emotional healing

I Miss Me, Too – Revised

/ Pat / 28 Comments

 

DSC_0045

I received a notice from WordPress yesterday that this is my 5-year anniversary of maintaining this blog. Funny how things come together to shape my thinking and what I feel compelled to write about. A few weeks ago Michael Watson wrote a post about Those in-between Places that spoke to me. I started a post but it didn’t move much – or maybe it moved in too many directions. Then a post I wrote six months after I started blogging came to my attention and I thought about re-posting it. And last night our friends suggested we take a camping trip to South Dakota to see the herding of the buffalo. Jim suggested that we could change our plans to travel to Nova Scotia and combine the buffalo trip with going to the Canadian Rockies. This really surprised me – and I decided this morning to re-blog the earlier post but with some rewrites to make it relevant to all that is happening now.

In 2012 I wrote: It was a long time coming and I’m not sure when it happened. I don’t miss me anymore. This is a strange thing to say but I know the frightening feeling that comes from loosing my sense of who I am. I know the sadness that comes from not believing there is enough of me left because of the changes in my life due to contracting a chronic condition. I really did miss me – but not any more.

My blog was originally named “I Miss Me, Too” because that was what I wanted the title of my book – the one that I’m not writing any more – to be called. Here is what I wrote on my ‘About This Blog’ page when I started blogging. It explains how I came up with the title.

One day during that first year after being diagnosed, I was in the kitchen with my husband of 40 years. He stopped working, looked at me, and said that he knew I couldn’t help it but he missed me. He had tears in his eyes. My eyes welled up and I said, “I miss me, too.” We embraced and cried together.

corners-059.jpgI feel like I turned a corner, from missing me to not missing me. How many times have I said that, about turning a corner? Whenever I started a new computer file for my journals, the first entry begins “I feel like I have turned a corner.” There are 10 files of journals that cover 8 years – so ten times I had turned a corner. I guess you could say I’ve been around the block a few times. This seems to be my way of explaining that I made a leap of progress towards my emotional and physical healing each of those ten times – then eleven in 2012, now twelve in 2017.

Those leaps of emotional healing didn’t happen suddenly. It was more like a long slow, continuous process and what happened was that suddenly I realized that I felt different. Change takes a lot of work. We have to have a vision of what we want, and maybe observe others and think about how we would like to be, and we need to practice actually being like our new vision. Sometimes we need to look at our pasts, confront old ghosts, heal old wounds, let go. Sometimes we need to acknowledge our sadness and anger. It takes conscious effort and courage and perseverance. I have been working on it for nine years so far – taking many small steps and spending lots of time on plateaus where I can prepare for my next step.

I began to feel the shift to feeling more whole when I started my blog and became a part of the blogging community. Focusing on how to use a new camera and learning how to take interesting photographs allowed me to connect with a long neglected part of myself, my artistic self. Blogging gave me a platform for sharing the emotional turmoil of having fibromyalgia by posting rewrites of portions of my never-to-be-published book.

Writing for the blogging community was much more rewarding than writing for publishing and thus brought a dynamic, evolving meaning back into my life. My focus began to shift from sharing my illness to wanting to share the life I was living – through photography and story. I discovered that I could touch people’s lives with my blogs and my life was enriched through the life stories of other bloggers. It feels like I am on a shared journey of life that is being recorded through our blogging.

Gros Morne 050

Gros Morn World Heritage Site, Newfoundland, Canada

The second event that seemed to give me a new sense of self was the long camping trip to Newfoundland in August of 2012. This trip shifted life for both me and my husband. A while after I was diagnosed (2004), we were talking and he went into that funny mood that says he is thinking about something that needs to be said but he doesn’t want to say it. He finally confessed that he was feeling guilty because he believed I got sick because he “dragged me” on a three-week camping trip to the Canadian Rockies. It is true that I started having symptoms about 6 weeks later – but proximity doesn’t prove causation. He was able to let go of the guilt but still had to live with the fact that our life was changed.

Our trip to the Canadian Rockies 9 years earlier was the last traveling camping trip that we had taken and the planned trip to Newfoundland was similar in length and work. I had some anxiety about doing the trip but I really wanted to go and knew how to prepare. He had a lot of anxiety because he feared I would get really sick a long way from home or wouldn’t be able to participate in our travel activities. After we returned, he told me that he was really surprised that I had done as well as I had. Our eyes connected and he said that it felt really good to have me back.

