Thriving with Chronic Pain at Leidos

The Unseen Burden of Chronic Pain

Ever had a day when you needed to function for work? Still, an unseen, ever-present vine slowly twisting and tightening around your entire body, its grip periodically cinching tighter, then loosening slightly, but never letting go, wears you down and saps every ounce of energy and concentration. For millions, this is the reality of chronic pain. 

For me, it’s been a constant, quiet battle mainly fought behind the scenes, where its tendrils decide to show up whenever they please, making predictability a total luxury. Showing up consistently, day in and day out, feels like a negotiation with my own body. But even with all those challenges, it absolutely doesn’t have to be the end of a fulfilling career or block you from doing great work.

A Supportive Workplace at Leidos

What I’ve come to appreciate about working at Leidos is its genuine commitment to fostering an environment where every employee, regardless of their unique circumstances, can truly thrive. This commitment is something I’ve seen firsthand, especially through our A4 (Allies and Action for Accessibility and Abilities) Employee Resource Group, which actively champions an inclusive culture where accessibility isn’t just a policy on paper, but a lived experience for all employees like me. It’s why I’m incredibly proud that Leidos has consistently earned recognition as a top employer for individuals with disabilities, a powerful testament to the company’s genuine support for its people.

My own journey with chronic headaches and pain has been a testament to this philosophy. For years, I’ve navigated the professional world with this invisible companion, learning to adapt, advocate, and ultimately, discover how the right environment can transform what feels like a constant struggle into a pathway for success. My story explores how Leidos’s supportive culture and the invaluable community within A4 have empowered me to not only manage my chronic condition and excel in my career but also to become a stronger advocate for myself and for others living with disabilities.

My Invisible Battle with Chronic Pain & Headaches 

The Vine’s Origin and My Relentless Search

That unseen, ever-present vine first started twisting and tightening around me on July 1, 1999. Can you believe it? For 26 years now, its grip hasn’t let up for a single moment of real relief! That’s a whopping 9,500 days and counting. I’m not talking about that little ache behind your eyes from staring at a screen too long, or a stuffy nose headache. Nope! This is pain that shoots from my eyebrows to the top of my head, then straight down my neck, shoulders, and every single inch of my spine, right down to my tailbone. It’s just this relentless, all-consuming hurt that sucks up all my energy and focus. Seriously, it takes a monumental effort just to get through a typical workday.

My quest to figure out this constant torment has felt like a never-ending merry-go-round of doctors. I’ve seen some so many times that I honestly joke I should have my own examination room! The list is huge: acupuncturists, allergists, chiropractors, neurologists, physical therapists, and even psychiatrists. Each one would offer a tiny spark of hope, a new theory, a different path to try. 

Early Years of Diagnosis and Medication

My primary doctor once referred me to an eye doctor, who noticed that my eye was turning inward. Even though I’d had surgery for this “lazy eye” as a baby and my headaches started way later, I still gave new glasses a shot and hoped for the best. But guess what? The vine’s grip didn’t loosen in the slightest. Then came the OB/GYN, who blamed my Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Again, old news! I tried different meds to balance my hormones. And again, no relief from the vine. With every new specialist, my list of diagnoses just kept growing, and so did the depressing list of medications that just didn’t do a thing.

For the first five years, that vine’s squeeze was so bad, I was practically stuck in bed. My kid was only 5 ½, and I was trying to be a stay-at-home mom, but I could barely open my eyes, let alone teach him his ABCs. It was such a dark and lonely time. 

The Frustrating Cycle of Theories and Medications

When my then-husband finally got some decent health insurance, I jumped back into the frantic search for answers. The diagnoses I collected were wild and often totally contradictory. Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, allergies, eye strain, and even “bad posture.” Of course, my favorite is/was/always will be “you need to exercise to lose weight. That should definitely help!”

Every new theory felt like grabbing at thin air, sometimes more baffling than the last. It all boiled down to one frustrating truth. No one could determine what was truly wrong. My primary doctor even threw pretty much every headache drug known to man at me. 

Most opioids gave me hives, yikes! Others made me so tired I slept 15 hours a day – definitely not ideal when you’re trying to raise a kindergartner. My medication list ended up longer than my arm, packed with names like Imitrex, Maxalt, Percocet, and even Botox. Still, none of them offered any lasting escape from the vine’s relentless tightening.

The Problem with Chiropractors and the Rise of New Pain

Visiting a chiropractor was probably the biggest mistake I made during my desperate search. At first, the adjustments felt good, but the vine’s grip just wouldn’t let go. My chiropractor insisted on three visits a week to “get me realigned,” promising long-term relief. After five months of paying out of pocket for that intense schedule, it became totally financially impossible. As I slowly cut back on my visits, I actually started feeling better, both physically and economically. But still, the vine’s grip hadn’t loosened. Even worse, I developed a new problem: my lower and middle back felt constantly inflamed, with sharp, sudden pains. These “twinges” would immediately crank up my headaches, pulling me right back into that original, debilitating pain. Now, my whole body hurt, making me barely functional, all tangled up in that vine.

