As a person disabled by invisible chronic pain, I can certainly relate! On good days, I only limp a little bit as I walk. On bad days, the pain can be so severe all I can do is my best to not focus on it — and deal with the sleep deprivation it causes.

Fortunately for the last several weeks, I've had more good days than bad. But I always deal with an underlying anxiety that the mix is going to change again. Sometimes the anxiety becomes, "What will I do if (when) every day is a bad day?"

Fortunately, being a white man in the U.S. who has an educated background, combined with the fact that my two kinds of arthritis are pretty easily diagnosed, doctors mostly take me seriously when I describe my pain – not that they can really do much about it.

I'm never going to run marathons again, take hours-long bicycle rides in the countryside, or even jump out of bed smiling.

Dealing with the grief of those losses adds to the toll of my disabilities, and that toll is something nobody can see, and which I often lack the words to describe.

People get tired of hearing about pain, there's nothing they can do to help, anyway, and ... frankly, because of the values of my society, presenting as stoic seems more admirable.

I worry that if I acknowledge my pain (my disability) too often, people will think less of me. In some cases, I'm sure, they will think less of me.

It's a tough spot to be in, being disabled in ways people can't see.