Standing My Ground: A Journey of Self-Advocacy and Invisible Strength

Chapter 1: The Traveling Life

My name is Rebecca Torres, and at thirty-six, I’ve built what most people would consider a dream career. As a senior business development consultant specializing in sustainable technology solutions, I spend my days helping companies transition to environmentally friendly practices while maintaining profitability. It’s meaningful work that combines my passion for environmental protection with my skills in strategic planning and relationship building.

The job requires extensive travel—last year, I visited thirty-one cities across six countries, spending anywhere from four days to three weeks in each location. I’ve become an expert at navigating international airports, can pack efficiently for any climate, and have developed strong opinions about which hotel chains offer the most reliable Wi-Fi for video conferences across multiple time zones.

“Another passport stamp? You’re going to run out of pages at this rate,” my younger sister Maya laughed during our weekly video call as I waited in the departure lounge at Frankfurt Airport, preparing for my flight back to Los Angeles.

“It’s worth it,” I always tell her, and I genuinely mean it. The travel can be exhausting, but I’m building something important—financial independence, professional recognition, and the ability to make a real difference in how companies approach environmental responsibility.

My apartment in Venice Beach serves as home base, though I’m there perhaps twelve days a month on average. I’ve learned to maintain client relationships across continents, conduct meaningful negotiations via video conference, and find excellent vegetarian restaurants in cities where I don’t speak the local language. The work challenges me intellectually, pays well enough to afford the lifestyle I want, and provides the kind of global perspective that keeps me engaged and motivated.

Hotel loyalty programs have become my unofficial second currency, and I’ve developed an encyclopedic knowledge of which airlines offer the best accommodations for long-haul flights. I can manage complex project timelines while dealing with jet lag, respond to urgent emails during layovers, and maintain productivity even when my office for the day is seat 7A on an Airbus A350.

But beneath this successful, globe-trotting lifestyle lies a constant companion that requires careful attention and meticulous planning: Crohn’s disease, an inflammatory bowel condition that has been part of my reality for fourteen years.

Chapter 2: Living with the Invisible

I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease during my final year of college, when what I had initially attributed to stress from thesis writing and job interviews turned out to be something much more serious and permanent. The diagnosis came after months of concerning symptoms—severe abdominal pain, unpredictable digestive issues, extreme fatigue, and weight loss that couldn’t be explained by my busy student lifestyle.

Crohn’s disease is a chronic inflammatory condition that affects the digestive tract, causing inflammation that can occur anywhere from the mouth to the anus, though it most commonly affects the small intestine and colon. Unlike temporary digestive issues, Crohn’s is a lifelong condition that requires ongoing management through medication, dietary modifications, and careful attention to triggers that can cause flare-ups.

“This diagnosis doesn’t define what you can achieve,” my gastroenterologist, Dr. Sarah Kim, explained during one of our early appointments. “But it does mean you’ll need to approach your goals differently than someone without this condition. Success will require planning, self-awareness, and the willingness to advocate for your needs.”

I’ve lived by those words for over a decade. My travel bag always contains emergency medications, my phone has detailed notes about safe restaurants in various cities, and I’ve learned to identify the early warning signs of a potential flare-up with the precision of someone whose career depends on such awareness.

International travel, particularly the demanding business travel my career requires, adds significant complexity to Crohn’s management. Different time zones affect medication schedules, foreign cuisines can trigger unexpected reactions, and the stress of international negotiations can impact my digestive system. I’ve learned to research medical facilities in every city I visit, maintain relationships with gastroenterologists in major business centers, and always carry documentation of my condition for customs and medical personnel.

Most people in my professional and personal life understand and accommodate my medical needs without question. My clients know that I need regular meal breaks during long negotiation sessions. My colleagues don’t mind when I need to step away from meetings to take medication or address symptoms. Hotel staff, when I explain my dietary restrictions, are typically helpful about providing appropriate meal options.

The condition is largely invisible—I don’t use mobility aids, don’t require obvious accommodations, and can participate fully in most aspects of business and social life with proper planning. But that invisibility can sometimes work against me when others don’t understand that what appears to be pickiness about food or frequent bathroom breaks are actually medical necessities.

