ups, countless hospital visits, difficult medication side effects, surgery, and emotional lows and that could have broken me.

And yet, I am still here: still standing, still fighting.

I may not have a body society views as "tough," but I carry strength in my spirit. 

I carry it in my story. 

Being judged by my body and appearance has been painful, but it has also taught me what really matters: my ability to rise again and again. 

I am not a slab of meat to be consumed or judged. Your power lies in what you overcome, not in the size of your frame or your appearance. We are more than our bodies, we are warriors.

No one knows what tomorrow holds, and what we have today is not guaranteed. Life changes, and bodies change, but our worth remains. Let’s learn to see beyond appearance, and appreciate our strength. We never know the silent battles someone is fighting – behind every look, there is an untold story.

Photo by Unsplash.

Potential IBD Accommodations for Teachers and Students (from a NYS Teacher)

by Kaitlyn Niznik (New York, U.S.A.)

This infographic was created from discussions with other teachers in the United States living with IBD.  Through those conversations, I realized that the workforce can be a scary and precarious place for people living with chronic illness.  As a unionized, tenured teacher in a public school, I acknowledge I am in a privileged position to disclose my IBD.  However, a teacher or student can choose not to divulge their chronic condition for a number of reasons including job instability or the fear of being singled out.  I made half of my graphic focus on discreet ways to manage your IBD within the education system without revealing personal health information.  This half includes having an emergency supply pack, trusted contacts that you can call for assistance, and knowing the location of private bathrooms instead of public stalls. 

The other half of my picture illustrates ways a student with an IBD can pursue written accommodations to protect them at school.  These include obtaining an Individualized Education Program (IEP) or 504 Plan after their doctor writes a note confirming their diagnosis and its impact on the student's daily life.  In the student's records, they would be classified under the "Other Health Impairment" category and this form would be reviewed and adapted annually.  Parents, teachers, and district personnel would work together to create an IEP or 504 plan that supports the student's needs, helps them manage their illness, and works to reduce the student’s stress in an educational environment.  Teachers with an IBD can also present a doctor’s note to their district to receive reasonable workplace accommodations. 

Disability & IBD: A summary and thoughts on “Measuring Disability in IBD: The IBD Disability Index”

by Lexi Hanson (Missouri, U.S.A.)

A brown wall with a white spray-painted ‘disabled’ symbol.

In his article “Measuring Disability in IBD: The IBD Disability Index,” Colombel discusses how IBD is viewed in literature and society. He mentions that IBD has received limited attention due to two main reasons. First, IBD has been considered less disabling compared to other chronic diseases, like multiple sclerosis, leading to underestimation of its impact. Second, there has been confusion in the literature about the true definition of "disability" in relation to IBD, with many definitions that do not align with the World Health Organization's (WHO) standard. 

Disability, according to the WHO, refers to the objective problems patients face across various health domains, which is distinct from subjective quality of life. Challenges specific to IBD, such as access to toilets and dietary restrictions, affect disability, and Colombel argues, should still be measured using the same WHO definition applied to all diseases. 

To address this gap, the IBD disability index was developed through a comprehensive process, including a systematic literature review, patient interviews, an expert survey, and a cross-sectional study across multiple continents. The final index incorporates a range of factors such as sleep, energy, body image, pain, and environmental influences (e.g., access to healthcare). It aims to provide a standardized measure of disability in IBD patients. 

The IBD disability index is currently being validated and is expected to help in clinical trials and research. Some questions in the index include sleep, body image, and pain. Once validated, Colombel believes it could influence patient care by raising awareness about disability in IBD and guiding healthcare interventions. It could also help identify predictors of disability and support the development of strategies to prevent disease progression and long-term disability. 

In clinical practice, while the index may not be used daily, it could inform clinicians to ask patients about issues that affect their disability, improving patient care and satisfaction. Measuring disability in IBD will ultimately lead to better understanding and management of the disease, enhancing both clinical outcomes and quality of life for patients.

My thoughts:

This is so fascinating to me, as someone with IBD. The comparison of how disabled someone is based on how impacted they are by their circumstances – and if they can make it through the cut-throat application process to be considered “truly” disabled by the government – seems to lead to isolation of people with chronic conditions like IBD.

When we’re quick to make comparisons or “rank” disability, we alienate others who may not experience disability exactly as we do, but who still may understand our lifestyle or lived experience more so than able-bodied individuals.

I also think there's a unique aspect of being in "remission" with IBD that others don’t always understand, which makes it complex. Sometimes, my IBD impacts me more than it might seem to others, but because the effects aren’t always visible, it’s a concept that can be difficult for people to fully understand.

Having an "index" to show how IBD affects people's lives could really help shine a light on the struggles many face. It could be a way to put into words the challenges that aren’t always visible, making it easier for others to understand just how much this condition impacts daily life – especially in contexts like healthcare appointments, where patients sometimes feel their experiences are not being heard or validated by providers.

