I was just nine years old when I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis, after more than a year of hospital visits, endless tests, and frightening uncertainty. My symptoms were severe: rectal bleeding, mouth ulcers, exhaustion, hair loss, and a constant, urgent need for the toilet. My school attendance dropped to 60%, and much of my learning took place through the hospital school system.

Eventually, I had my large bowel removed and received my first stoma. Soon after, I became the first child in the UK to undergo a pioneering J-pouch surgery, giving me two decades of life without a stoma. In 2013, the pouch failed, and then followed a physically and emotionally exhausting decade.

My journey, however, hasn't been just solely medical. I’ve also lived through bullying, intense isolation, and a violent, life-threatening assault as a child that left me in intensive care with a broken jaw, cracked ribs, and a damaged stoma. That brutal attack carried out by childhood bullies almost ended my life, just because I was different. It also became the reason I had to have the J-pouch surgery, as my stoma was so badly affected.

It took time, support, and deep emotional work to begin rebuilding my life after that trauma. Conversations with my closest friends, Sam and Louise, became lifelines. I cried often. I felt broken often. But I slowly began to understand that while trauma shapes us, it doesn't have to define us moving forward.

Living with chronic illness and surviving trauma shattered my confidence. I didn’t recognise myself physically, or emotionally. I felt ashamed and invisible. Healing came in small moments, including gentle walks, kind words and learning to challenge internalised negativity. Slowly, I began reclaiming my identity by helping others. 

Lindsay recovering from surgery

I also struggled deeply with my body image. After surgery, I resented my body for all it had endured. Today, I see it differently. I’m no longer in pain, and that alone feels miraculous. I’m grateful to my body and all my scars for carrying me through. This is what health looks like for me and thanks to my stoma, I have my life back in so many ways. 

Public awareness around hidden disabilities and visible differences is improving. Representation is increasing online and in media, more people are speaking out. But, there's still a gap between awareness and understanding. People often say, “But you don’t look sick,” not realising the complexity of invisible conditions. Those with visible differences still face stigma or exclusion. I find that sharing my experiences with others helps me, as does being there to listen to someone share their experience with me also.

I've recently begun to celebrate my body and feel the strength in my body further by becoming interested in fitness. I started to love the buzz from seeing how far I could push myself, and thrived knowing my body was strong and healthy enough to let me achieve my fitness goals. I started to take part in fitness competitions such as DEKA FIT events, which combine running and functional fitness across ten zones. 

I've even been nominated as the official DEKA FIT representative for people with hidden disabilities, which was such a profound honour. It’s more than a personal achievement, it’s also a chance to advocate and visibly represent those often overlooked. Disability doesn’t have a single face.

I'm going to be participating in the DEKA FIT Spartan 10th Anniversary event in September, which will be one of the greatest physical and emotional challenges I’ve ever faced. Each fitness zone on that course mirrors obstacles I’ve faced in life, along with pain, recovery, self-doubt. Competing alongside elite athletes feels surreal. Every participant has a story.

My training is carefully adapted for my needs. It includes strength training, interval runs, rowing, cycling, mobility work, and a big focus on recovery. Managing hydration, nutrition, and fatigue is vital especially with a stoma. I've learned to train smart, listen to my body, and fuel it well. But with my amazing training friends Steph, Dessi, Rich and the 'breakfast club girls', I've never once felt like I didn't fit in or that I can't achieve my goals.

Lindsay training 

To anyone living with IBD or a hidden disability, your story doesn’t end at diagnosis or surgery. You are still capable of ambition, joy, adventure, and love. Life may look different, but it has no less value. To people that might not live with an invisible illness, remember that strength isn’t always visible. Representation matters on race tracks, in workplaces, and in everyday life. 

If you’re facing bullying, stigma, or self-doubt, please know you are not alone. Your value is not defined by what others see or fail to see. You are worthy, resilient, and enough, exactly as you are.

Find your people. Whether online or in person, community can be life-changing. Confidence doesn’t arrive all at once, it grows in those small, brave moments when you choose to show up instead of hiding.

On race day, I’ll be cheered on by my biggest supporters, my husband Ty, my daughter Macey, and my close friends. Their unwavering belief in me keeps me going. I hope my journey inspires others to believe in themselves, no matter what obstacles they face. You can find out more about my story and my fundraising event for Crohn's & Colitis UK here.

Lindsay living life to the full now