Chapter 3: The Singapore Incident

The experience that would test my advocacy skills and challenge my patience occurred during what should have been a straightforward business trip to Singapore. I had spent the previous week in Tokyo working with a electronics manufacturer on implementing renewable energy solutions in their production facilities, and the project had been more intensive than anticipated.

The client meetings had involved complex technical discussions, detailed facility tours, and elaborate business dinners that made it difficult to maintain my usual dietary restrictions. By the time I was flying to Singapore for the next phase of the project, I was feeling the early signs of a potential Crohn’s flare-up—increased abdominal discomfort, digestive irregularity, and the kind of fatigue that goes beyond typical travel exhaustion.

I had been managing my symptoms carefully throughout the Tokyo portion of the trip, but the combination of rich Japanese cuisine, irregular meal times, and the stress of high-stakes negotiations had pushed my digestive system closer to its limits than I was comfortable with. The thirteen-hour flight from Tokyo to Singapore via a connection in Kuala Lumpur was going to require careful management of my medication schedule and dietary needs.

As I settled into my assigned seat—an aisle seat in the middle section that I had specifically requested for easy bathroom access—I noticed that I was seated next to a family that appeared to be traveling for leisure. The setup was typical for long-haul international flights: three seats across, with my seat positioned next to a woman in her early forties who was traveling with what appeared to be her teenage daughter and elderly mother.

The woman immediately caught my attention, not because of any concerning behavior, but because of the elaborate spread of snacks, medications, and comfort items she was arranging across multiple seat-back pockets and tray tables. She had clearly prepared extensively for the long flight, with everything from sleep masks and compression socks to what appeared to be a pharmacy’s worth of over-the-counter medications.

“Mom, I told you I don’t need the motion sickness pills,” the teenager complained as her mother continued organizing supplies with the efficiency of someone who had clearly done this many times before.

“Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them,” the woman replied, continuing her methodical arrangement of travel supplies.

I settled into my seat and tried to focus on preparing for the long flight ahead. I had my own collection of necessary medications to take at specific intervals, carefully planned snacks that wouldn’t aggravate my condition, and a detailed mental schedule of when I would need to move around to prevent the cramping and discomfort that prolonged sitting could cause.

The flight from Tokyo to Kuala Lumpur was uneventful, but during the layover, I could feel my symptoms beginning to intensify. The combination of airplane food, irregular timing, and the stress of travel was starting to affect my digestive system in ways that indicated I needed to be especially careful during the second leg of the journey.

Chapter 4: The First Confrontation

As our connecting flight from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore began boarding, I felt the familiar combination of abdominal cramping and nausea that indicated my Crohn’s was becoming more active. It wasn’t a full flare-up yet, but it was definitely moving in that direction, and I knew from experience that the next few hours would be critical for preventing a more serious episode.

I had timed my medication carefully and packed specific snacks that I knew would help settle my stomach without triggering additional symptoms. The plan was to eat small amounts at regular intervals, stay hydrated with specific types of fluids, and take my anti-inflammatory medication on schedule. It was a routine I had perfected through years of travel experience.

As the plane reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign turned off, I reached into my carry-on bag for the first of my planned snacks—plain crackers that I had brought specifically because they were gentle on my digestive system and helped absorb stomach acid that could exacerbate my symptoms.

Just as I opened the package, trying to be as quiet as possible out of consideration for other passengers, the woman beside me turned and spoke in a tone that suggested she was addressing a problem that needed immediate correction.

“Excuse me, but could you please not eat that right now?”

I paused, certain that I had misunderstood her request. “I’m sorry?”

“The smell is very strong, and my mother has a sensitive stomach,” she explained, gesturing toward the elderly woman on her other side, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully with noise-canceling headphones and an eye mask. “She gets very nauseous when she smells food during flights, and we’re trying to prevent any issues that might make the trip more difficult for her.”

I looked at the elderly woman, who showed no signs of distress and appeared to be resting comfortably, then back at the crackers in my hand. They were plain saltines, virtually odorless and specifically chosen because they were unlikely to bother anyone around me.

