Let’s talk about one of the least talked about and honestly most ridiculous symptoms of Psoriatic Arthritis… nail pain.

Yes. You heard me. Nail pain.

Not like, “Oh I broke a nail” pain. No, this is “My fingernails hurt like someone lit them on fire and then ran them over with a tiny emotional dump truck” kind of pain. It’s sneaky. It shows up out of nowhere. No trauma. No smashing your hand on the counter. No visible injury. Just pain. Like the kind that makes it hard to button your pants, type, or hold a mug of tea without feeling like you’re being punished for simply existing.

Imagine this: you wake up one morning, ready to tackle your day, and suddenly, you’re met with a sensation that could only be described as a cruel joke. You try to push through it, thinking it’s just a passing moment of discomfort. But as the hours drag on, your fingers throb and ache, overshadowing every task you try to complete. It’s in those little moments—when you reach for your hairbrush or attempt to tie your shoelaces—that the intensity of the pain surprises you.

And let me tell you something — I’ve always had long, beautiful, hard-as-rock nails. That used to be one of my things. Strong, healthy, durable nails. I took pride in them; they were a reflection of my health, my self-care habits, and frankly, my femininity. Friends would compliment my nails, asking for tips on how to keep them looking so pristine. I felt invincible, wielding those gorgeous talons as instruments of confidence. Until about seven years ago… when everything started changing.

It was gradual at first—just a slight discomfort now and then, easily dismissed as a sign of a busy life. But soon enough, the discomfort escalated into a persistent ache, a reminder that something was wrong beneath the surface. I found myself avoiding activities I once loved, constantly assessing what I could do with minimal finger involvement. The emotional toll it took was hard to fathom; it felt like a loss of an identity I had cherished. The nails I had loved became a source of distress rather than pride, leading to countless calls to Rheumatologists, endless internet searches for answers, and a gathering of frustrations I never anticipated.

As the journey unfolded, I realized that it wasn’t just the physical pain I had to grapple with; it was also the emotional impact of it all. The shifting from beauty to burden, transforming the ordinary tasks of life into obstacles that loomed larger than I could have imagined. And still, I carry this uncertainty with me, navigating the challenges while seeking a glimmer of hope that one day, I might find relief.

Now?
My nails have striations and ridges, some dent inward, some curve over like a shield, and others? They grow sideways, just for funsies, presenting a unique tapestry of oddities that makes nail care feel like a whimsical challenge. My nail beds? Well, let’s just say they’re confused, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Some are high and full and holding on, sturdy like the defenders of a fortress, while others are basically nonexistent, leaving me to wonder if they’ve decided to take an extended vacation. (👀 I’m lookin’ at you, pinky toe. You know what you did.) It’s almost a comedy of errors down there, each nail a character with its own story, showcasing a spectrum of growth patterns that might leave a nail technician scratching their head in disbelief.

It was not until I started taking Tremfya that they seem to be trying to get it in gear again; the effects of the medication have been noticeable, and it’s clear that my body is responding positively. They are starting to strengthen back up a bit, giving me hope for a more stable and comfortable future. However, that pain, which has been a constant companion, still comes and goes, reminding me that the journey to recovery is often not a straight path. Each day presents its own set of challenges, yet with each small improvement, I feel encouraged to keep pushing forward and to embrace the positive changes alongside the lingering discomfort.

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And then, of course… the splinter hemorrhages.

80% of the time, after that awful nail pain flares up, I end up with one of these tiny battle scars — usually on my index fingers, middle fingers, and thumbs. These little reminders of discomfort often tell a story of their own, a testament to the struggles I face in my daily activities. Each scar feels like a mark of perseverance, a badge of honor that I wear silently. They not only signify the pain experienced during those moments but also highlight the challenges of managing tasks that require delicate hand movements, from typing to crafting. The repetition of this cycle leads me to wonder if there’s a more effective way to alleviate the discomfort and prevent these unwelcome reminders from cropping up in the first place.