Finding Hope in a New Chapter

By the time I finally gave up on the chiropractor, my husband and I had split, and I lost my health insurance. Talk about hitting rock bottom! Necessity became my new motivator. I worked four different jobs, pushing through the pain to make sure my kid and I were fed and had a roof over our heads. It’s truly amazing what you can endure when you’re the sole support for yourself and a child. I spent five years like that, running on pure survival instinct, grabbing sleep whenever I could, and trying to eat healthy. The vine was always there. There were countless times I had to put on a brave face in public-facing roles, even when its tightening hold blurred my vision so much I couldn’t even see a computer screen. But hey, my child needed to eat, and I needed to work!

Moving to the East Coast brought a glimmer of new hope. After seven long years without consistent healthcare, I finally landed a job with decent benefits. I immediately started seeing doctors again, hoping the world of migraine care had finally caught up. It hadn’t, not really, at least not for me. 

However, after several more years of going through the exact same frustrating process, I actually got a diagnosis that, for a precious moment, made perfect sense: Scheuermann’s Kyphosis! This condition, where your spine curves abnormally forward because of wedge-shaped vertebrae, finally seemed to explain all the chronic pain and headaches. The abnormal curve, I learned, puts pressure on nerves and muscles in your neck and back, directly causing headaches. A 2008 study even linked Scheuermann’s disease to more migraines. Finally, I thought I had an answer, a reason for the vine’s relentless embrace!

The Journey Continues: A Proactive Search for Answers

But my journey is always full of surprises, and it took yet another wild turn. A neurosurgeon, after looking at my case, actually retracted the Scheuermann’s Kyphosis diagnosis. Can you imagine?! This sudden reversal left me feeling totally uncertain and incredibly frustrated. Just when I thought I had a name for the vine, it slipped away, leaving me right back at square one, searching for answers all over again. Without a clear diagnosis, I’m back to navigating a complex maze of medical possibilities, trying to find specialists and treatments that might actually help my persistent pain without yet another wrong diagnosis.

Even with all these setbacks, I remain hopeful and proactive. Throughout this long and often disheartening journey, I’ve leaned heavily on extensive medical research from trusted sources such as the Mayo Clinic, the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, and the American Migraine Foundation. Their research into chronic headaches and headache disorders has greatly helped me understand the topic and stay informed about new developments. Connecting with others through patient stories and blogs from The Migraine Trust, The National Headache Foundation, and Migraine.com has also been comforting and full of practical tips. 

Now, I’m widening my search even more, looking into rheumatologists, pain management specialists, endocrinologists, geneticists, and even infectious disease specialists. By casting a wider net, I hope to uncover new insights and potential treatments that haven’t been explored yet, keeping up my fight against this invisible, ever-present vine.

Navigating the Professional World Before Leidos 

The Unforgiving Professional Landscape

Before finding my professional home at Leidos in late 2017, my career path was primarily defined by the constant, unspoken presence of that insidious vine. During my return to academic pursuits in 2005, the challenges of chronic pain were often compounded by environments that lacked understanding or flexibility. I remember trying to push through intense pain in college lectures, knowing that missing a class meant falling behind, and missing a shift meant possibly losing my job. But feeling the vine tighten its grip with every step made concentration nearly impossible. The pressure to appear “fine” was immense, leading to countless hours spent trying to catch up in isolation, often at the expense of my well-being.

In those early jobs, the struggle continued. I often found myself juggling multiple roles simultaneously. To make ends meet, I worked as a substitute teacher during the day, a front desk clerk and night auditor at a local hotel, a stage manager for the local symphony, and even a Shakespeare teacher for our local theater company on weekends. When I wasn’t doing those, I was also working in the theater across from the hotel during productions. At some point during all of that, I even found time to return to school and earn my degree in Small Business Entrepreneurship.

The Toll of Unaccommodating Workplaces

I encountered workplaces where rigid schedules and traditional setups offered little room for the unpredictable nature of my condition. There were times I would arrive at work, feeling the vine’s tendrils already constricting, and the thought of a full eight-hour day felt like an insurmountable mountain. Explaining my invisible illness to managers or HR was often met with polite but ultimately unhelpful responses. It was not malice, but a simple lack of experience or training in supporting employees with chronic, unseen conditions. Asking for accommodations, such as a different chair, a quieter or darker workspace, or even just a few minutes to rest my eyes, felt like a monumental request, often met with confusion or a sense that I was being “difficult.”

This lack of understanding had a profound impact on my professional development. I often felt I could not fully contribute or take on new challenges because I was constantly conserving energy to manage the pain. Career progression seemed a distant dream when every day was a battle for basic functionality. The emotional toll was significant. I often felt isolated, as if I had to hide a fundamental part of myself to fit in. This constant performance (called masking) was exhausting, leading to burnout and a pervasive sense of being misunderstood.

