The S word

How an autoimmune affects my love life

Nov 16, 2025

In 2018, at what felt like a huge turning point in my career and personal life, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune illness: Myasthenia Gravis is a rare chronic autoimmune disease marked by muscular weakness, without atrophy.

When I first got sick, I called one of my best friends and told him that this was it, the nail in the coffin: I would forever be single because who would want to be with someone they knew had an illness? He retorted with examples of people we knew who had health conditions and were in relationships. ‘That’s different,’ I protested. ‘They were together when X person got sick.’ I was convinced my love life was over. Yet, here we are seven years on from that conversation and I’ve had the privilege of having loved and been loved in that time. Since then, I’ve also watched friends and family battle all sorts — from autism diagnoses to cancer — and I’ve secretly kept track of their love life. I guess it’s a way to give me hope when I have dark days.

I’m going through one of those ‘dark days’ at the moment. For the last few years I’ve managed to pretend like I don’t really have anything worth discussing — my only tell has been a daily tablet in the morning — but I’m currently having a bit of a flare up. I’m not entirely sure why but I would be lying if I said I was 100% okay. Plus, people I love are starting to notice: they ask me, more often than before, the well intentioned question, ‘Have you taken your meds today?’ I put it down to my drooping eyelid which is the other tell — a physical tell — that is much harder to hide.

With 1 in 10 people expected to have an autoimmune in their lifetime — that number being higher for women — and with more and more research showing higher risks in South Asian communities, I feel like we desperately need to be talking about it more. For visibility, for solidarity, and for sharing learnings and coping mechanisms.

I’m very lucky that mine is manageable. That, compared to 60+ years ago, my life expectancy is the same as it would have been without MG. That there isn’t really a risk of death. So I try to see the lessons it was sent to teach me, for example, in my love life:

1. Testing

It’s a non-negotiable that my partner gets tested. The fear of God has been instilled in me because me getting an STI is no bueno. A potential partner has to have a full sexual health check up before I’ll even look at ‘em.

But listen, you should be doing this anyway: whatever gender you’re sleeping with, no matter how long you’ve been with your previous partner, even if you’re using protection or you’re ’only doing hands and mouth stuff’ (yes, someone said this to me), you need to get tested. Not only is it the respectful and right thing to do for others, it increases your chances of nipping things in the bud before they become problematic. It also becomes easier to know your baselines, understand what you should be looking out for, and have better vocabulary around your sexual health.

Hand in hand with this is the conversation around exclusivity and cheating. I have to be like, ‘Oh hey, if you sleep with someone else, please don’t then sleep with me because it could have a major effect on my health. Thanks.’ It’s not quite as romantic as, ‘Don’t cheat on me because you’ll break my heart,’ but it is quite effective. I don’t presume I won’t be cheated on, but I expect someone I love and who has loved me to have enough care left to not put my health at risk.

2. Communication

I have to be able to talk about what I need and why, obviously. I have no shame because I know I’m worth the effort for someone who genuinely cares. Plus, sex is so much better when all parties are relaxed? I also have to be able to talk about, very matter of factly, what my health could look like over time. Realistically, I will just have a few down days — especially around stressful times, grief and when I’m over exerting — and I might need support in those moments. But at the same time, I need to be allowed to be absolutely bat shit insane. I need to be able to do things like marathons, stupidly long swims, multiple day hikes and other silly activities without it being a constant conversation of, ‘Are you sure?’ Yes, I’m sure. My illness is easier to manage when I’m fit. Not to mention I’m easier to manage when I’m tired out! Whilst I appreciate the frustration and stress this can cause a partner (and my parents), I cannot feel like a cooped up chicken. If I stop, I’m worried I will just be worse physically, mentally, everything-ly.

3. Dependency

I am the eldest of three girls and I fit a lot of the stereotypes of that demographic which includes being hyper independent. Or, at least, I was.

When I got sick in 2018, I moved in with two beautiful friends after having lived on my own for years. It was clear I was struggling. They cooked for me, sorted my room out, took my dog out, picked me up from the station (and the floor, occasionally). At work, my team rallied and built up the new office we’d just moved into, took on extra shifts, ordered me Ubers home, etc. All this to say, It’s given me the ability to allow people in and let them care for me, and actually really love the feeling of being held by my people. And this has been transferable to my love life. Mostly. I’m still occasionally a crazy person who thinks she can move a wardrobe on her own.

4. Sex

MG can impact the ability to orgasm. I was told very point blank by my consultant, in the very early days of knowing her, to forget about the destination and just enjoy the journey. And when a doctor says it, well, you listen. The anxiety I felt around some of that stuff no longer impacts me.

And then all that communication malarkey? It translates. I’m so much better at articulating how I’m feeling, what I’m not feeling, and what I want or need. And it’s one of the reasons I’m interested in, and capable of, writing Brown Bodies (when I’m not terrified about my parents reading it!).

5. Body changes

I’ve had a difficult relationship with my body over the years. And then my illness brought a few more challenges:

I’ve watched the feature I like most — my eyes — become the cause of my self consciousness.
I have scars from my operation.
I’ve experienced my weight go up and down.

Funnily enough, MG made me really confront my self hate and develop a kinder view on how I look. I felt a sense of responsibility to actually be grateful for coming out the other side — and that included being grateful for my body. Don’t get me wrong, I still struggle. A lot. Especially as my weight rollercoasters. But I try to lock into the words an ex-love repeatedly told me: ‘Bodies change. Our bodies will change as we get older.’ And he’s, annoyingly, right. Not to mention it really did something for my psyche that he led with that and not with, ‘What do you mean? You look great.

I no longer believe that having an autoimmune illness is a barrier to romantic love as I once told my friend. In fact, if anything, I believe it’s made me much better at love: receiving it, giving it to others and giving it to myself. I, of course, don’t wish I’d ever got diagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, but I do believe I wouldn’t be who I am — or as early as I’ve become her — without the lessons it has taught me.

Brown Bodies

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?