So what is a splinter hemorrhage?
It’s a thin, reddish-brown line that shows up under your nail, often catching the eye with its peculiar appearance. It looks like a little splinter, but it’s actually tiny amounts of bleeding from damaged blood vessels beneath the nail. This condition can arise for various reasons, including underlying health issues or simply being unnoticed until it appears. No trauma. No stubbing. No injury. Just inflammation, doing its thing without permission, often leaving one puzzled as to the cause and significance behind this mysterious streak. The appearance of splinter hemorrhages can sometimes signal the presence of more serious conditions, making it essential to pay attention to changes in your nails and seek medical advice if you notice such abnormalities.

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Then there’s the foot thing. Because of course there is.

Apparently PsA can’t just ruin your hands, energy levels, and nails. Nope. Let’s go after the arches of the feet, the tops, and the sides of the ankles, too. This condition impacts the body in multifaceted ways, leading to discomfort and challenges that extend well beyond just the hands and fingers. Beyond the joints, those suffering may find themselves grappling with swelling and stiffness in the arches of their feet, which can make even simple walking a painful experience. The tops and sides of the ankles also become vulnerable, often feeling tight and compromised, and this added strain can hinder mobility and exacerbate fatigue. It’s a reminder that PsA is a systemic condition, affecting not just localized areas but the entire body’s function and well-being.

It’s this weird, deep, electric kind of pain that travels like a ghost through your foot—sharp in one step, dull in the next, and always annoying. And when it’s flaring, forget tying shoes. On days like this, I live in Hey Dudes or ballet flats. Anything I can slide on without bending, squeezing, or crying. (Yes, I have cried over shoes. Welcome to autoimmune life.)

And heels?
Gone. Dead to me.

I used to love a good pair of heels — made me feel powerful, sexy, confident. They added a certain pep in my step and a boost to my posture. However, now? If I dare wear them, my feet revolt and go numb for literal days. Yes, days. The thought of slipping into those once-beloved Bettie Page heels sends a shiver of dread through me, knowing the consequences that await.

It’s like Plantar Fasciitis on steroids, with a generous helping of PsA, and a delightful sprinkle of nerve damage from my spine. Because why not? Let’s hit the pain trifecta, right? It feels as if my body has conspired against me, planning each flare-up with meticulous precision. I can almost hear its taunts as I rummage through my closet, desperately searching for something, anything, that won’t leave me writhing in discomfort. [ I have donated so many heels over the past couple of years, and still hang on to a pair or two, mostly out of nostalgia than anything, and a slim glimmer of hope that maybe I can wear them again one day… Doubtful, but I still hope. ]

We get it, body. You hate me. Message received. Loud and inflamed. The truth is, it’s not just about the physical pain; it’s a daily battle for comfort and dignity in a world that often prioritizes style over well-being. Adapting to this new reality has forged a significant shift not just in my wardrobe but also in how I perceive myself and interact with others. The struggle to find clothes that accommodate my discomfort often leads to feelings of frustration and isolation, reminding me of all the moments I’ve felt excluded or unrecognized in social situations. On good days, I try to embrace the notion that my worth isn’t tied to the shoes I wear or the outfits I put on; rather, it’s about my resilience and character. But on days full of flares and frustration, when the simple act of getting dressed feels like an ordeal, it’s a bit harder to keep that perspective alive. I often find myself yearning for a time when I felt more at ease, and it becomes a challenge to remind myself that my identity is much more than my physical discomfort and societal expectations.

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If you’re experiencing this too…

You’re not alone, and no, it’s not “just in your head.” These lesser-known symptoms are real, and they matter. Nail involvement actually affects up to 80–90% of people with PsA at some point—and while it might not get the spotlight like joint pain or skin plaques, it absolutely deserves to be talked about.

So here I am, talking about it.

Because chronic illness isn’t just the textbook stuff. It’s the weird, annoying, painful, seemingly “small” things that pile up and make life harder than it needs to be.

If your nails hurt, if your feet scream when you step, if your ankles feel like they’re being slowly twisted from the inside—I see you.

You’re doing amazing just existing today.

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Much love and many blessings,
Mrs. B 🌙
Unconventional Momma

Have a weird symptom no one talks about? Drop it below. Let’s normalize the messy, real stuff.