The Stoma Accountant

You can look completely fine… and still be mentally planning your escape route.
That’s the bit people don’t always understand about IBD.

Someone might see you sitting in a café, walking into work, turning up to plans, smiling in a photo, or saying “I’m okay.”
But they don’t see what’s happening in your head.

Where’s the nearest toilet?
How long can I stay here?
What if urgency hits suddenly?
What if I don’t make it?
How do I leave without making it obvious?

That constant background noise is exhausting.
And when you live with Crohn’s, Ulcerative colitis, or any form of IBD, it isn’t just “going to the toilet more.”
It can affect your confidence, your freedom, your relationships, your mental health, your work life, and the way you feel in your own body.

That’s why World IBD Day matters.
Because so much of this illness happens quietly.

Behind normal faces.
Behind cancelled plans.
Behind “I’m fine.”
Behind people who are just trying to get through the day without their body taking over.

So if you’re living with IBD and you’ve ever felt like nobody really sees what it takes just to function — I see you.

And if you don’t live with it, please take a moment to listen.

Awareness isn’t just about knowing the name of the condition.

It’s about understanding the reality behind it. 💜
Save this if it puts words to something you’ve felt.

Share it if someone needs to understand IBD beyond the surface.

Over 500,000 people in the UK are living with Crohn’s or Colitis.

But IBD is still massively misunderstood.

People hear “bowel disease” and assume it just means going to the toilet more.

It doesn’t.

It can take over your confidence, your social life, your work, your relationships, your mental health, and your ability to feel safe in your own body.

It’s the urgency you can’t explain. The anxiety before leaving the house. The constant checking for toilets. The cancelled plans. The exhaustion of pretending you’re fine when everything inside you feels out of control.

And the hardest part is that most of it happens quietly.

You can be sitting in public, looking completely normal, while mentally working out where the nearest toilet is, how quickly you could leave, and whether you’re going to make it through the next hour without something going wrong.

That’s the side of ulcerative colitis people don’t always see.

And that’s exactly why I’m talking about it properly.

This World IBD Day, I’m using the moment to relaunch my blog — The Stoma Accountant — where I’ll be sharing my real story of living with UC, losing control, hospital admissions, and eventually getting a stoma.

Then from 1st June, I’ll be posting a 30-day series about what living with ulcerative colitis was actually like.

Not the polished version.

The real one.

If you live with IBD, Crohn’s, colitis, a stoma, or any invisible illness, I hope this makes you feel a little less alone.

And if you don’t live with it, please stick around.

Because understanding starts with listening.

Read the blog, follow the June series, and share this with someone who needs to understand what IBD really feels like.

“I need some advice… I’m really struggling with this.”

A couple of weeks ago I was back at Torbay Hospital seeing my consultant for the first time in 2 years.

My stoma has honestly given me my life back… but there’s still something going on behind the scenes.
My re**al stump is badly inflamed from diverted colitis and it’s bleeding every day.

If I’m honest, I’ve just been getting on with it. Compared to what I went through before surgery, this felt like nothing. So I’ve just dealt with it and carried on.

But my consultant wasn’t happy with that.

Because of how inflamed it is, there’s a higher risk long term and it’ll likely need removing at some point. That decision comes later… but right now it’s about trying to calm it down.

I’ve been put back on meds I used to take before surgery… and I thought I’d handle them fine.

But this time it’s different.
The foam is unbearable. The pain is instant and my body just rejects it within seconds.
The suppositories stay in, but they’re still painful and leave me sore all day.

And mentally… it’s hit me more than I expected.

It feels like I’ve been pulled back into a fight I already fought so hard to get out of. Back to battling my own body again. Back to relying on meds and hoping they work so I don’t end up needing more surgery.

I’m tired if I’m honest. Properly drained.

I know I’m not the only one who’s been through this, so I’m reaching out…

Has anyone else dealt with this?
Does it get easier?
Do these meds actually start working after a while?

I think right now I just need someone to tell me…
it’s going to be alright. 🙏💜