A Quiet Kind of Suffering, by M. Elwer

There’s a quiet kind of suffering that comes when something as basic as eating and swallowing becomes a challenge. It crept into my life slowly — first as a sore throat that wouldn’t go away, then as a growing fear every time I tried to eat or drink. At first, I thought I had just caught a cold or had a mild infection. But as days passed, the sore throat stayed. It became painful to swallow even my own saliva. Food didn’t go down smoothly anymore. I started avoiding meals, choosing soft foods that were easier to manage but still hurt going down. Eventually, I wasn’t eating enough, and I could feel my energy fading. The worst part? The anxiety. Every bite felt like a gamble — would I cough? Would I choke? Would someone notice? Eating, something that used to bring me joy and connection, now brought only dread.

People around me didn’t understand. “Just eat slower,” they’d say. “Try soup.” I did. It didn’t help. Soon, I started eating alone. I didn’t want anyone to see the way I had to chew things over and over, or how I’d wince with every swallow. I was embarrassed. I felt weak. And more than anything, I felt invisible — like no one really understood what I was going through. Eventually, my doctor referred me to a speech-language pathologist. Honestly, I was confused. I didn’t need help with talking — I needed help with swallowing. But I soon learned that SLPs are trained in more than just speech — they’re also experts in the muscles and mechanics of eating, drinking, and swallowing safely.

Still, I was nervous. I didn’t want to be another chart, another diagnosis. I wanted someone to actually hear me — and see the pain behind my problem. I want more than just therapy. I want compassion. Please don’t rush me through a checklist or hand me a stack of exercises without getting to know me. I’m not just a disordered swallow. I’m a person who misses sitting at the table without fear. I miss laughing mid-bite. I miss enjoying food without overthinking every single movement in my mouth.(this what I told the therapist)

BUT THIS WAS WHAT I ACTUALLY NEEDED FROM THE THERAPIST : Understand that I’m scared. Not just of the pain — but of something going wrong. Choking. Getting worse. Never getting better. • Acknowledge my frustration. It’s exhausting to plan every meal like a strategy session. It’s tiring to explain over and over what I can and can’t eat. • Help me feel safe. Teach me techniques, yes — but also tell me why they help. Show me how my body works, and help me believe that it can work better. • Celebrate the small wins. A spoonful of yogurt with no coughing. A full glass of water finished. A pain-free meal. These are victories. Treat them like that. • See the whole me. I’m more than this swallowing problem. I’m a person with goals, habits, fears, and a life that I want to I’m not just coming to you for therapy. I’m coming to you for hope. I want to feel normal again — to enjoy food, to nourish my body, to live without anxiety at every meal. If you can meet me with empathy, if you can treat me as a person first and a patient second, then I’ll walk this road with you. I’ll do the hard work. I’ll practice, I’ll push, I’ll persevere. But please — help me feel like I’m not alone in this.