It’s Not You, It’s My Autonomic Nervous System
A Humorous Take on Living with Dysautonomia
October is Dysautonomia Awareness Month or, as I like to call it, the month I remind everyone that my body’s “autopilot” is basically a malfunctioning GPS. It knows where it’s supposed to go, it just insists on taking 37 wrong turns, recalculating, and then fainting halfway there.
My Autonomic Nervous System: The Overly Dramatic Roommate
You know that one roommate who can’t handle anything? The one who faints at bad news, freaks out over mild temperature changes, and refuses to cooperate until you feed them salt and caffeine?
Yeah. That’s my autonomic nervous system.
It’s responsible for all the stuff your body is supposed to do automatically — like keeping your heart rate steady, managing blood pressure, and remembering that breathing is, in fact, non-negotiable.
Mine, however, seems to have missed that memo.
The Dizzy Dance
Standing up is an Olympic sport.
Getting out of bed is a tactical operation.
And showering? That’s an extreme endurance event worthy of sponsorship.
POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), one of the most common forms of dysautonomia, means my heart rate skyrockets the moment I stand up as if my body thinks “vertical” equals “flee from danger.”
Newsflash, body: I’m just trying to make toast.
Brain Fog: The Unwanted Cloud Storage
People talk about brain fog like it’s a cute little quirk… “oh, I’m so forgetful!” but for many of us with dysautonomia, it’s like living with 2% of your RAM functioning and a spinning wheel of doom for thoughts.
If you’ve ever put your phone in the fridge and your milk on the charger, congratulations, you’ve had a tiny taste of dysautonomia logic.
Salt: My Emotional Support Mineral
Doctors tell most people to reduce their salt intake.
Mine says, “Have you considered turning yourself into a human pretzel?”
I’ve got electrolyte packets stashed in every bag, pocket, and glove compartment. My kitchen looks like a Electrolyte tab testing lab. If salt were a personality trait, it would be mine.
The Invisible Doesn’t Mean Imaginary Part
Here’s the thing: dysautonomia doesn’t look like much from the outside. Most of us appear fine… until we’re not. It’s an invisible condition that can take years to diagnose (average delay: 5–6 years) and is often misunderstood or dismissed as anxiety.
So while I joke about it, awareness really does matter. Because the more people, including healthcare providers, understand it, the faster others will find answers and support.
Wrapping It Up (Before I Pass Out)
If you live with dysautonomia: you’re not alone, even if it sometimes feels like your body runs on Windows 95.
If you don’t: take this month to learn, share, and maybe grab a salt shaker in solidarity. (Just… maybe not as much as me.)
Here’s to awareness, empathy, and bodies that someday get the memo.
