http://SarahArnoldNelsonWrites.com/

Sarah Arnold Nelson Writes, Clarksville, TN (2026)

01/27/2026

Barometric Pressure aka My Abusive Relationship

Normal = 30.0

Perfect/High = 30.2 (My Goldilocks Pressure)

Low = 29.7 (hard to walk, dizzier, blood return more challenging)

Super Low = 29.4 (forget standing, limbs are like jelly, no blood return)

Way High = 30.5 (head feels like it’s being crushed, increased chest pain, body feels like it’s in a vise)

The most (not) fun is in the winter when the barometric pressure vacillates between high and low
pressure. Migraines increase at both ends of the spectrum and explode when we’re seesawing back and forth between the two.

Throw in freezing cold and it’s the most for anyone can have outside an insane asylum.

Send chocolate!

01/25/2026

I participated in an online discussion recently regarding disability and attitude. A woman said it is our right to be bitter about becoming disabled. Why would anyone would want to exercise that right? Bitterness poisons your own soul and affects all of your relationships.

There are causes for bitterness. I had a life I loved and it was ripped away from me. Frankly, systems that are supposed to help you when you’ve hit hard times work against me, robbing me of dignity and any hope of not struggling at subsistence levels for the rest of my life.

I won’t pretend that being disabled doesn’t suck. I won’t pretend the pain isn’t overwhelming some days. Or that it is okay that chest pain that would normally send one to the hospital is just another Tuesday. I won’t pretend moment-by-moment exhaustion is a reasonable way to live. Or that I’m okay with the fact that I am showered once a week because going through the motions of getting truly clean are too much to go through more often than that.

I could go on but you get the idea.

I have always believed in the internal locus of control. That belief has been ripped from me as so much of my life has occurred outside my control.

The one thing I have control over is my response. That’s it. That’s all I truly control in this life. My attitude and how I respond to Jesus, people, and this life are all I will take with me into eternity. (Hopefully, many, many years from now.)

Sometimes, I have to cry. It’s like the pressure in a teapot: if steam (or tears) is not released, it’s gonna blow! But every time I have the choice between tears and laughter, I will choose laughter.

“There’s so much beauty around me for just two eyes to see but everywhere I go, I’m looking.” -Rich Mullins, The Color Green

I acknowledge that the ugliness exists. I embrace the beauty that also exists.

I embrace the joy to be found in a hundred precious moments a day just waiting to be recognized and acknowledged.

I reject bitterness. For bitterness is the antithesis of joy. And I choose joy!

♿

12/10/2025

A friend recently told me that the head psychiatrist at his clinic doesn’t believe in Long Covid. The man told him “these people just want attention and to not have to work.”

Every time I see a new doctor, I wonder if I will be believed. Or if, almost as bad, they believe it’s real but they’re already written me off, too complicated to treat.

Below is a post from a Long Covid Reddit forum. It was followed by story after story of medical cruelty.

Disability is hard enough without having to prove you are sick to the very people who are supposed to help.

12/02/2025

Image: Three rough looking line drawn people with lopsided eyes. Says, “Hey, just a friendly reminder that with the seasons changing right now, a lot of
people with chronic illnesses can get all messed up and wonky from that so try to go a little easy on yourself if you find yourself spiraling or flaring, okay?”

I have to remind myself every year now at this time that how I feel will pass. The acute agony of wild barometric pressure fluctuations will pass. Life will even back out. The aching head, aching muscles, aching joints, aching bones. They will all calm back down. (Some.)

To quote Mark Lowry, “This too shall pass. It will pass or you will pass.”

11/26/2025

Whatever you are battling today, choose worship in the midst of the pain. You will win a victory that echoes through eternity.

Thankfulness and worship are entwined in our hearts. We cannot worship without gratitude and we cannot truly be grateful unless we recognize to Whom all gratitude is due.

Philippians 4:8 tells us to think on things that are true, lovely, pure, of good report, etc. Some true things are not lovely. We do not pretend those things aren’t real. Rather, we take a moment to focus on the things that are lovely, pure, and good.

Take a moment over the next couple of days and thank God for every thing good in your life, for every blessing, every joy. In doing so, you’ll find worship flows naturally and you realize just how much there is to be grateful for.

10/16/2025

I try not to whine on Facebook. However, sometimes we need to be honest about struggles. It makes others experiencing the same struggles feel less alone and educates others on the realities disabled people face.

I have brain fog. That is a reality. I usually compensate pretty well but there are days I’m dumber than a fly hanging out in a field of fly paper. It’s like my mind is filled with corridors. Those corridors lead to room upon room of filing cabinets filled with files of information and thought carefully gathered over a lifetime of learning. I know they’re there. I can see down the halls. Occasionally, I’m randomly allowed down a hallway and into a room. But that’s a delightful exception.

When I do force my way down a hall and into a specific cabinet such as “how to fill out (specific) paperwork,” I pay with a multi-day crash that makes life hideous for awhile.

