Nick Bates, The Chronic Coach

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Nick Bates, The Chronic Coach

No bullsh*t.

The Chronic Coach
Single dad | Chronic illness
Chronic pain, mobility issues and the reality behind them
Honest conversations about masculinity, fatherhood and real life
No fluff.

15/03/2026

Living with chronic illness doesn’t always give you a warning sign that you’ve done too much.

You’re already in pain.
You’re already tired.
You’re already pushing through.

Then something small tips the balance.

Pain ramps up.
Energy disappears.

And you realise you’ve pushed your body further than it can handle today.

This is the balancing act people don’t see.

With chronic illness it isn’t about feeling “fine”.

It’s about deciding how much worse you’re willing to make things just to get through the day.

13/03/2026

One of the strangest parts of chronic illness is that your brain still thinks you're capable of doing normal things.

You buy something that comes flat packed, a sideboard for example, and your brain still thinks, “I can do that.”

To your brain it’s a simple job. You’ve put together similar stuff before, so it can’t be that hard.

You think it’ll take maybe an hour, tops.

But you start unpacking all the pieces and your body says, “Nope. You’re not doing that.”

Your hips start hurting.
Your back starts seizing up.
You get breathless.

And all you’ve actually achieved is unpacking it and making a mess everywhere with fu***ng polystyrene.

This is another thing people don’t get.
The internal frustration of knowing you could do it, you know how… but your body won’t let you.

Your brain hasn’t caught up with how your body is now. It still thinks you’re the same person you were before all this illness s**t.

But your body reminds you pretty quickly that life is different now.

And that messes with your head more than people realise.

Accepting that isn’t easy when you’re the one who used to fix everything.

11/03/2026

The other day I popped to the shops with Kieran and my grannie.

There are bollards outside the shop that narrow the pavement. I was walking through with my stick just ahead of them when a bloke walked past me and then cut sharply across in front of me while chatting to someone.

I had to twist quickly to stop myself walking straight into him.

My hip jarred instantly.

I pulled him up on it.

“Use your fu***ng eyes mate. You can see I’m struggling with a stick.”

His reply?

“Well I know what it’s like. My sister’s in a chair.”

Right… and?

Does that mean you don’t have to watch where you’re going?

The thing people don’t realise about chronic illness is how much those little moments cost.

For most people that awkward twist wouldn’t mean anything.

For me it meant I ended up back home in pain because one bloke couldn’t take two seconds to look where he was walking.

People think disability is about the big things.

Most of the time it’s stuff like this.

One awkward movement.
One person not paying attention.

And your body pays for it for the rest of the day.

09/03/2026

Once the kids are in bed, that’s when your body really starts screaming.

All day you’ve been moving because you don’t have a choice.

Getting them dressed.
Feeding them.
Making sure they’ve got what they need.

You push through it because you have to.

But once they’re asleep, there’s nothing left to distract you.

It’s just you and whatever your body’s been holding in.

That’s when the pain properly kicks in.

Getting into your pyjamas takes 15 minutes because every movement hurts.

And “taking it easy” doesn’t magically fix it.

This is what the day actually costs us.

07/03/2026

Something people don’t talk about with chronic illness.

I’m in my 30s, but most days my body feels about 70.

People in their 30s have holidays.
Friends.
A social life.

I don’t have any of that anymore. My life doesn’t look anything like it used to.

Most days I’m managing pain, appointments and whether I’ve got enough in me to get through the day, care for Kieran and make it to bed in one piece.

You watch men your age move normally.

Lift normally. Plan things months ahead.

Meanwhile you’re thinking about whether standing up again is worth it.

It’s strange feeling older than your own age while everyone else seems to be getting on with life.

If you’re in your 30s but feel decades older because of what your body’s doing, that’s not in your head.

05/03/2026

One thing chronic illness teaches you pretty quickly is the difference between rest and collapse.

It’s not something anyone teaches you.

It’s something you’re forced to figure out.

Rest is choosing to sit down before your body makes the decision for you.

Collapse is ignoring the signs until your body basically says “listen” and throws a tantrum.

I used to think sitting down meant I’d failed the day.

Now I know it’s the only reason I can parent properly the next one.

If you’re always crashing, it’s not because you’re weak.

It’s because you’re missing or ignoring the signs.

And the hard bit?

The signs change daily.

Rest isn’t lazy.

It’s strategy.

22/02/2026

The days you feel less s**t are the ones that catch you out.

You wake up feeling slightly better than usual.

So you think, Right. I’ll cook. Have a shower. Maybe take the lad out for a bit.

Move a bit more. Do a bit more. Be a bit more useful.

And before you know it, you’ve overdone it.

Now you feel worse than you did yesterday.
That’s the trap.

You start believing you’re normal again for a few hours.

And your body reminds you you’re not.

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been ill. You still fall for it.

21/02/2026

There’s a difference between being alone and feeling lonely when you’re chronically ill.

Your old friends keep moving. Nights out. Holidays. New jobs.

You stay where you are.

You can be in a room with family and still feel completely on your own.

Not because they don’t care. But because they don’t live in your body.

The illness gets louder than the conversation.

Your world gets smaller. Your head gets busier.

And before you know it, your life revolves around managing it.

That’s a different kind of lonely.

If you’ve felt that shift, you’re not imagining it.

19/02/2026

Chronic illness isn’t just the pain.

It’s how small life gets.

Same sofa.
Same few rooms.
Same routine on repeat.

Up.
Sort him out.
Tablets.
Sit down again because there isn’t much choice.

Wait for your body to ease off enough so you can move.

Then do it all again.

People think the hardest part is the bad days.
Sometimes it is.

But the constant sameness does something to your head.

Watching everyone else move forward while you’re managing the same four walls.

No spontaneity.
No last-minute plans.
No “yeah, why not.”

Just maintenance.

And that’s harder to explain than the pain ever is.

18/02/2026

Needing help when you’re a grown man messes with your head.

It’s that split second when you watch someone else pick up the heavy shopping bags, or carry your son inside because your hips have decided they’re done for the day.

Your head says: “I should be doing that.”

The people close to you get it.

But you still feel like a spectator in your own house.

From the outside, it just looks like you’re sitting down.

No one sees the maths going on in your head or how much you actually want to be the one lifting.

So you have two choices:

Push through it, prove a point, and spend the next three days in bed.

Or accept the help and deal with the hit to your pride.

Both cost something.

You need the help.
You still hate needing it.

That’s the bit people don’t really talk about.

15/02/2026

There’s a difference between being tired and being ill.

Tired people rest and feel better.

Ill people rest and still wake up knackered.

You start to feel like you’re permanently behind in life.

Everyone else is on normal speed.

You’re buffering.

04/11/2025

I'm checking in because I'm knackered, and you probably are too.

If you have a chronic illness, you know the biggest mistake you keep making.

You wake up, maybe feeling slightly less s**t than usual, and your brain screams: "GO! DO EVERYTHING YOU MISSED! NOW!"

Don't Do It!

That slight bit of relief you felt will put you into an even deeper crash if you decide to go and do everything. It's a warning to protect your energy. You crash because you only ever rest when you're completely broken and forced into bed.

You are fighting this wrong.

The best thing to do is to rest when you can afford to, not just when you have to.

That is the only way to break this miserable cycle and to stop fu***ng yourself up.

Question: What is the one thing that seems to cause your crashes?

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Norfolk

Website

http://www.nick-bates.com/

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