I guess I am back. I’m not the same because we both know that we had to do things to take care of me – but I was alive and vibrant and involved on the trip. I worked along side of him and carried my half of the work load – almost and most of the time. It was similar to our Canadian Rockies trip, but I was different. We have adjusted to the changes in me so I can be like I used to be – even though I’m not. Maybe we don’t remember what I used to be like, but in many ways he isn’t like he used to be either. In any case, we have found a way to live life fully, together, that is rewarding for both of us.

This triggers silent tears because it was hard and it wasn’t always clear that it would happen. I spent a day or two feeling sorry for myself. Not in a bad way as I would if I felt like a victim. No, I felt sorry for myself as I would feel towards someone who had gone through a really rough time. I felt sympathy and compassion towards myself. I feel compassion and love for my husband who had to endure all that I have been through but didn’t always know how to handle it. But then neither did I. It was scary and hard.

I have read a lot about grief but I have never seen anything written about the grief we feel after going through a time of healing. When I was a therapist I frequently would sit and listen to people express their joy after making changes in how they thought and felt and the big difference it was making in their life. Then they would grow quiet and their eyes would get glassy. I knew at that moment they needed to lick their wounds – they were remembering how hard it had been, how hard they had worked, how much pain they had felt as they went through the healing process. I was feeling that way when I first wrote this post.

At the same time, in a strange way, a hard to define way, I was and have been afraid of stepping into the future. I wrote in 2012 that I had learned how to live with my emotional pain and sadness. I had gotten used to not knowing who I was. I had adjusted to not being able to do a lot and my husband didn’t expect me to be able to do most things. What if he forgets that I have limitations? What if he expects more from me than I can deliver? What if this living life fully, together, doesn’t last?

At this time, in 2017, I am also feeling fear about stepping into the future but for a different reason. At 73 I have realized that I have a limited number of days left and no matter how long I live, my health will never be better than it is right now. I have turned another corner and the path ahead just doesn’t seem very hopeful or bright. No one warned me that this would happen, or if they did I wasn’t able to absorb and understand it. Maybe it is something that people prefer not to talk about because I’m feeling a little guilty for writing about it. It makes me sound like I am in a sour, black, depressing mood.

In 2012 I wondered if I could maintain the new me I’d found – forever? What I have now done is look at forever and decided that I can’t see it through rose-colored glasses. I don’t want to. I’m putting my chips on facing this truth head on and by doing so I will be better prepared to face this time of getting old…   onto death. As a result a funny thing is happening – another surprise that I wasn’t expecting. I am feeling a new energy, a new sense of power. By facing this nasty little fact of getting old, I have lessened my dread of that which I have little control over.

Another surprise is that in 2012 I came to a useful conclusion. I realized that I need to remember that this is a new day – singular. All I have to do is live today. I planned for my tomorrows, but none of my futures were improved by feeling anxious about them. I can plan for tomorrow, but I need to live today.

I am listening to what I wrote five years ago because it still works. On this new day I may experience pain and fatigue and not be able to do much of anything. On this new day I may have lots of energy and be excited about the work and play I have planned. I am still overdoing on good days, and still paying for it with a day or two of not feeling well. I know how to take care of myself and I’m usually satisfied with moderation but also willing to pay the price for pushing the boundaries.

I have found ways to exercise my brain and body. I have found multiple communities in which I can nurture and be nurtured. My husband and I have settled into a fun and comfortable relationship. I can face my God and see her smiling at me. I don’t miss me any more because I have found a way to live that has integrity.

Time of Reflection: Goodness

/ Pat / 10 Comments
Naples 012

Hear no evil; speak no evil; see no evil.

Last week I reflected on kindness, and as I move to my reflection on goodness, I need to identify how they are different. Both are inner qualities, a part of our character and personality; but both are also woven into our relationships. Is kindness balanced more towards the outward relationships and goodness more toward the inner landscape?

Christians are told that when we allow the Holy Spirit to enter into us, we will be filled with goodness. What does it feel like to be filled with goodness? As with many of life’s riddles and complexities, I find if I turn the question around, search for understanding from another perspective, I gain clarity.

I can definitely tell when I’m not filled with goodness. I feel edgy-mean inside, like there are dark grey storm clouds rolling around. This edginess is hard to contain, spilling out in very subtle ways, with a dull sharpness. I can wound people while laughing. My introversion becomes a cold shoulder or neglect or crossing the street to avoid speaking.