Right now, I am facing two deadlines for Medicaid in Tennessee. (Through the fun interestate rules of federally-funded insurance, I have not had medical insurance coverage since July 31.) By October 31, I have to have set up a QIT (qualified income trust) account to divert part of my disability insurance income, figure out how to make my life insurance inaccessible, and have proof of both filed.

I am stressed about meeting the deadline. I am heart sick about the life insurance. We have nothing left of value to leave our kids. Charlie hasn’t been able to get life insurance for almost 20 years. If I miraculously recover, I still won’t qualify for affordable life insurance after this. This policy was our assurance we wouldn’t be a financial burden on our kids through my long-term care or burying us. We were even hopeful there would be money left to help them move forward in life. I loved my maternal grandfather but his death left my mom with debts and stress. I didn’t ever want to do that to my kids.

You would think that if the state were going to require disabled applicants to jump through legal hoops, they would provide support. After all, if I could still do all of this on my own, I could work and support myself much better than the state will fund me.

Which leads me to another point of irritation: I have to start the Social Security Disability application process all over. The judge didn’t believe me. I have maxed out my appeals. When finally awarded, it will be about $1,300/month. I made a decent amount more than that working. Working is something I enjoyed. I miss it! It is so demeaning to be treated like a faker when I would much rather be out making money, supporting my family, and preparing for the future. Financially, I have no future. Washington State owns my retirement account and now Tennessee will have my life insurance tied up one way or the other.

Are some people faking disability? So I’m told. I don’t know how or why it would be worth it. The greatest loss has been that of my dignity. God knows it was worth a whole lot more to me than Medicaid or SSDI.

I have never considered life to be fair. I never expected it to be fair. But some days, it just seems so very unfair.

09/23/2025

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1b, NASB)

I’ve been thinking about foot races as life metaphors. We’re told to pace ourselves. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Thirty-one years sure sounds like a sprint to me.

I think on some level Charlie Kirk knew he was allotted a sprint. He gave it his all, holding nothing back for the miles ahead.

Keith Green was like that. So was Rich Mullins.

The fact that Jim Elliot died so young does not surprise me nearly as much as the fact that Elisabeth Elliot saw her 8th decade. (A reminder that marathons are important, too. They are “a long obedience in the same direction.”)

It is easy to fall into the trap of self-condemnation, comparing what you or I have accomplished or may accomplish in a marathon life judged against a revolutionary sprint life.

However, God asks of you and me exactly the same thing He asked of Charlie — a fully surrendered race. (Aka, obedience)

Charlie Kirk accomplished an extraordinary number of things in his sprint.

But I think history will show that his most remarkable accomplishment will be to inspire a million of us to dedicate our lives to running the race set before us.

In obedience, we run the race we were destined for.

Then we will each say with the Apostle Paul and Charlie and Keith and Rich and Jim and Elisabeth and all those who have gone on before us, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith” (II Timothy 4:7, NASB).

Keep going!

💖

09/12/2025

The Lloyd C Douglas classic, The Robe, is set in the years following Jesus’ death and resurrection. Many of his followers were martyred. In the story, a soldier is questioned by a superior as to why they haven’t put down the uprising of these Christ followers. He answers (as best as I recall), “How do you kill something that refuses to die when you kill it?”

Someone thought they would kill Charlie Kirk. They thought they would silence his voice. This was a grave miscalculation on his part. Thousands of people will be find their voice. They will rise up not in anger or retribution but in boldness to share the Gospel, to live out their faith loudly.

In 2015, the satirical French magazine Charlie Hebdo was attacked. People put up images announcing their solidarity, saying, “I am Charlie.”

Today, we say, “We are Charlie.” We stand with Charlie Kirk.

We stand committed to Free Speech.

We stand committed to the respectful debate of ideas. As Charlie said, “When we stop talking to each other is when violence begins.”

Above all interests in politics, Charlie loved Jesus and sought to treat each person he encountered as someone loved by God.

So we stand with Charlie and St Paul in proclaiming, “For I am not ashamed of the Gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile” (Romans 1:16, NIV).

What are they going to do? They can’t kill us all.

💖

02/23/2025

The Social Security judge who oversaw my hearing denied my application. We have one more stop in this process: an appeal of the hearing. If that fails, we (attorney and I) start over. I’ve been in this process for 26 months.

I’ve known for a month but it’s been a lot to process. The judge said I can work as long as I’m seated. Did she read any of my records? She clearly has no idea who I am or what my current sucky limitations are. This whole experience has been so degrading.

I loved my job. I loved teaching. I loved being involved in my community. I’m writing this on my phone while lying down in my dimly lit bedroom.

I am missing my grandmother’s 85th birthday! Anyone who knows me well knows I would be in Oklahoma City celebrating with her today if I could. My vibrant grandmother is in a nursing home now thanks to late-stage Parkinson’s. I haven’t seen her in person since I was there celebrating her 80th birthday 5 years ago.