“I understand your concern for your mother,” I replied carefully, “but I have a medical condition that requires me to eat at regular intervals. These crackers are part of managing my symptoms.”

The woman’s expression tightened with the kind of impatience typically shown by people who are used to having their requests accommodated without question. “It’s just a few hours. Surely you can wait until we land. We’ve been planning this trip for months, and my mother has been so worried about getting sick during the flight.”

I glanced again at the elderly woman, who continued to sleep soundly and showed no signs of being disturbed by anything happening around her. The request seemed not only unreasonable but also potentially harmful to my health, as I could feel my symptoms continuing to worsen and knew that delaying my planned snack could lead to more serious complications.

But faced with the daughter’s expectant stare and my own instinct to avoid conflict in the confined space of an airplane, I found myself reluctantly putting the crackers back in their package. “I’ll wait a little while,” I said, hoping that the woman’s mother would wake up soon and that I could address my medical needs without further confrontation.

Over the next hour, as I monitored my worsening symptoms and watched the elderly woman continue to sleep peacefully, I began to realize that I had made a mistake in accommodating the unreasonable request. My abdominal pain was increasing, my nausea was becoming more pronounced, and I was beginning to experience the kind of fatigue and discomfort that indicated my condition was progressing toward a more serious flare-up.

Chapter 5: The Medication Incident

When the beverage service began, I saw an opportunity to address my increasing medical needs without directly confronting the woman about food. I could request specific types of beverages that would help settle my stomach and potentially buy time until I could eat something more substantial.

As the flight attendant reached our row, I smiled politely and said, “Could I please have some ginger ale and some crackers if you have them available?”

Before I could finish my request, the woman beside me immediately interjected with an authority that suggested she was accustomed to speaking for other people in medical situations. “Actually, she won’t be needing anything right now. My mother has a very sensitive stomach, and any food or strong-smelling beverages could trigger severe nausea.”

The flight attendant, a professional woman who had probably dealt with various passenger requests during her career, looked confused but maintained her customer service demeanor. “Ma’am?” she asked, looking at me for clarification.

I felt a surge of frustration and physical discomfort that made it difficult to remain diplomatic. My symptoms were worsening, and I knew that continuing to delay treatment could result in a serious medical situation that would be much more disruptive to the flight than eating crackers.

“I have Crohn’s disease,” I said clearly, loud enough that several nearby passengers could hear. “I need to eat and take medication on a regular schedule, or I could end up in the hospital when we land.”

The impact was immediate and significant. The flight attendant’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, several passengers in nearby seats looked up with obvious interest, and the woman beside me appeared genuinely surprised that I had disclosed my medical condition publicly.

“Of course,” the flight attendant replied immediately. “What can I bring you to help with your condition?”

“Ginger ale and any plain crackers you have would be perfect,” I replied, grateful for the professional response.

The woman’s reaction was swift and defensive. “Well, you could have mentioned that earlier instead of making it seem like you just wanted a snack. My mother has needs too, and we’ve been planning around her medical issues for this entire trip.”

I looked pointedly at the elderly woman, who remained peacefully asleep and had not stirred once during our increasingly loud conversation. “Your mother has been sleeping comfortably for the past hour and hasn’t shown any signs of distress about food, smells, or anything else happening around her.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t be affected,” the woman protested. “Prevention is key with her condition.”

As I accepted the ginger ale and crackers from the flight attendant, I realized that this situation was about more than just one family’s travel concerns. It was about the broader challenge of advocating for invisible medical needs in social situations where others might not understand the urgency or importance of seemingly routine accommodations.

Chapter 6: Taking a Stand

I took my first sip of ginger ale with the relief of someone whose medical needs were finally being addressed, but I could feel the tension in our row continuing to escalate. The woman had clearly expected her request to be accommodated without question, and my refusal to comply had created a situation she wasn’t prepared to handle.

As I began eating the crackers—slowly and carefully, as my stomach was quite sensitive at this point—she made one more attempt to control the situation through what appeared to be emotional manipulation.

