Big Girl Panties Diaries – Entry #114: The October Slide: Because Apparently, We Can’t Just Have Pumpkin Spice.

This is probably one of the most difficult articles I’ve written—because it absolutely breaks my heart.

This time of year has been extremely hard for my daughter Hailey for the past four years. She’s seen more than 40 doctors. If you’ve been following our journey since Entry #1: What 35 Doctors (and One Boss) Taught Me About Finding My Voice, you know she’s been fighting long COVID—along with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), chronic fatigue, and unexplained pain that just won’t go away.

And just as I suspected, it’s returned again.

It kills me to see her in so much pain, knowing there’s nothing I can do to make it stop. That doesn’t mean we give up—there’s still so much unknown in this space, but I know she isn’t alone. I belong to all the groups. I’ve read the stories. I see the parents and patients who show up every day, still hoping for answers, still fighting for normal.

And now, we’re back in that familiar place again—the part of the year where the weather turns cold and her body follows.

The Slide Begins

The leaves change. The sweaters come out. And my daughter’s nervous system decides to stage a full-scale revolt.

Every fall, right on schedule, Hailey’s symptoms come back swinging—like the universe heard pumpkin spice and said, “You know what else should flare up? Everything.”

It’s what so many in the autoimmune and chronic illness community call “The October Slide.” That time of year when the weather cools, the barometric pressure shifts, and bodies that already work overtime start to struggle even more.

For Hailey, it means dizziness, pain, and fatigue that seem to come out of nowhere. For me, it means watching her fight the same battle all over again—and pretending I’m not breaking right beside her.

It’s a pattern I wrote about in Entry #104: When You’re Grateful—but Still Bracing Yourself, and sure enough, here we are again—grateful but bracing.

Same Storm, New Season

You’d think after four years of managing this, we’d have it down to a science. Spoiler: we don’t.

The weather shifts, her symptoms spike, and suddenly my Google search history looks like a med-student’s nightmare. We tweak electrolytes, adjust meds, reschedule labs, visit more doctors and pretend we’re not holding our breath.

People talk about the crispness of fall. We talk about circulation.

For most families, fall means football games and apple picking. For us, it’s “how low did your blood pressure go today?” season.

In Entry #97: When the Season Changes (And You Don’t Get a Vote), I wrote about how nature doesn’t ask permission to shift. Neither do our bodies. They just do.

What People Don’t See

What people don’t see are the moments between the moments. The late-night vital checks. The tears she hides so I won’t worry. The way she still apologizes for being sick. The way I say “it’s okay” even when I want to scream that it isn’t.

Chronic illness doesn’t just live in the body—it camps out in your plans, your calendar, your hope. And yet, somehow, so does gratitude.

Because even on the hardest days, she still finds ways to make us laugh. She still checks on me. She still fights.

We’ve learned to celebrate the messy middle (Entry #59) wherever we can. It’s not glamorous—but it’s survival.

Grace Under Pressure (and Salt)

This was supposed to be the year. The senior portraits, the homecoming dances, the “remember when I used to be sick” era.

And to her credit—she’s still chasing all of it. Hailey doesn’t quit. She laughs through the fatigue, FaceTimes her friends from bed, and keeps her college essays open even when her body says “nope.”

Meanwhile, I toggle between being proud and terrified, refilling water bottles and optimism in equal measure.

The other night, through tears, she said,

“Mom, I’m so tired of being brave.”

And I thought—me too. But we’ll keep doing it anyway.

I tell her it’s okay to rest, and then I remind myself that it’s okay for me to, too—something I had to relearn back in Entry #103: Disciplined Energy Isn’t Control (It’s Self-Respect).

Learning to Slide Without Crashing

Maybe that’s what this season teaches us every year—not how to stop the slide, but how to ride it without losing ourselves.

Because it’s not failure when things flare. It’s feedback. Her body’s saying slow down, adjust, breathe. And maybe that’s good advice for me, too.

So we do what we’ve always done: light a candle, heat the tea, and hold hope between us like a tiny flame that refuses to go out. Because even when her body wobbles, our will doesn’t.

That’s the lesson from Entry #82: Sometimes Dinner Is the Win —small comforts count.

We All Have an October Slide

We all have our version of the October Slide—the season that reminds us how fragile control really is. For some, it’s illness. For others, it’s loss, burnout, or change that won’t stop changing.

But the lesson’s the same: we don’t have to have it all figured out to keep showing up. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply stay present in the middle of the unknown.

If you’re leading anyone—or yourself—through that uncertainty, Entry #12: Leading Through Ambiguity (Without Losing Your Mind or Your Panties) still applies.

Parallel Realities

Funny enough, I wrote about rebuilding this week too—just from a different front line. In Entry #113: Forget Bouncing Back — Rebuilding (and Making It Look Calmfident), I shared how resilience at work often mirrors what we live at home. Here, it’s Hailey’s body relearning balance. There, it’s me relearning who I am when life forces another rebuild. Different stories. Same lesson: progress isn’t a comeback—it’s a continuation.

BGPD Rule - Life doesn’t always wait for perfect timing—or perfect health. When the season turns cold, turn stubborn. And remember: hope isn’t naive—it’s resistance in disguise.

Honestly, I don’t know what’s next. Here’s to leading through ambiguity—with grace, grit, and maybe a little extra salt.