Last October, I was driving around with my friend, and as I pulled up to a red light, I felt like I was about to pass out. I tried to tell my passenger what was going on, but I could not put a sentence together. My head felt like a bowling ball that I could not hold up. My vision started to go black around the edges like a computer screen slowly turning off. Although it lasted less than a minute, I was terrified.

As the months progressed, I continued to experience random dizzy spells. The blackouts never returned, but the unsteadiness remained. Weeks passed where I forgot what it felt like to be normal. Entrance and exit ramps to highways were no longer a regular part of driving. I had to hold my head perfectly still and pray I did not get sick. Going to school and work drained me. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and hope my head would stop spinning.

Finally, I decided to go to the doctor. I went to my pediatrician, who then referred me to an ENT. Eventually, I ended up at the hospital. Various tests were performed, and still no diagnosis. My medicine cabinet was lined with bottles and bottles of prescriptions, but they only made me even more tired. The hardest part was not the constant state of confusion and dizziness, but rather not knowing what was wrong.

None of my friends knew what it was like because there was no name for it. Describing this "illness" was nearly impossible. People simply noticed that I was becoming reclusive. I constantly had to turn down invites, but the excuses never changed: I was exhausted, and I was dizzy. Eventually, the girls nights out simply stopped. I would go to school, work and then straight home. My weekends were observed inside the comfort of my bed. Being a somewhat adventurous person, this tortured me. I hated saying no to my friends, but I could not muster up the strength to go out.

Luckily, my unsteadiness subsided for a while. But it has returned. The problem with these types of issues, whether it is something as simple as dizziness or as complex as cancer, is that they cannot be seen. We tend to be more compassionate toward those with problems that we know are there, such as a broken limb or bruise. However, we forget about the people who are struggling with issues beyond the physical eye.

There are millions of people suffering from diseases like cancer, diabetes, vestibular disorders and mental illnesses. Although the pain is very different from something so tangible, it does not mean it doesn't exist. The best things anyone did for me at the time were the following: they prayed for me, they listened to me and they simply reached out to me to tell me that they were there for me.

If someone is constantly turning down invitations because of "invisible pain" or a chronic illness that you may not understand, it is not because they are avoiding you. They simply need time and rest. Just let them know that you believe what they say and that you will always be there for them.

Not every sickness has visible characteristics. It is time to stop focusing solely on what people look like, and focusing more on how they are truly feeling. The best thing you could ever do for someone is showing compassion to them during their time of need.