“Why I’ve Finally Decided to Share My Health Struggles With Fans”
I’ve been reluctant to talk about this publicly, but the truth is, it’s been affecting me for quite a while now. Over the past few years, I’ve started to feel it more and more during performances on stage, to the point where I no longer feel completely comfortable. That’s when I realized I owed it to the fans—those who’ve supported me for decades—to be honest about what’s going on.
If you’ve seen me perform recently, or if you plan to see me in the future, you might notice me stumbling, swaying, or looking unsteady. I don’t want anyone to mistake that for me being drunk or unprepared. The reality is, I’ve been living with a neurological disease that affects my mobility and balance.
It’s called Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease—CMT for short, named after the doctors who first identified it. The name has always struck me as ironic, considering “CMT” was also a big part of my career through Country Music Television. I probably made more videos for that channel than anyone else at the time. But in this case, CMT isn’t a network—it’s a hereditary neuropathy.
This disease is genetic, something I inherited from my father. Looking back, we’ve realized that my grandmother on his side had it as well, and my oldest sister, who’s ten years older than me, also lives with it. It affects the nerves in your extremities, weakening the muscles in your legs, arms, hands, and feet. It’s a degenerative condition, which means it slowly gets worse as the years go by.
There’s no cure. Doctors still haven’t found one. My father lived into his early seventies and, even then, could still walk a little bit, but it limited him greatly. I’m already at the point where it’s obvious on stage. I struggle with balance even when I’m just standing at the microphone.
I want to be clear: this isn’t a fatal disease. It’s not going to kill me. But like muscular dystrophy or Parkinson’s, it chips away at your independence and your ability to do the things you’ve always done. For me, that means performing the way I want to perform. And that’s hard, because the stage has been my home for most of my life.
At the same time, I don’t want to come across as some whiny celebrity complaining about the hand I’ve been dealt. Truth is, I’ve had a beautiful life. I’ve been blessed in more ways than I can count. I know there are people out there fighting battles much harder than mine, and I don’t take a single day for granted.
But because I respect my fans—and because I’ve always tried to be transparent—I felt it was time to explain why I may not look or move the way I once did up there.
As for the future, I honestly don’t know how much touring I’ll continue to do. I’ve never been one for the big “farewell tours” that some artists put together. That’s not who I am. I’ve always admired heroes like Merle Haggard, George Jones, Charley Pride, Loretta Lynn, and Willie Nelson—artists who just kept playing as long as they could, as long as they wanted to, without fanfare or retirement announcements.
That’s what I’d like to do, if my health allows. Play as much as I can, for as long as I can. Music is in my blood, and performing is part of who I am. I just felt it was time for you to know the reason why things may look different when I walk out on that stage.