My invisible plus-one joins all my relationships

This past weekend, my partner and I went for a walk to soak up what might be the last of the pleasant weather before the sun begins to melt Florida. Since my hip revision, I’ve struggled to make movement a consistent habit as my right leg remains a little shaky and unsure.

Halfway through the walk, I paused, gripped my thigh, and internally negotiated whether I could make it back home. He paused, too. Over the years, I’ve recognized his quiet, instinctive adjustments, subtle shifts in rhythm to match my pace and limitations. No rush. No commentary. Just presence.

There are many kinds of love, but one of the rarest is the kind that learns your body’s language without you needing to speak it.

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September 13, 2018 Columns by Jennifer (Jenn) Powell

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I’ve reluctantly learned that when you live with a chronic illness like multiple sclerosis (MS), you’re never really alone in your relationships. There’s a third presence, one that dictates plans, demands accommodations, and often silences spontaneity. MS is the invisible plus-one I never meant to bring, but it shows up everywhere: on dates, road trips, medical appointments, holidays, and even arguments.

Yet I’ve found the most meaningful parts of a relationship often aren’t what we talk about, but what we don’t need to say.

There have been times he’s adjusted the thermostat before I realized I was overheating, slowed his pace when I lagged behind, or offered to be a pack mule when my shoulders were compromised by avascular necrosis.

After shoulder and hip surgery, he didn’t just help me remember my medications, he helped me remember it was OK to rest without guilt. He gave me the bed while he took the floor. He adjusted his schedule to drive me to appointments and physical therapy. He took the wheel when it was dark because he knew I hated driving at night. He showed up, again and again, in the quiet spaces where words fall short.

These are the silent conversations that speak volumes to those of us whose bodies require more negotiation with life.

But I also wholeheartedly know what it feels like when the invisible plus-one is ignored, misunderstood, or resented.

A deep loneliness comes from being seen but not understood — from having your reality dismissed because it’s inconvenient or because someone only accepted the version of you that was easier to keep up with. Early on, that ache taught me to keep my illness quiet. If I could just push through, stay low-maintenance, and keep symptoms hidden, I wouldn’t be a burden. I wouldn’t hold anyone back. I could be accepted, even if I wasn’t fully known.

But masking illness doesn’t protect you from disconnection. It just delays it.

I’ve learned that real connection — the kind that sees you limping and doesn’t flinch, that hears “fatigue” and takes it seriously — only happens when you stop shrinking your experience to make others more comfortable. That’s when you discover who’s willing to sit with the discomfort of reality and love you in it.

It’s easy to romanticize big gestures in any relationship, but MS has taught me that love often lives in the small, steady things — not the showy or dramatic, but the consistent, frequently unnoticed acts of attunement. It’s the hand that reaches for yours before you ask. The unspoken agreement to cancel plans when your body says no. The partner who doesn’t guilt you for resting. The friend who sits beside you in silence. The family member who quietly takes on more when you have less to give.

Sometimes, love looks like remembering which side your cane usually falls on. Other times, it’s knowing the difference between “I’m fine” and “I don’t have the energy to explain right now.” It’s learning to read each other’s rhythms when life has made them syncopated. These moments are proof that someone hasn’t just learned to live alongside your illness, but has chosen to keep pace with it.

I used to think illness only took from me. And it does, sometimes. But it’s also revealed something quieter and more enduring: the people who stay, the ones who learn your rhythm, even when it’s offbeat. They understand that love doesn’t have to be loud to be impactful.

Whether it’s a partner, a parent, or a friend, when someone chooses to stay close to meet you in the hard places without making you feel like a burden, it leaves a mark beyond words.

Chronic illness may be the invisible plus-one in every relationship I have. But when someone holds space for that guest without retreat, without resentment, it feels like love in its truest form. They’re not just accepting your reality, but choosing to share it with you.

Note: Multiple Sclerosis News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Multiple Sclerosis News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to multiple sclerosis.