Finding the Right Fit

I yearned for a workplace where I could be open about my challenges without fear of judgment, where my abilities would be recognized beyond the limitations imposed by my health. This led to a deliberate shift in my job search as early as 2007. I began to actively seek out employers who demonstrated a genuine commitment to employee well-being and flexibility, not just through their mission statements, but through their actual practices. I looked for signs of empathy in interviews and researched company cultures that valued diversity in all its forms, including disability. The importance of a supportive, understanding environment became paramount.

I knew that finding the “right fit” was not just about a job description; it was about finding a place where I could truly thrive, where the organization would see me as a whole person, not just a set of skills. Starting a new role always came with a mix of hope and trepidation, a quiet worry about whether this new chapter would finally offer the understanding and support I desperately needed to manage the vine and truly excel.

Leidos: A Place Where I Thrive

Joining Leidos and Finding Solace

Joining Leidos in November 2017 was a huge turning point in my professional journey. My initial cubicle assignment was in the old Lockheed building in Gaithersburg, in the farthest existing building. When I started, the office space I occupied was remarkably empty of people. I was fortunate to be in a corner where I could use natural light for most of my work, largely avoiding the harsh, glaring overhead fluorescent lights. For the first ten months, this setup was ideal. I was able to walk into the office—about a half-mile from my car—turn on the single lamp at my desk and focus. The quiet solitude allowed me to manage the vine’s periodic tightening with minimal external distractions.

The Challenge of a New Environment

Then, the environment shifted dramatically. Maintenance crews began checking the lights, ensuring the office was “ready” for new occupants. Within weeks, the room was bustling with people as an entire program moved in. It quickly became evident that my previous solace was not going to return. Not only did this bring additional overhead light, but it also introduced a constant hum of noise and activity. The vine, which I’d managed to keep somewhat at bay in the quiet, naturally lit space, now constricted more frequently and intensely.

A Flexible Solution for a Thriving Career

Recognizing the impact this new environment was having on my chronic headaches and the increasing strain on my lower back from the daily walk, I initiated a conversation with my manager about the possibility of working from home. It took a relatively short period, about two weeks, for a flexible arrangement to be approved. I began working from home three days a week and came into the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This hybrid model provided a much-needed reprieve, allowing me to manage my symptoms and energy levels more effectively.

The next pivotal change came when Leidos decided to close down the Lockheed building, relocating us to a new “open concept” facility. Following a discussion with my manager, it was agreed that working from home full-time made the most sense for my role. This transition was truly transformative. I could continue to work from 6 or 6:30 in the morning until I needed to conclude my day. Crucially, if I needed to stop midday to lie down due to a migraine spike, it was very easy to do so without disrupting my work or feeling guilty. It was in this remote, flexible environment that I truly began to thrive.

The ability to control my immediate surroundings—minimizing light and noise, and taking breaks as needed—significantly reduced the frequency and intensity of the vine’s tightening grip. I found myself becoming more productive and able to take on “extra assignments” that would have been impossible in a less accommodating setting. This level of understanding and support has not only allowed me to manage my chronic condition more effectively but has also empowered me to contribute more fully to my team and the company.

Impact, Empowerment, and Future Outlook

The journey with chronic pain is a marathon, not a sprint, and finding a workplace that understands this reality has been profoundly transformative. Leidos, through its culture and the tangible support it offers, has enabled me to move beyond merely coping with the vine’s presence to excel in my role truly. My productivity has increased, my stress levels have significantly decreased, and I feel a renewed sense of purpose in my contributions. This environment has empowered me to bring my whole self to work, knowing that my well-being is valued, and my unique challenges are met with understanding, not judgment.

For individuals living with chronic conditions or disabilities, my story underscores the critical importance of self-advocacy and seeking out employers who genuinely prioritize inclusion. Do not settle for environments that diminish your capabilities or exacerbate your struggles.

A Call to Action

For allies and colleagues, I hope this narrative encourages greater empathy and active support. Simple acts of understanding, flexibility, and a willingness to listen can make an immense difference in a colleague’s daily life.

To my fellow Leidosians who may have a similar story, I encourage you to share your experiences. Your narrative, detailing not only the accommodations that have helped you but also your personal journey with pain or disability, can inspire and inform others. Please consider submitting your stories to enrich our collective understanding. Furthermore, I urge those who are not yet part of our A4 (Allies and Action for Accessibility and Abilities) ERG and/or CORE (Collaborative Outreach with Remote and Embedded Employees) to join either or both for more information, support, and to contribute to our growing community. My path continues, but with Leidos as my professional home, I face the future with renewed hope and a stronger voice, ready to advocate for myself and others, ensuring that everyone has the opportunity to thrive.