“You know, my mother is ninety-two years old, and this might be her last international trip,” she said, her voice taking on a tone of wounded dignity. “She’s been so excited about visiting Singapore with us, and now you’re potentially ruining the experience by being inconsiderate of her medical needs.”

I paused in my eating and looked directly at her, then at her mother, who continued to sleep soundly despite our conversation happening inches away from her head. The elderly woman showed no signs of nausea, distress, or even awareness that anything unusual was occurring around her.

“Your mother appears to be resting very comfortably,” I observed calmly. “And she’s been sleeping peacefully for over an hour, including during the beverage service when multiple passengers around us have been eating and drinking various things. If she truly had such severe sensitivities to food smells, wouldn’t she have been affected by now?”

The woman’s face flushed, but she pressed on with her argument. “She’s medicated for the flight. But that doesn’t mean exposure won’t cause problems later.”

I realized that this conversation had moved beyond reasonable accommodation requests into the territory of manufactured emergencies designed to control other people’s behavior. The woman was not advocating for her mother’s legitimate medical needs—she was using her mother’s age and supposed frailty as tools to manipulate the situation for reasons I couldn’t fully understand.

“I sympathize with your concerns about your mother’s comfort,” I said, my voice carrying the kind of professional authority I had developed through years of business negotiations. “But my medical needs are not optional or postponable. I have a chronic inflammatory condition that requires specific management, and delaying treatment could result in a medical emergency that would be much more disruptive to everyone on this flight than me eating crackers.”

The conversation had attracted the attention of passengers in nearby rows, and I could see several people nodding in agreement with my position. An elderly gentleman across the aisle spoke up with the kind of quiet authority that comes from life experience.

“Young lady,” he said, addressing the woman beside me, “I’ve been traveling internationally for fifty years, and I’ve never seen anyone try to prevent another passenger from eating for medical reasons. That’s not reasonable, and it’s not kind.”

A businesswoman in the row behind us added, “I have diabetes, and if someone tried to prevent me from managing my blood sugar, I’d have them removed from the flight. Medical needs come first, always.”

Chapter 7: The Resolution and Aftermath

The support from other passengers seemed to deflate the woman’s arguments, and she finally settled back into her seat with obvious frustration. Her mother continued to sleep peacefully throughout the remainder of the flight, never once showing signs of distress about food, beverages, or anything else happening around her.

I was able to take my medication on schedule, eat the small amounts of food necessary to manage my symptoms, and prevent what could have been a serious flare-up from developing into a medical emergency. The flight attendants, once they understood the situation, were helpful and accommodating, checking on me periodically to ensure I had everything I needed.

As we began our descent into Singapore, I reflected on what the experience had taught me about self-advocacy, invisible disabilities, and the importance of standing firm when medical needs are at stake. The woman’s initial request might have seemed reasonable if taken at face value, but it quickly became clear that it was not based on legitimate medical concerns but rather on a desire to control the environment around her for reasons that had nothing to do with her mother’s actual health needs.

The incident highlighted several important principles that I had been learning throughout my career and personal life. First, that invisible medical conditions require active self-advocacy because others cannot see or understand the urgency of needs that aren’t immediately obvious. Second, that some people will attempt to use emotional manipulation and manufactured crises to control others’ behavior for their own convenience or comfort. Third, that standing up for legitimate medical needs is not selfish or inconsiderate—it’s necessary for health and safety.

When we landed in Singapore, the woman gathered her belongings without making eye contact with me, and her mother woke up refreshed and cheerful, showing no signs of having been affected by any of the food or beverages consumed during the flight. As they prepared to disembark, the elderly woman actually smiled at me and commented on what a pleasant flight it had been.

The experience reinforced my understanding that effective self-advocacy sometimes requires being willing to create temporary social discomfort in order to protect long-term health and wellbeing. The crackers and ginger ale I consumed during that flight were not snacks or preferences—they were medical treatment, as essential to managing my condition as any prescription medication.

Chapter 8: Broader Implications and Lessons Learned

In the weeks following the Singapore flight, I found myself thinking about the broader implications of what had happened and how it related to the experiences of millions of people living with invisible chronic conditions. Crohn’s disease affects approximately 700,000 Americans, and while it can be managed effectively with proper treatment and lifestyle modifications, it requires understanding and accommodation from others in social and professional environments.

