IBD vs IBS
Different Names, Shared Humanity
Yesterday, I had a deep and meaningful conversation with a close friend – someone I love dearly and respect immensely. I was excited to share something close to my heart: the launch of my Instagram channel for people with IBD, part of my mission to shine a light on the illness and be a source of hope and positivity in a space that too often feels heavy with despair.
My goal is to create a space filled with tips, tools, and supportive words to help people like me live better lives. I want to show that even in pain, there can still be joy. That life doesn’t have to stop – it just needs more love, more care, and a little more light. Too many spaces online dwell on the negative, and while it’s important to acknowledge the struggle, I also believe in the power of lifting each other up.
During our conversation, my friend asked what IBD stood for. “Inflammatory Bowel Disease,” I answered.
“Oh, the same as me then,” she said. “I’ve got IBS.”
It was a moment that caught me off guard – not because she was wrong, but because I suddenly felt the tightrope I was walking. I began explaining that IBD and IBS are not the same. IBD is an autoimmune disease. It causes damage to the digestive tract – sometimes irreparable. It can lead to surgeries, immune-suppressing medications, and long-term health challenges. It changes lives.
But I also know from personal experience that IBS can be deeply uncomfortable and distressing too. I’ve had IBS flare-ups myself in the past, and I understand that for many, the symptoms can be severe, overwhelming, and isolating.
And yet, as I explained the difference between our conditions, I felt something else rising – guilt. I didn’t want it to sound like I was saying, “My illness is worse than yours.” That was never the point. But it did leave me wondering:
How do we educate and raise awareness without belittling another’s pain?
I was surprised she didn’t know the difference. And then I realised – why should she? How many of us really understand the conditions we don’t live with? The truth is, we’re all carrying something. Suffering is suffering, and every person’s experience of it is uniquely valid.
What I might be able to cope with, someone else might not. What they live with every day, I might find unbearable. And perhaps I can manage my IBD because I have strong coping mechanisms – a loving husband, the time and space to meditate, and a great medical team. Someone else might be dealing with something “less serious” on paper, but they’re also carrying fear, isolation, and unspoken pain that makes their daily life heavy.
Maybe they’ve never felt safe enough to ask for help. Maybe their symptoms, though not diagnosed as severe, have caused them immense stress. Maybe they’re well physically, but aching with worry for someone they love who is unwell.
In the end, maybe it doesn’t matter what it’s called. Maybe what matters most is that we approach each other with kindness and curiosity, not comparison. You can always ask me what IBD is – I’ll gladly explain it. But I won’t judge you for not knowing. And none of us should.
Because none of us really know what someone else is going through until we ask – and until we listen, truly listen – with open arms, open hearts, and a smile that says, “You’re not alone.”