As I move around those parts of my mind where goodness is absent, I discover memories of shame. Does the lack of goodness come from shame? In my distant past I carried some heavy burdens of shame, formed when I was too young to realize that acts committed against me didn’t make me ugly. But shame is very controlling and doesn’t like being exposed. It is so much easier to live our controlled, hidden lives that keeps others at a distance than to risk having them see our ugliness, our brokenness, our shame.

Christian doctrine tells me that Jesus died so I don’t have to carry shame. But knowing this in my head doesn’t always help my emotional understanding. The paradox is that it was people who looked into my eyes, who didn’t care what they saw, who only wanted to love me… they were the ones who taught me how to face my shame and love myself. I didn’t want these people to see the damaged me, but they were the ones who taught me that forgiveness is possible, both of self and others. They helped me shed the cloak of shame. It was only as the shame dissipated and I was able to hold my head high that I began to feel goodness warm my soul. Before that I had to pretend goodness, hold a mask of goodness over the cloak of shame. Real goodness is light and almost effortless.

Hear no Evil:

I enjoy this real goodness that resides within me, but I have to guard and protect it so it doesn’t become tainted. I have to be careful of what I listen to. If I listen to hatred I become sour; I begin to hate the spewers of hate; I become like them. Hearing beauty restores my sense of goodness – the sounds of birds and waves, of laughter and truth, of lilting music and prose. I experience goodness when I hear passionate words spoken from truth and with hope, when I hear tears shed as a shared ceremony of healing.

Speak no Evil:

I must also guard against speaking evil. Goodness cannot thrive when I lead others down false paths with words of deception, when my words bring shame or loss of hope. Sometimes we see truth and the truth isn’t pretty, is even ugly, and we have to speak out. Speaking truth can be softened, however, with love and caring, making it easier for others to hear these truths. I spend my time with people who seek goodness and try to speak truths. J is a good man, and he frequently calls me out when my speaking is evil. I trust him, I listen and appreciate his way of hushing my destructive voice and keeping evil from creeping into our lives.

See no Evil:

How can I see no evil when there is evil around me? When do I stick my head in the sand and when do I look into the eyes of evil? Do I need to protect myself from seeing evil so my goodness can flourish? I was a therapist in another lifetime so I saw a lot of evil that resulted in human suffering. I chose to see this, but refuse to see movies that are brutal. I know how to respond to human suffering without letting it pull me down; I don’t know how to watch movie brutality without feeling brutal. I need to see evil that is close to home, but become overwhelmed when I see too much evil that is too far away. When I see too much evil, I begin to shut down to protect myself from the pain of helpless. I am thankful for my capacity to not see more than I am able to cope with, but sometimes not seeing erodes the goodness within me. I need to see and name evil when I have the capacity to speak against it, to heal it. It seems like my criterion for what I allow myself to see is if, through seeing, I find some redemptive goodness and hope.

My wish for you, on this Good Friday, is that you continue on your journey to goodness. It is a personal journey that takes courage, the courage to face your private demons that block the way. It takes time, energy and thought, and a willingness to expose the secrets hidden under layers of false beliefs. It requires a trust in God and a few good people who can hold your hand along the way. And I hope you will take hold of someone else’s hand, someone who needs you, so they can find their own spirit of goodness by experiencing your goodness.

 

Elegance in the Back Alley

/ Pat / 20 Comments

Eaton Rapids 036

I love this image – it was taken in a back alley, behind the main street of the town where I live. I had to fight a garbage truck to get the space I needed to frame it. Someone has created a very elegant entrance in an area of the city that isn’t described as elegant very often.

I love this image because it seems to be a visual metaphor for life, at least for many of us, at least for me. I was in therapy many years ago and realized that I was carrying around a lot of shame and guilt. I was conceived out of wedlock, by two youngsters who did the right thing, got married, and lived together for better or worse for over 50 years. Somewhere along the way of my growing up I determined that it was my fault that they had to get married. I took on this burden when I was small and they were unhappy about being married and were taking it out on me. There is more to that story but not important to this story.

This belief that there was something bad about me ran so deep that it felt like I had to break apart my world to get my mind around a different way of thinking. My adult mind used the logic that I couldn’t be responsible for an act that took place before I existed. As an adult I shed the shroud of shame I had carried for practically my whole life. It was like a rebirth.

