Skip to main content

Symptom Management

 


When dealing with chronic health conditions, we often ask ourselves how we can reduce the severity of the condition by alleviating the most troublesome symptoms so that our quality of life improves. This is an important goal, but a narrow focus on eliminating difficult or painful symptoms as an absolute priority can sometimes do a disservice to those living with chronic illness, for several reasons.

One issue is the expectation that chronic symptoms must disappear before pursuing other goals, as this may never happen. Another is that simply reducing symptoms does not necessarily lead to a “good” or fulfilling life.

A more holistic approach aims to promote positive psychosocial factors that enhance well-being and quality of life, regardless of symptom severity. This perspective focuses primarily on how to cultivate these positive aspects in each person’s life, fostering resilience, social engagement, self-care, and self-compassion.

In practice, this means paying attention to and encouraging opportunities that increase happiness, joy, meaning, purpose, satisfaction, and contentment. Positive and negative emotions can and should coexist, but it is important to highlight that people tend to experience a decrease in negative emotions and an increase in positive ones when more meaningful and enjoyable elements are added to their lives.

In chronic conditions, certain symptoms and difficulties may persist, yet they do not prevent happiness, purpose, and well-being from coexisting. There is no need to wait for symptoms to completely fade before seeking happiness and a fulfilling life. You may call this symptom management, but whether it is simply a coping strategy or not, life improves. By recognising that symptom remission is not the sole goal of treatment, space is created to prioritise what truly matters to each individual — such as maintaining fulfilling social relationships, being able to live independently, and effectively pursuing personal and vocational aspirations.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Fallacy of Self‑Sufficiency

Some people will tell you — quite loudly, usually — that they are enough. They need no one, thank you very much. Entirely self‑made. A closed circuit. I, too, fancied myself an island at one time. A small, sturdy principality of one. I paid my own bills. Made my own tea. I even spoke aloud to myself in the supermarket queue, which was meant to prove something. But late at night, when all the heroic independence had been done for the day, there it was — a sort of homesickness without a forwarding address. You know the feeling. You’re supposedly sovereign, but you still wish someone would knock. Self‑sufficiency is a word that weighs a bit too much. It sounds like an insurance policy or a piece of camping equipment. It promises freedom, but only the kind you can fit in a box. Like eating an entire birthday cake alone — which, I confess, I’ve done. Because the truth (and it arrives, as truths tend to, when you’ve just burned your toast) is that we are made of others. We are es...

The Progressive Misreading of Silence

At 5, I entered rooms like a murmur. I was already listening for something behind the noise — something older than voices, softer than footsteps. “He’s such a well-behaved boy,” they said, smiling with relief. But what they mistook for virtue was only quiet intuition. I was not good. I was attuned. At 11, I had mastered the art of presence without weight. I could sit by the window for hours, watching the wind pass through the trees like thought through the body. “He’s quiet,” they would say — gently, but with a trace of discomfort. They couldn’t name the feeling of someone watching without need. At 17, I was called “mature.” But maturity is not a virtue — it is a scar. I had already seen the shape of endings before others saw beginnings. Friends came to me like tide to stone, hoping to be held. I held them, yes — but not always with words. Sometimes silence is the only honest offering. At 24, my stillness no longer charmed. The world asked for brightness, momentum, performa...

Clarity Begins Where Pretence Ends

At some quiet juncture, without spectacle or warning, the architecture of one’s life begins to feel misaligned. The roles once worn with ease grow heavy; the rhythm once followed now falters. In that stillness — where noise gives way to unease — emerges a longing not for more, but for truth. Not the polished kind offered by others, but the raw clarity that demands a reckoning with who we are, beneath all that we’ve built. At that point, we no longer seek applause, distraction, or even resolution. What we seek is clarity — elemental, grounding, liberating. But this clarity is not the kind that flatters. It is not decorative. It is not curated for display. It is the kind that requires dismantling illusions, reordering assumptions, and exposing the scaffolding that holds our being together. To know oneself is not a sentimental pursuit. It is an architectural one. Each insight is a cornerstone; each falsehood identified, a wall removed. We begin, not with grand gestures, but wi...