A Bowl Full of Blessing
I am unbelievably hard on myself. I make critical judgments
of myself. I take personally the critical judgments of others. I have unrealistic expectations and chastise myself when I fail to live up to them. I also chastise myself when I fail to live up to the expectations of others. Essentially, I tend to lack compassion for myself.
When I got sick in November of 2011, I initially assumed
that I’d caught a virus and beat myself up for not washing my hands better
since I worked in a room full of toddlers. After a week had passed and I was still ill, I
beat myself up for not having kicked the virus yet and cursed my weak immune
system. But then two weeks had gone by, and then three, and then four. Some days I woke up feeling perfect and
rejoiced that I’d finally won the war with that stupid virus only to discover
that the symptoms returned in a day or two (three or four days if I was lucky.)
I was fooled by this cycle over and over.
Two months passed. I made my first doctor appointment. And then the months started stacking up. The doctor bills started stacking up. The number of doctors I was seeing started stacking up. The tests started stacking up. The drugs I tried started stacking up. The only thing that didn't start piling up on me was diagnoses.
Two months passed. I made my first doctor appointment. And then the months started stacking up. The doctor bills started stacking up. The number of doctors I was seeing started stacking up. The tests started stacking up. The drugs I tried started stacking up. The only thing that didn't start piling up on me was diagnoses.
I got a mixed bag of responses from people when I talked to them about it:
Lectures: Well it’s probably because you are ___ OR If you
didn’t ___...
Suggestions: Have you had your iron levels checked? OR it’s
probably your thyroid OR maybe you are pregnant.
Criticisms: You aren’t trying hard enough OR you need to get
out more OR you don’t look sick.
Empathy: That really
sucks OR I can’t imagine OR I know the feeling.
Skepticism: It’s probably just anxiety OR
it’s all in your head OR you don’t look sick.
I knew in my heart that all the comments were coming from a
loving and concerned place. People want to help and they care. Yet I felt blame-worthy. The things people were saying were so similar to
the things I was saying to myself:
I did this to myself because I make bad decisions.
I'm missing something obvious because I'm stupid.
I don't do enough because I'm lazy.
This totally sucks and so do I.
I am making Mordor out of the Shire because I'm dramatic.
I don’t look sick because I can't even do that right.
Maybe if I ran more I would feel better. Maybe if I took the
right supplements or prescriptions I would feel better. Maybe if I stopped picking up little children, stopped stooping
over the sewing machine, stopped spending long hours writing, stopped being so
negative, I would feel better. Maybe if I detoxified my body, if I detoxified
my house, if I decreased my anxiety and stress, if I took dairy, gluten,
sugars, alcohol, processed food, etc. out of my diet I would feel better. Maybe if I
got out more, maybe if I pushed myself harder, maybe if I wasn't so dramatic,
maybe if I could just figure out the right
combination of the right changes, I
would feel better.
Maybe if I give my symptoms less attention… I stopped talking about it so much to the small handful of people who knew. It wasn't much of a challenge. Afterall, I don’t
look sick.
Three years will have gone by come November and none of the
things I have tried have made a difference toward improving my symptoms. Some
of the things I have tried have had the complete opposite effect; they made
things worse. Some of the things I have tried, while not improving my symptoms,
have improved the way I live with my symptoms. Finding the humor in things is a big one on
that list. As is my chiropractor, who not only helps relieve the pains in my neck
but also constantly helps me generate new ideas of things to look at and things to try and questions
to ask and tests to have. And I know more now than I did
three years ago about some of the factors that can worsen my symptoms but I
still do not know the cause or solution. I continue to float around in the land
of the undiagnosed.
There is so much that is out of my control right now and sometimes
I feel so overwhelmed and frustrated by that. I don’t have the energy I once
did. I suspect that makes me less fun
to be around. I don't worry about that too often though because when I’m symptomatic, getting out more and doing more
exacerbates my symptoms, making the rest of the day harder as well as making the next
day harder, so I frequently stay in. Everything I do, every movement I make, drains my energy stores in
unbelievable ways. I’m hyper conscious of certain things now like how I turn my
head and how quickly, how I bend down to pick something up, when I can use
scissors or knives or get something hot out of the oven or drive the car and
when I should have someone else do those things for me. I weigh everything that needs to get done. Which is more important: Clean clothes for the children or me showing up at their soccer game? Going to the grocery store or having the energy to make dinner for my family later?
It's a bizarre kind of cost versus benefit.
It's a bizarre kind of cost versus benefit.
But I have also discovered there are plenty of things that are
within my control: my own expectations of myself and whether or
not I meet those, the amount of compassion I give myself, the things I say to myself, my choices, my thoughts and my sense of satisfaction with life. I may not be able to control my
symptoms but I can control what I do with this curve ball life has thrown me. I
can control how I live with chronic symptoms.
I have learned to adjust daily and be proud of myself for simple
things: getting the laundry done, making a dinner that doesn't just consist of
raw food on a plate, taking a shower, having a good laugh. If anyone outside saw me on a bad day it would probably look like the most pathetic display of trying they have ever seen. But I am no
longer judging myself from the viewpoint of the
other. I am living in this body. I have learned my
limitations and what is reasonable to expect from myself. And every day I get up and do the best that I
can on that day. I’m proud of even the weakest steps I take on
the worst of days.
I am planting seeds of self-compassion in the garden of my soul and that makes all the difference.
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