Every year, World Arthritis Day reminds me that even in pain, there is purpose. It is a day to acknowledge not only those who live with arthritis but also the invisible strength it takes to get up, move, and smile through discomfort. I was only 24 when my knees began to ache. What started as stiffness became a lifelong diagnosis—one that no doctor could fully explain. Dr. Ramsey, may he rest in peace, was the first to take my pain seriously. He ordered x-rays and later an MRI, and though the scans showed wear and tear, the question remained—why? Since then, I have spoken with at least eight doctors, both here in Antigua and abroad. Each one confirmed what the other had said: arthritis simply happens. It is a degenerative disease, meaning it progresses over time. It does not wait for old age, and it does not discriminate.
Globally, the World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that more than 528 million people live with osteoarthritis today—an increase of over 113 percent since 1990. By 2050, experts expect cases of knee osteoarthritis to rise by at least 75 percent. Arthritis is now the third-leading cause of disability worldwide, yet in the Caribbean, it remains a quiet conversation. Many suffer in silence, chalking up their stiffness to “just getting old,” unaware that early intervention can make a world of difference.
For me, living with arthritis is a balancing act between endurance and grace. Some mornings I rise ready to conquer the day; other mornings, every step feels like a climb. But because my condition is invisible, most people don’t see the struggle. I don’t use a cane or wheelchair. I walk, I work, I smile—and so the world assumes I am fine. Yet invisible disabilities can be the hardest to live with, precisely because they invite disbelief. “You look healthy,” people say. But pain doesn’t always show on the outside.
I was not fired from my government teaching job. I am, and remain, a trained teacher with the Government of Antigua and Barbuda, currently on unpaid leave. Teaching is not just my profession; it is my calling. But there was a time when I worked two full-time jobs—teaching during the day and supervising a restaurant at night.
Like many hardworking Antiguans, I did it out of necessity. The economy, then as now, often requires people to double up to sustain their families or build generational wealth.II was fired from my second job, crushing several dreams and aspirations.
That experience changed me. It made me more empathetic toward others struggling quietly. It also opened my eyes to how fragile financial security can be when illness enters the picture. Losing one income meant re-imagining my life, and it was through that re-imagining that Good Humans 268 Inc. was born—a nonprofit dedicated to empowering persons with disabilities and promoting environmental sustainability.
The Disabilities and Equal Opportunities Act of 2017 gives us a framework for inclusion, but laws mean little without action. True equality is about accessibility—in buildings, in workplaces, in attitudes. It’s about recognizing that disability is not inability. It’s a different way of moving through the world, one that demands awareness and compassion. In 2021, when I was pregnant, overwhelmed, and just fired, a friend encouraged me to turn to Scripture. I found comfort in Genesis 45:5, where Joseph tells his brothers, “Do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, for it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you.”
That verse became my anchor. It reminded me that sometimes our pain is the pathway to our purpose.
Through faith, I learned that perseverance doesn’t mean pretending you’re fine. It means acknowledging the hurt, resting when you must, and rising again anyway. Arthritis may have changed my income, my purpose, my calling and now the daily fight, but it hasn’t changed where I’m going. It taught me patience, resilience, and gratitude. It taught me that when life slows you down, it’s often giving you time to notice what truly matters. FIGHT, it’s long, hard, depressing, lonely, and some days it seems pointless, but fighting is a must for individuals with disabilities. As we observe World Arthritis Day, I want to remind every reader in St. Paul’s and beyond that you never know what battle the next person is fighting. The colleague who seems distracted may be managing chronic pain. The student who struggles to focus may be living with a silent illness. Compassion costs nothing but means everything.
So today, check in on someone. Offer a smile. Ask, “How are you really?” And if you are the one in pain, remember this—you are not alone. Around the world, millions wake up each day fighting the same invisible fight, and still, they rise. We rise. Because even in pain, purpose is possible. And in every ache, there is a reminder that grace still carries us through.