The challenge of managing a chronic digestive condition while traveling internationally, working in demanding professional environments, and maintaining social relationships is complicated by the fact that most people don’t understand what they can’t see. Unlike visible disabilities or obvious medical equipment, conditions like Crohn’s, ulcerative colitis, irritable bowel syndrome, and other digestive disorders require accommodations that may not be immediately apparent to observers.

This lack of visibility can lead to situations where people make assumptions about what constitutes “normal” behavior or make requests for accommodations that they don’t understand could be medically harmful. In my case, what appeared to be a simple snack was actually essential medical management, as important to my wellbeing as taking prescribed medications or following dietary restrictions.

The woman on the flight had made several assumptions that reflected common misunderstandings about invisible disabilities. She assumed that my need to eat was preference rather than medical necessity. She assumed that her mother’s comfort was more important than my health. She assumed that social pressure and emotional appeals would be sufficient to make me comply with her unreasonable demands.

Most concerning, she seemed to believe that accommodating her manufactured emergency was more important than allowing me to manage my legitimate medical condition. This kind of thinking reflects a broader cultural tendency to prioritize convenience and social harmony over accessibility and medical needs.

The experience taught me several valuable lessons about effective self-advocacy that have served me well in both professional and personal situations:

Clarity and Directness Work: When advocating for medical needs, clear, specific communication is more effective than hints or detailed explanations. Saying “I have Crohn’s disease and need to eat on schedule” was much more powerful than trying to negotiate or explain the complexities of digestive condition management.

Medical Needs Are Non-Negotiable: While it’s natural to want to avoid conflict and accommodate others when possible, medical necessities cannot be compromised for social convenience or other people’s comfort. My health management was more important than the woman’s desire to control the environment around her sleeping mother.

Documentation and Preparation Help: Having visible evidence of my condition, such as medications and medical documentation, lent credibility to my medical claims and made it harder for others to dismiss my needs as preferences or convenience.

Allies and Support Matter: The support I received from other passengers reminded me that most people, when they understand the actual situation, are willing to support reasonable accommodations for medical needs.

Standing Firm Prevents Escalation: By refusing to compromise my medical needs, I prevented what could have been a much more serious situation if my condition had worsened due to delayed treatment.

Chapter 9: Professional and Personal Growth

The incident also highlighted the importance of self-advocacy skills in professional environments. As someone who travels internationally for work and often finds herself in situations where she needs to manage her Crohn’s disease while maintaining professional relationships and client service standards, the ability to assert medical needs confidently has become essential to career success.

I’ve since become more proactive about communicating my needs in advance when possible, whether that means requesting specific accommodations for international flights, ensuring that business dinner venues can accommodate my dietary restrictions, or educating colleagues and clients about how they can support my health management without disrupting professional activities.

The experience has also made me more aware of the challenges faced by others with invisible disabilities and the importance of creating inclusive environments that don’t require people to choose between their health and their comfort in social or professional situations.

In my consulting work, I’ve begun incorporating accessibility considerations into the sustainable business practices I recommend to clients. This includes ensuring that workplace wellness programs consider the needs of employees with chronic conditions, that business travel policies accommodate medical requirements, and that company cultures support employees who need to advocate for their health needs.

The confidence I gained from successfully advocating for myself in that challenging situation has carried over into other areas of my life and work. I’ve become more assertive about scheduling meetings that accommodate my medication and meal schedules, more direct about communicating my needs to clients and colleagues, and more confident in setting boundaries that protect my health without compromising my professional effectiveness.

Chapter 10: Supporting Others and Creating Change

Since the Singapore flight experience, I’ve become more intentional about supporting others who may be managing invisible disabilities or chronic conditions. This includes:

Avoiding Assumptions: Not making judgments about others’ behavior without understanding the full context, especially when it comes to food, medication, bathroom breaks, or other accommodation needs.

Offering Support: When I see someone advocating for their medical needs, offering verbal or practical support when appropriate and not assuming I understand their situation better than they do.

