In the past several days I've been really open about going through a round of acute illness and pain.
I've been home or alone or in bed a lot, and it has been hard to watch sunny days go by from this side of the window. Being sick is isolating if you're actually able to prioritize healing. But blogging (and yoga) daily has been an anchor in my non-routine, and has also been a lifeline of connection to the outside world.
One heart-warming thing that has happened is that so many people have sent me love, healing wishes, prayers, phonecalls, texts, emails, invitations to stay with them and be taken care of. What a gift. Another powerful response has been people resonating with going through similar things and, appreciating the public mention of it. This is the aspect I am most drawn to exploring right now.
We all go through it. One way or another, to have a body means to go through some type of ache - colds, flus, allergies, the usual wear and tear of aging, on occasion the sharply painful fractured bone, or something else. And I'm not talking about life-altering illnesses like cancer or Alzheimer's. It seems okay to talk about those things when they happen, because they are usually short, not indefinite, and some come with good or interesting stories. We receive a lot of love and support and hopefully visits and people bring us soup or khichdi or hugs or books - anything we need and want for healing.
What happens when the illness doesn't end? A cold that develops into the flu, that develops into a secondary bacterial or viral infection (still undiagnosed, treatments not working), you're getting more tired daily and exhausted by the medical system, and 6 months later have a diagnosis of an auto-immune disease. Which means, the actual root of the issue is something completely different, the non-stop infections were only a symptom.
Do the flowers run out? Do the friends and family stop showing up? Do people stop asking how you are? No and no and no. My hardest battle has been internal, and it has taken me a loooong time to realize that. I feel like it's boring and repetitive to talk about the same things, and it's a downer for others. A lot of folks who identify as living with disabilities and/or chronic illness/pain might feel similarly. My own empathy for myself runs out. My belief in my capacity to heal, to feel well again, fades. And so, I depress myself in running over the facts again.
From witnessing this in myself, what I can offer today is this. To live each moment like it is the first or last, it takes a sense of wonder. So offer that wonder to yourself. Today I woke up with acute pain again, and after a momentary gut reaction of despair, I said to myself instead - I've been through this before, I know I'll get through it. (You know what I could always be wrong but I want to live like I believe). I heard my inner voice say - Deep inside, I am okay now. My spirit is not hurt. It has endless compassion, even for me. Especially for me.
And it's a risk to keep writing about daily illness and pain for many reasons, and because of all the beauty and wonder I want to be writing about instead. But if I'm going to write through pain, for me to live more meaningfully, it has to be in a way that allows me to stay in my body. I am trying to practice offering the endless ear to myself, because in doing that, I meet myself anew daily. Nothing is static, no-one is standing still without change. Even when we are still, the earth rotates and so we move. I offer my journey not simply to share it and invite you in, but to offer another path in community. No parent would lose patience with their child for being sick too many times. We can't afford to reserve our compassion for those we love by excluding ourselves. We love people, we are parts of families of origin and choice, and parts of communities and the earth. If a tree dies, we all have less oxygen, less beauty, less shade, less wonder. I want to invite those in pain to keep saying "Ouch!" out loud (if you are able to), and I want to invite those able to hear (even if you are in pain too), to keep responding with "I hear you, I feel you. Can I offer a hug, or anything else?"
Thank you for doing that for me. I am so well taken care, and in such an abundance of healing wishes and blessings and human angels, that I can't help but wish that everyone had that. It is totally possible. Keep offering, keep receiving, immerse in gratitude. <3 p="">
I've been home or alone or in bed a lot, and it has been hard to watch sunny days go by from this side of the window. Being sick is isolating if you're actually able to prioritize healing. But blogging (and yoga) daily has been an anchor in my non-routine, and has also been a lifeline of connection to the outside world.
One heart-warming thing that has happened is that so many people have sent me love, healing wishes, prayers, phonecalls, texts, emails, invitations to stay with them and be taken care of. What a gift. Another powerful response has been people resonating with going through similar things and, appreciating the public mention of it. This is the aspect I am most drawn to exploring right now.
We all go through it. One way or another, to have a body means to go through some type of ache - colds, flus, allergies, the usual wear and tear of aging, on occasion the sharply painful fractured bone, or something else. And I'm not talking about life-altering illnesses like cancer or Alzheimer's. It seems okay to talk about those things when they happen, because they are usually short, not indefinite, and some come with good or interesting stories. We receive a lot of love and support and hopefully visits and people bring us soup or khichdi or hugs or books - anything we need and want for healing.
What happens when the illness doesn't end? A cold that develops into the flu, that develops into a secondary bacterial or viral infection (still undiagnosed, treatments not working), you're getting more tired daily and exhausted by the medical system, and 6 months later have a diagnosis of an auto-immune disease. Which means, the actual root of the issue is something completely different, the non-stop infections were only a symptom.
Do the flowers run out? Do the friends and family stop showing up? Do people stop asking how you are? No and no and no. My hardest battle has been internal, and it has taken me a loooong time to realize that. I feel like it's boring and repetitive to talk about the same things, and it's a downer for others. A lot of folks who identify as living with disabilities and/or chronic illness/pain might feel similarly. My own empathy for myself runs out. My belief in my capacity to heal, to feel well again, fades. And so, I depress myself in running over the facts again.
From witnessing this in myself, what I can offer today is this. To live each moment like it is the first or last, it takes a sense of wonder. So offer that wonder to yourself. Today I woke up with acute pain again, and after a momentary gut reaction of despair, I said to myself instead - I've been through this before, I know I'll get through it. (You know what I could always be wrong but I want to live like I believe). I heard my inner voice say - Deep inside, I am okay now. My spirit is not hurt. It has endless compassion, even for me. Especially for me.
And it's a risk to keep writing about daily illness and pain for many reasons, and because of all the beauty and wonder I want to be writing about instead. But if I'm going to write through pain, for me to live more meaningfully, it has to be in a way that allows me to stay in my body. I am trying to practice offering the endless ear to myself, because in doing that, I meet myself anew daily. Nothing is static, no-one is standing still without change. Even when we are still, the earth rotates and so we move. I offer my journey not simply to share it and invite you in, but to offer another path in community. No parent would lose patience with their child for being sick too many times. We can't afford to reserve our compassion for those we love by excluding ourselves. We love people, we are parts of families of origin and choice, and parts of communities and the earth. If a tree dies, we all have less oxygen, less beauty, less shade, less wonder. I want to invite those in pain to keep saying "Ouch!" out loud (if you are able to), and I want to invite those able to hear (even if you are in pain too), to keep responding with "I hear you, I feel you. Can I offer a hug, or anything else?"
Thank you for doing that for me. I am so well taken care, and in such an abundance of healing wishes and blessings and human angels, that I can't help but wish that everyone had that. It is totally possible. Keep offering, keep receiving, immerse in gratitude. <3 p="">
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