How I Rebuilt My Life With Chronic Pain and Remote Work (25 Years)

Living with chronic pain and remote work isn’t something I chose — it’s something I had to master and built a life around it.

At 15, I went in for a routine cyst removal. Two weeks later, I couldn’t walk. What started in my toe spread up through my body in days. Five months of tests and agony led to a diagnosis: psoriatic arthritis. Just like that, everything I had built my identity around — hockey, movement, strength — was stripped away.

I remember one night vividly. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with my bedroom window cracked open. A breeze rustled the trees outside — a sound that used to bring peace. But this night, it broke me. My hips throbbed. My knees ached. I couldn’t shift without a wince. My mind raced with questions: What if this never gets better? What if this is just… life now? I pulled the blanket over my face and cried quietly. Not for attention. Just because I didn’t know what else to do. That was the first time I felt truly invisible.

The dream of the NHL? Gone. The body I trained every day? Unrecognizable. My teenage years weren’t just disrupted — they were derailed. But I wasn’t done.

Chronic Pain and Remote Work as Survival

I didn’t set out to become a remote worker. I set out to survive.

My 20s were a grind of trial and error — between jobs, relationships, and pain management. I painted houses while going to school full-time, not because it was easy, but because movement helped keep the inflammation at bay. I soaked in steam rooms and bathtubs as often as I could. I took ibuprofen like candy, until it burned a hole in my stomach and forced me to rethink everything.

After years of physically demanding work, I landed in corporate tech — hoping the desk job would bring more stability. But the office brought a different kind of struggle. Chairs I couldn’t sit in. Long meetings with no breaks. Quiet pressure to hide what I was going through.

Then came the realization: I thrived when I worked from home. Less stress. More control. Freedom to move. No more pretending I was okay in office chairs designed for healthy bodies. I performed better remotely because I wasn’t fighting my environment anymore.

I remember one morning in the office, gripping the sides of my chair just to stay upright during a team meeting. Pain radiated from my back into my ribs. My face looked calm — maybe even engaged. But inside, I was counting the seconds until I could excuse myself, get to the washroom, and lean against the wall just to breathe. No one knew. And I wasn’t about to explain.

At home, it was different. I could stretch between calls. Work from the couch when my spine locked up. Move without judgment. Heal while producing better work.

I was nervous to ask if I could work remotely. I knew the answer would be a flat-out no if I asked for a full-time setup. I was only two years into the company, one year into working with this manager. But we had a great relationship. He challenged me to grow, to lead, to lean into discomfort. So I used his own coaching against him — and turned it into fuel for my ask.

I didn’t position it as a demand. I framed it as a path forward. I told him the truth: “I love what I do. But if I keep going like this, I won’t last.” That afternoon, I emailed and asked if I could work from home a couple days a week — not for convenience, but for survival. He said yes. That small shift changed everything.

Wayne Gretzky once said: “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

That was mine. And I took it.
I wasn’t lazy — I was efficient. Strategic. Focused.
My condition forced me to build smarter systems — for my work, my wellness, and my life.

The Truth Beneath the Surface

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me. That’s the cruel part of invisible illness.

Most days, I’m sitting at a 6/10 on the pain scale. Some days are better. Others pull me under. But I’ve learned not to wait for pain-free days — I move anyway. I work anyway. I live anyway.

What hurts more than the pain is what it tried to take: my identity, my momentum, my hope. Chronic illness didn’t just change my life — it forced me to redesign it from scratch.

And that’s what I’ve done.

My Systems for Living — and Working — With Pain

I’m not pain-free.
But I’m powerful.
Here’s how I keep going:

• Eucalyptus steam therapy or Epsom salt baths — 3–5x/week
• Stationary bike (3x/week), light weights (2x/week), nightly stretching
• Remote-first workflow — batch work, deep focus, rest intervals
• Boundaries as structure — protected mornings, no-guilt breaks, time-blocked recovery
• Supportive footwear + quality bedding — inflammation game changers

I use movement as medicine.
Structure as therapy.
And honest self-talk as my daily reset.

These systems weren’t optional — they were how I built resilience through chronic pain and remote work.

For Anyone Else Living With Invisible Pain

This site isn’t about inspiration.
It’s about utility.

If you’re living with chronic pain and remote work and trying to stay afloat — this space is for you.

I write from lived experience. 25 years of it.
Systems built out of necessity, not theory.
You won’t find hacks here — you’ll find habits that hold.

And if you’re reading this wondering if you’ll ever get your life back:
You might not get the same one.
But you can build a new one.
On your terms.

That’s what I’ve done.
That’s what I share here.

Want to know why I built this site for people like us? Read my About Me page.

Suggested Article:
Living at a 6/10: The Routine That Keeps Me Functional With Chronic Pain

If you want to know exactly how I structure my days to stay functional (even at a 6/10 pain baseline), this is the next place to go.