Educating Others: Sharing information about invisible disabilities and the importance of accommodation when opportunities arise naturally in conversation, particularly in professional settings where such awareness can impact company policies and culture.

Creating Inclusive Environments: In my consulting role, ensuring that the sustainable business practices I recommend consider the needs of people with various conditions and disabilities, and that accessibility is seen as an integral part of corporate social responsibility.

The key insight from that experience was that I had both the right and the responsibility to prioritize my health over others’ convenience or comfort. This doesn’t mean being unnecessarily confrontational or insensitive to others’ needs, but it does mean being willing to stand firm when medical requirements are at stake.

I’ve also learned to recognize the difference between reasonable requests for accommodation and manipulative attempts to control others’ behavior for convenience. The woman on the flight was not advocating for her mother’s legitimate medical needs—she was using her mother’s age and supposed vulnerability as tools to control my behavior for reasons that had nothing to do with actual health concerns.

Chapter 11: The Ongoing Journey

Living with Crohn’s disease while maintaining a demanding international travel schedule continues to present challenges, but the experience on the Singapore flight gave me confidence in my ability to advocate for my needs effectively when necessary. I’ve since encountered other situations where people have made unreasonable requests or assumptions about my medical management, and I’ve been able to respond with clarity and confidence rather than accommodation and compromise.

The journey of learning to advocate for invisible medical needs is ongoing and requires constant attention to changing circumstances, evolving symptoms, and different social and professional environments. But the fundamental principle remains the same: my health is not negotiable, and I have both the right and the responsibility to protect it, even when doing so creates temporary discomfort for others.

I continue to travel extensively for work, manage my Crohn’s disease effectively, and advocate for my needs when necessary. I carry emergency medications, communicate clearly about my medical requirements when relevant, and refuse to compromise my health for others’ convenience or comfort.

The crackers I ate on that flight were more than just food—they were a declaration that my medical needs matter and that I have both the capability and the obligation to protect my health. The confidence I gained from that experience has enhanced my professional effectiveness, improved my personal relationships, and given me the tools to support others who may be facing similar challenges.

Conclusion: Health as a Foundation for Everything Else

The flight to Singapore taught me that advocating for medical needs isn’t selfish, dramatic, or inconsiderate—it’s essential for maintaining the health that makes everything else in life possible. My Crohn’s disease may be invisible to others, but it’s a constant reality that requires active management and occasional accommodation from those around me.

I have every right to eat when my condition requires it, to take medication on schedule, to use bathroom facilities when necessary, and to prioritize my health over others’ preferences or comfort. The woman who tried to prevent me from eating that day learned an important lesson about the difference between her mother’s imagined sensitivities and another person’s real medical needs.

Nobody’s convenience is more important than another person’s health. That’s a lesson worth remembering whether you’re at 35,000 feet or on solid ground. The courage to advocate for your medical needs, even when it creates temporary social tension, is an essential life skill that can literally determine your quality of life and long-term health outcomes.

Today, I continue to travel the world helping companies implement sustainable practices, manage my Crohn’s disease proactively, and advocate for my needs when necessary. I carry medical documentation, communicate clearly about my requirements when relevant, and refuse to compromise my health for others’ convenience. The ginger ale and crackers I consumed on that flight were more than just snacks—they were medical treatment and a declaration that my health matters.

This experience reinforced that people with invisible disabilities face unique challenges in advocating for their needs, but that effective self-advocacy is both possible and essential. With clear communication, firm boundaries, and the confidence to prioritize medical needs over social comfort, it’s possible to manage chronic conditions successfully while maintaining professional effectiveness and personal relationships.

The journey continues, but I’m better equipped now to handle whatever challenges arise, knowing that my health is the foundation that makes everything else in my life possible. Standing my ground on that flight wasn’t just about eating crackers—it was about claiming my right to manage my health on my own terms and refusing to let others’ misconceptions or convenience override my medical needs.

Every person managing an invisible condition deserves the same respect, understanding, and support. Sometimes that means being willing to speak up, stand firm, and remind others that what they can’t see is still very real and very important.