I had never been conscious of carrying this burden, but I know I’m not alone. Every family has “secrets”, things they believe to be so bad, so naughty, so ugly that no one speaks about them. There is an unspoken rule that this part is private – but everyone in the family knows, deep within their soul, the garbage is there, and they believe they smell of the garbage. Even after the secret is taken into the light of day, laid out on the table to be scrutinized, it is hard for us to see beyond our shame to find our real beauty. Carl Rogers recognized that we put up a facade because we believe if others see who we really are, they will be repulsed.

And as we carry our burden, how hard it is to be strong and noble. How hard it is to stand in the light when we want to hide our face in shame. How hard it is to believe that anyone could love us when we are standing in garbage. And being loved, believing we are loved, is absolutely necessary for us to flourish.

I don’t blame my parents or society or God or fate. Life just is. I’m thankful there were people who loved me even when I couldn’t believe them. I’m thankful there were people who believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself. I’m thankful that I was born with intelligence and resilience so I could pretend to be okay even when I wasn’t. I’m thankful for the capacity for emotional healing. I’m thankful for all the ways we can have integrity in the back alleys of life. These back alleys don’t define us, but they keep us humble.

I Don’t Miss Me Anymore

/ Pat / 33 Comments

It was a long time coming and I’m not sure when it happened. I don’t miss me anymore. This is a strange thing to say but I know the frightening feeling that comes from loosing my sense of who I am. I know the sadness that comes from not believing there is enough left of me because of the changes in my life due to contracting a chronic condition. I really did miss me – but not any more.

Those of you who have been following my blog for a while know it was originally named “I Miss Me, Too” because that was what I wanted the title of my book – the one that I’m not writing any more – to be called. Here is what I wrote on my ‘About This Blog’ page when I started blogging. It explains how I came up with the title.

One day during that first year after being diagnosed, I was in the kitchen with my husband of 40 years. He stopped working, looked at me, and said that he knew I couldn’t help it but he missed me. He had tears in his eyes. My eyes welled up and I said, “I miss me, too.” We embraced and cried together.

I feel like I turned a corner, when I stopped missing me. How many times have I said that? Whenever I started a new computer file for my journals, the first entry begins “I feel like I have turned a corner.” There are 10 files of journals that cover 8 years – so ten times I had turned a corner. I guess you could say I’ve been around the block a few times. This seems to be my way of explaining that I made a leap of progress towards my emotional and physical healing each of those ten times – now eleven.

Those leaps of emotional healing didn’t happen suddenly. It was more like a long slow, continuous process and what happened was that suddenly I realized that I felt different. Change takes a lot of work. We have to have a vision of what we want, and maybe observe others and think about what we would like to be, and we need to practice actually being like our new vision. Sometimes we need to look at our pasts, confront old ghosts, heal old wounds, let go. Sometimes we need to acknowledge our sadness and anger. It takes conscious effort and courage and perseverance. I have been working on it for nine years so far – taking many small steps and spending lots of time on plateaus where I prepare for my next step.

I began to feel the shift to feeling more whole when I started my blog and became a part of the blogging community. Focusing on how to use a new camera and learning how to take interesting photographs allowed me to connect with a long neglected part of myself. Blogging gave me a platform for sharing the emotional turmoil of having fibromyalgia by posting rewrites of portions of my not-to-be-published book.

Writing for the blogging community was much more rewarding than writing for publishing and thus brought a dynamic, evolving meaning back into my life. My focus began to shift from sharing my illness to wanting to share the life I was living – through photography and story. I discovered that I could touch people’s lives and my life was enriched through the life stories of others. It feels like I am on a shared journey of life that is being recorded through our blogging.

The second event that seemed to give me a new sense of self was the long camping trip to Newfoundland. This trip shifted life for both me and my husband. A while after I was diagnosed, we were talking and he went into that funny mood that says he is thinking about something that needs to be said but he doesn’t want to say it. He finally confessed that he was feeling guilty because he believed I got sick because he “dragging me” on a three-week camping trip to the Canadian Rockies. It is true that I started having symptoms about 6 weeks later – but proximity doesn’t prove causation. He let go of the guilt but still had to live with the fact that our life was changed.