Encouraging healthcare providers to use a client-centered, holistic approach when listening to us can lead to a healthier relationship with the healthcare field, and additions like training and feedback surveys could also help in this aspect. In the meantime, we can start by sharing our IBD experiences (through blogs, videos, campaigns, or social media), to help others understand the real-life impacts of IBD, in hope that spreading awareness and knowledge provides some insight into what we go through!

Citation: Colombel JF. Measuring Disability in IBD: The IBD Disability Index. Gastroenterol Hepatol (NY). 2013 May; 9(5): 300-2. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3740806/

(Image from Unsplash)

Battling an invisible illness while everyone else plays “doctor”

by Beamlak Alebel (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

A person with medium tone skin and chin-length black hair stands behind a clear bubble. Their hands are pressed against the glass, as if they want to get out.

Exams are already stressful, but for those of us dealing with invisible illnesses, they can feel like an impossible battle. The pressure to perform, sleepless nights, and depression don't just affect our mind - they also affect our whole body too: and while we struggle through the pain, others think they have all the "expert" answers:

My Brother wonders, "maybe it is some unknown disease science hasn't discovered yet."

My Parents think, "it must be setan (evil spirit), we should take her to holy water."

Society assumes, "it's probably caused by her poor lifestyle or malnutrition."

Meanwhile, I am just trying to survive this exam while everyone else plays doctor.

The silent struggle of invisible illness

Living with IBD means battling symptoms that others can't see. It is a constant storm - worsening digestive system, gut motility issues, poor sleep, and one of the biggest triggers, stress. 

Exam deadlines and academic pressure can make symptoms flare up. But instead of understanding the real impact of stress on chronic illness, people jump to conclusions. They blame supernatural forces, poor diet, or anything except the real medical condition.

Why awareness really matters 

The truth is, many people don't understand invisible illness until they (or someone close to them) are directly affected. This lack of awareness leads to stigma, misdiagnosis, and people suffering in silence. We need more conversations about IBD not just in medical communities, but also in everyday life.

Invisible illnesses like IBD can be incredibly tough. Friends and family should understand that IBD is a serious, life-threatening condition, and many factors outside our control can trigger painful flare-ups. Other people's misconceptions about IBD just add to our stress as patients...so if stress is a known trigger, we need to address these misunderstandings! 

This is why it is important to raise awareness, have discussions, and help others recognize the impact that IBD has on us. 

Because we know invisible illnesses exist, so why do we keep doubting those who live with them?

Instead of playing doctor, maybe it is time we start listening.

(Image from iStock, credit: nadia_bormotova)

Social Media’s Influence on Gut Health

By Isabela Hernandez (Florida, USA)

We must be very cautious on what social media tries to sell when promoting these gut healing products.

I can’t be the only one who was succumbed to the influence of “gut tik tok” or Instagram posts claiming that a magic powder from Amazon will cure your gut. I see these posts, still knowing that I need to be trusting professionals over influencers, and a small part of me wonders Is this the cure I’ve been looking for? On days I’m writhing in pain or annoyed about my medications, I truly do think about buying into an influencer's recommendations on how to heal your gut and buy the millions of supplements they promote. Maybe I won’t ever have to take medication again! BUT, we must be very cautious on what social media tries to sell when promoting these gut healing products.

“I see these posts, still knowing that I need to be trusting professionals over influencers, and a small part of me wonders Is this the cure I’ve been looking for?”

On days I’m writhing in pain or annoyed about my medications, I truly do think about buying into an influencer's recommendations on how to heal your gut and buy the millions of supplements they promote.

It’s always disheartening for me to see people who have managed to “cure” their gut with products I’ve never heard of and wonder, is it even true? Most of the time, it is not. But it’s hard for us, those who have suffered with these diseases for a while and will continue to do so, to see these videos and not feel a flicker of hope that maybe our cure lies in the next new gut supplement. I’m not saying all the information on social media related to gut health is bad, some of it is very informational! There are many trained professionals out there who make incredible content based on diseases of the gut. We just need to learn, as a community for people with GI issues, to follow professionals who we trust to give us well-informed advice. It’s important to use social media as a means of getting trustworthy information, not gaining false hope by influencers with promotional content that lacks real evidence. This is definitely something I need to work on as well but I trust we will all be able to find a healthy balance when it comes to social media.

“ It’s important to use social media as a means of getting trustworthy information, not gaining false hope by influencers with promotional content that lacks real evidence. ”

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This article is sponsored by Trellus

Trellus envisions a world where every person with a chronic condition has hope and thrives. Their mission is to elevate the quality and delivery of expert-driven personalized care for people with chronic conditions by fostering resilience, cultivating learning, and connecting all partners in care.