Given that it’s my job to investigate how to be healthy, you might think that I’ve come across a single magical key to finding balance, harmony, health, and longevity. And I’d love to tell you that after a blissful nine-hour sleep each and every night, I rise with the morning chorus of birds to perform an hour of yoga, followed by an hour of meditation.

I faced the first of what was to be many conundrums as a parent with a chronic illness: do I do what is best for me, or my child? What if what is best for him is actually worse for the family unit as it entails such a negative impact on me that I cannot care for him to the extent I otherwise could?

Well, I’ve certainly learned a few things having fallen down the rabbit hole…and I’d like to share how to pop up on the other side with fewest brain cell defections as possible.

Sure enough, he had Celiac Disease. He also had reflux, several ulcers, and was a complete digestive mess. It was no wonder he was angry! If my insides were this inflamed and awful, I would have been a bit crabby and unproductive too! This came right before his 7th birthday.

I was diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis almost 20 years ago now. At the time I was shocked, but didn’t really comprehend the magnitude of what this chronic disease meant with regard to my life, my husband’s life, and that of my children. As I reflect back on these years, I wish I ‘d done many things differently.

When I look at what made the greatest impression on me, it is certainly the very prevalent theme of women feeling exhausted and overwhelmed and, yet, telling me that they simply could not see any place in their lives to make space. Are we prone to taking on too much because we don't want to say "no"?

I was pregnant with my second child when I found myself admitted to the hospital. Can I go home and pack? No. Can I still go to the family wedding this weekend? No. Will my baby be okay? Possibly. I sat in the hospital bed speechless. I was told I would remain there until I could learn to carb count and administer insulin injections. I was told I was to remain there until I could adequately protect the baby growing inside me.

For me, the next phase was a heroic jump into an unsustainably perfect way of living with an autoimmune disease. I bought an arsenal of health books, lost at least 8 of my 9 lives to Google (and self-diagnosed myself with 34.5 other diseases), interrogated numerous doctors, and went to weird support groups in dark church basements.