Lake Louise

Lake Louise (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Our trip to the Canadian Rockies was the last traveling camping trip that we had taken and the trip to Newfoundland was similar in length and work. I had some anxiety about doing the trip but I really wanted to go and knew how to prepare. He had a lot of anxiety because he feared I would get really sick a long way from home or wouldn’t be able to participate in our travel activities. After we returned, he told me that he was really surprised that I had done as well as I had. Our eyes connected and he said that it felt really good to have me back.

I guess I am back. I’m not the same because we both know that we had to do things to take care of me – but I was alive and vibrant and involved on the trip. I worked along side of him and carried my half of the work load – almost and most of the time. It was similar to our Canadian Rockies trip, but I was different. We have adjusted to the changes in me so I can be like I used to be; even though I’m not. Maybe we don’t remember what I used to be like, but he isn’t either. In any case, we have found a way to live life fully, together, that is rewarding for both of us.

This triggers silent tears because it was hard and it wasn’t always clear that it would happen. I spent a day or two feeling sorry for myself. Not in a bad way as I would if I felt like a victim. No, I felt sorry for myself as I would feel towards someone who had gone through a really rough time. I felt sympathy and compassion towards myself. I feel compassion and love for my husband who had to endure all that I have been through but didn’t always know how to handle it. But then neither did I. It was scary and hard.

I have read a lot about grief but I have never seen anything written about the grief we feel after going through a time of healing. When I was a therapist I frequently would sit and listen to people express their joy after making changes in how they thought and felt and the big difference it was making in their life. Then they would grow quiet and their eyes would get glassy. I knew at that moment they needed to lick their wounds – they were remembering how hard it had been, how hard they had worked, how much pain they had felt as they went through the healing process. I am feeling that way.

At the same time, in a strange way, a hard to define way, I am afraid of stepping into the future. I had learned how to live with my emotional pain and sadness. I had gotten used to not knowing who I was. I had adjusted to not being able to do a lot and my husband didn’t expect me to be able to do most things. What if he forgets that I have limitations? What if he expects more from me than I can deliver? What if this living life fully, together, doesn’t last?

Can I maintain whatever it is that I’ve found – forever? I need to remember that this is a new day – singular. All I have to do is live today. I planned for my tomorrows, but none of my futures were improved by feeling anxious about them. I can plan for tomorrow, but I need to live today.

On this new day I may experience pain and fatigue and not be able to do much of anything. On this new day I may have lots of energy and be excited about the work and play I have planned. I am still overdoing on good days, and still paying for it with a day or two of not feeling well. I know how to take care of myself and I’m usually satisfied with moderation but also willing to pay the price for pushing the boundaries.

I have found ways to exercise my brain and body. I have found multiple communities in which I can nurture and be nurtured. My husband and I have settled into a fun and comfortable relationship. I can face my God and see her smiling at me. I don’t miss me any more because I have found a way to live that has integrity.

If you have written a post that expresses similar themes, please leave us a link in a comment. I would love to have us connect in this way.

Time Heals

/ Pat / 11 Comments
Astronomical Clock

Astronomical Clock (Photo credit: simpologist)

Time heals. We tell that to young people who have had their hearts broken. Sometimes we say it to people who have had tragic losses, when we know how much they are hurting but don’t know what to say to help them hurt less. If we are the one hurting we probably need to hear it, we need to know that the emotional pain will lessen – will get easier to bear. But when we are in the middle of our pain we also want to scream “How do you know? How can you possibly know that this all-consuming pain deep in my gut will ever end?”

The experts on grief say that the only way to find resolution is to face our loss and feel our pain. This is hard work and no one can tell us the best way to grieve because there are so many different factors, such as the type of loss and the personality of the person. The grief following developing a chronic illness (fibromyalgia with chronic pain and fatigue) was a different kind of hard than other times of grief. Developing a chronic condition, especially one that involves pain, seems to changes so much about our lives and our sense of self.

"falling apart"

“falling apart” (Photo credit: Quasimime)

I have heard many people say, on blogs and discussion boards, that chronic illness and pain makes them feel like their life has fallen apart and they have lost their sense of self. I felt like I had lost my internal bearings, my security, something at my very core, something very important, but it was difficult for me to identify exactly what it was. I kept wanting to say that I had lost my self, but obviously that wasn’t true; my self was still waking up in the morning, fixing supper, brushing my teeth, going to the store for a gallon of milk, going to work, having lunch with friends. But I also wrote in my journal that I didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say I didn’t know who I was any more – and this brought tears to my eyes.