This judge doesn’t know me. I cannot take her ruling personally. She is part of a system hoping I won’t have the energy to keep fighting.

I am exhausted every day. I am weary and in pain. My T-cells may be suffering immune exhaustion and my mitochondria may be suffering from a lack of TPA production. My whole life has changed.

Proverbs commends us “whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” This isn’t what I would have chosen to do but it’s what’s “in my hand.”

I won’t give up. Not on Social Security (unless I am healed!). Not on life.

[photo: 5 years ago at my Grandma’s 80th birthday. Four generations of first-born daughters. I’d give almost anything to relive that day.]

01/10/2025

It’s 2025. I can’t get over that. Time has flown. My last normal memories are from 5 years ago. (I didn’t get sick until mid-2021 but 2020-2021 was a ride!) I’ve never grieved the passage of time as much as I do now. It feels like I stand outside of time, watching others live their lives from the dark quiet of my bedroom. I never regretted getting older until now; now I’m aging without living.

I am not anxious or depressed as much as I am baffled and befuddled. There are blessed good days when my meds are working in harmony and my endorphins are flowing. I look and feel almost normal for a little bit. But the effort is like an ocean wave. It crests, then crashes back down on the shore, dragging my mind and body beneath the waves. (I have been crushed between wave and shore since Christmas.)

There are days when I am full of faith and can envision a future in which I am whole and fully embracing life. There are other days when I say with Shadrack and his friends, “Our God can save us, but *even if He doesn’t,* we won’t bow.” God is worthy of my praise whether I am healed or live the rest of my life from my bed. I just wish I knew which it was going to be.

Hokey-but-Nostalgic Image Credit: https://www.wannapik.com/vectors/52138

11/24/2024

Wheelchairs. I used to think they were strictly for people who are paraplegic. I now understand they are for anyone who cannot safely walk very far.

I never imagined I would be one of them.

There are days I cannot safely walk to the bathroom by myself. I pass out - usually halfway through my bedroom door with my upper half in the hallway and my legs in the bedroom.

One day, my oldest daughter was helping me get to the bathroom when I saw a small piece of paper on the floor. “Why is there garbage on the floor?” I asked in frustration. “Does no one else see garbage on the floor?” “To be fair, you spend a lot more time down there than we do,” she quipped. I was still frustrated about the garbage but I had to laugh.

Walking in public is a perilous concept for me. Weak and prone to fainting are two good indicators a wheelchair is required.

I hate it.

But I hate it less than not being able to go out at all.

I have been blessed with two wheelchairs. I have the traditional wheelchair but I also have a reclining wheelchair. It’s almost a rolling bed. This is good for rough days when I *have* to leave the house or for longer excursions.

It allowed me to attend my daughter’s graduation.

Next time you see someone in a wheelchair, know that it’s an ambulatory aid just like a cane or a walker. Few people use it unless they have to. It requires someone else to help you move. It makes you feel vulnerable. It makes you feel highly visible and invisible all at the same time.

But for some of us, it is the key to any level of participation in the world.

♿

11/01/2024

This week, another treatment was shot down. I didn’t even get upset this time. I shrugged and said “one more thing to mark off the list.”

I start a new medication next week. (Next thing on the list.) I’ll trial it for 12 weeks. I’m also in a genetic trial with Stanford. It’s hard to keep trying things, hoping each new med will be the wonder drug that turns it around. I have come to look at trialing medications as my job. My job is to try to get well. It is the toughest job I’ve ever had. (The pay sucks, too.)

I keep participating on the Long Covid chat boards because that’s where news drops. As soon as a new study is published, I see it. As soon as drug trial participants are allowed to talk, I read their accounts. As soon as someone has successfully Guinea pigged themselves on an off label treatment, I devour their accounts and try to research more from there. (Brain fog and retention issues are a problem but I keep trying to push through when I can. I also send the studies to my mom for translation into Dummy - my new dialect.)

But the support boards are also depressing. I have read farewell posts far too many times. People who can’t go on. This condition has been found worse than living with congestive heart failure, cancer, or MS. It’s a painful and frustrating. Su***de is the #1 cause of death.

As I’ve read through the stories of those who hold onto life and those who let go, there is one consistent factor: support.

The people who hold on have people around them who believe them, who love them, who minister to them as “the least of these.”

Love is an anchor to life. It gives you a reason to hold on, to keep going. When you know you are valued for you and not what you can do, it gives you permission to just *be*.

When you encourage your chronically ill friend or loved one, you are giving them permission to continue to exist. That check-in text, the dropped off gift, the gentle hug, all say “I want you here. Keep existing.”

Thank you to everyone who keeps me anchored here.

It means more than you can know.

Image credit: Tú Anh from Pixabay

Sarah Arnold Nelson Writes

01/27/2026

01/25/2026

12/10/2025

12/02/2025

11/26/2025

10/16/2025

09/23/2025

09/12/2025

02/23/2025

01/10/2025

11/24/2024

11/01/2024

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Practice

Shortcuts

Share

Category