Dear Reader,
I wanted to put out a more positive letter this month, but then I’d be sugar coating a month that has been really difficult for me, and I promised you and myself that I would always be authentic, honest, and raw. So, here it goes…

In early May, I had dental prep work done for a bridge, the final stage of a long journey I began over five years ago to ease the symptoms of TMJ (temporomandibular joint disorder). TMJ affects the joint that connects your jaw to your skull and can cause pain, stiffness, clicking, tinnitus, and difficulty moving the jaw. For years, I was told my facial pain was sinus-related due to allergies. But about six years ago, a dentist told me I showed every sign of a TMJ disorder. Finally, I had an answer, and a chance to relieve the pain and discomfort.

We think the issues started after a bad car accident I had at 17, where I was left with severe whiplash. Since then, I’ve had extensive (and expensive) dental work. Though I initially planned to get an implant, my body rejected it, so we moved ahead with a bridge. During the prep work for that bridge in May 2025, my mouth was numbed and treated, and then I was sent home. When the numbness wore off, it was replaced with unbearable pain. Despite follow-up visits, my dentist was puzzled. He placed the bridge, hoping things would settle, but they didn’t. The pain worsened. The pain feels like stabbing along the right side of my jaw, tingling in my lip, and even headaches around my right eye.

Eventually, I saw my GP. After explaining everything, she told me she believes I have Trigeminal Neuralgia, a chronic pain condition that affects the trigeminal nerve, which carries facial sensation to the brain. It causes severe, electric shock-like pain triggered by everyday activities like eating or touching the face. Unfortunately, mine isn’t intermittent but constant. I’ll be seeing a neurologist in July, and in the meantime, I’ve started new medication, hoping it will help.

Honestly, the pain and fatigue are overwhelming, but the hardest part is the lack of direction. The past few years feel like a cycle of medications and appointments, with no clear path forward. I’m not sharing this for pity or sympathy. I share it to spread awareness and help others feel seen. Many people look fine on the outside but are quietly fighting battles every day. I’ve learned to mask mine. I wear closed-in shoes to hide my curling toes and disguise small tics with subtle movements. But the pain is always there, and when I say I’m hurting, it means I can’t ignore or distract myself from it anymore. I know you can’t fix it, but sometimes just knowing someone cares makes a world of difference.

Over the weekend, I attended a church event, and the speaker talked about the seasons of life, how God strengthens us through the hard seasons. Even when we feel lost, He’s working within us, growing deep roots so we can withstand future storms. That gave me peace. Though I’m still a new Christian, my faith has given me strength through my hardest moments. Lately, I feel like I’ve come out the other side of grieving the “old me,” the things I could do, the energy I used to have. I now accept who I am in this season.

One goal I’ve been able to achieve despite this setback is that I’ve been able to cook dinner for my family most nights again. It might sound small, but it means so much to me to be able to contribute to my family and take some pressure off my husband, who’s had to pick up a lot due to my FND (Functional Neurological Disorder). Cooking was something I used to take for granted. Now it brings me pride.

My self-care has become simple and comforting: escaping into video games like Zelda or The Sims, doing paint-by-numbers, reading my Bible, listening to music, cuddling Maple (my dog), or spending time with my rats. I also practice daily gratitude, which helps me stay grounded.

My kids have been amazing. They’ve had to grow more independent and, in their own way, have had to grieve, too. My daughter recently told me she just wanted her old mum back. We cried, hugged, and talked it out. We’ve learned to laugh about my forgetfulness and tics because humor makes it all feel a little lighter.

If you’re walking a similar path, please know: You are not alone. It’s not “all in your head.” Advocate for yourself. If one doctor doesn’t listen, find one who will. There are people who will believe you. I’m proof of that.

I also want to thank my incredible family and friends who’ve stood by me, never doubting my experience. That’s not everyone’s reality, and I know how lucky I am. Their support has meant everything to me.

I don’t know what the future holds. But I do know I’ll keep meeting each day with compassion, gratitude, and grace… and maybe a few tears from time to time.

Take care of yourself,
Linda Higgins x