What caused me to cry most often was my fear of not being able to work; I wrote about that here. But it wasn’t just “work” work, it was being able to do the work of living my life fully, to be who I had known me to be as a wife and mother and friend and grandmother and church member and aunt and neighbor and… In some inexplicable way I had lost “me” and I didn’t know if I would ever get “her” back.

What does it mean to lose our self? In part it involves losing our ability to fulfill important roles. If we define our self as a parent, we lose our ability to parent, if we pride ourselves on being a caregiver we lose our ability to give care, a clear thinker can no long think, a provider can no longer provide, a hard worker can no longer work hard, a gardener can no longer garden. Sometimes it felt lost – totally gone. Sometimes only altered. Most of the time I didn’t know what was happening to me and this was scary. So much of my life activity was changing – I’ve written about that here.

My fear of so many losses led to a lot of emotional pain. I cried, sometimes so hard I doubled over. I sobbed. And I was angry – really angry. I went through a few months of being numb to the world – of being depressed and feeling the sadness at the back of my eyes. And then I cried some more. This didn’t happen in public, although some of it showed up in the form of more swear words leaking out inappropriately and less time on the outside of my door. I spent a lot of time staring into space trying to figure it all out.

This work of identifying what I was losing, according to the experts, is a necessary task if I was to heal. There was another aspect, however. People who develop chronic illnesses frequently feel defective. The loss of physical ability made me feel diminished, like less of a person. I worried about whether other people, my husband, family and friends, would still like me. After taking care of myself, I didn’t feel like I had anything left to give so why would they want me in their lives. From my journal:

UP 050

I looked at the cows at the farm today and was struck by how boring their life must be. All they do is eat and poop and sleep and eat and poop. I wonder if I am struggling with whether my life has any worth if I can’t be productive, if I can’t do for and give to others. Radical thought: Could it be possible that the sole purpose of my life is just to enjoy being alive? Lord, what do you want from me at this point in my life? Your second greatest commandment is to love one another. What does love look like when I have fibromyalgia? Does how I love change because I am sick? There is a flip side of this. Does being sick change how I let others love me? Does being sick make me less loveable? This question has some emotional kick.

Becoming aware of my fears, bringing them out into the light of day and rational thought, made it possible for me to begin to manage them. But getting control of my fears and feelings of loss wasn’t enough – I also longed to find a part of me that still existed. I began looking for evidence that I still had worth and had the same core self even though I felt vulnerable and my life felt uncertain.

Our beliefs about ourselves, our sense of self, are formed and transformed within relationships with others – what others mirror back to us (for a review of the extensive literature on this see Mikulincer & Shaver). I knew it was important to balance the negative thoughts and feelings I was experiencing so I looked for validation of my worth from within my relationships. I needed to reassure myself that the people in my life could see worth in me even when I felt defective. Here is a list I wrote in my journal:

  • My husband still loves me and desires me.
  • A valued friend is always eager to have lunch with me and understands the impact fibromyalgia is having on my self-esteem because of having Graves’s disease last fall. She treasures me for all else that I am. She wants my help in picking out quilt fabric.
  • Another friend was excited to see me and wants to have lunch with me on Monday. She also told me my suggestions for teaching her pharmacology course were very helpful.
  • Our long-time friends still want to get together for dinner and cards every month.
  • An esteemed administrator said she has missed having me on campus. She also said she really enjoys my insights into the books we read for book club.
  • A colleague who works under me said I am missed and my sabbatical has just started.
  • A friend sought me out at the picnic last weekend and really seems to enjoy how we kibitz with each other.
  • Another very capable colleague/friend said she enjoyed having supper with us and believes I can accomplish the program expansion we are going to propose. She loves the colors I chose for my living room.
  • A newer church friend seeks me out and has invited us to two different events.
  • A long-time friend asked me to run over to their house to give my opinion on their living room decorating.
  • Three different people went out of their way to say hi to me when I was on campus last week.
  • A colleague said she appreciated my encouragement and insight into starting her Ph.D. program.

I made these lists in my journal several times over the next few years as I was struggling to find emotional healing. They were an important way for me to find meaning and re-define myself. I was looking for a new way of living that didn’t include the sick role but instead had integrity. I was struggling to continue my life history, my story line, to include living with a chronic illness but also to re-member who I was; to put myself back together. Parker Palmer wrote these powerful words that resonated with what I was experiencing.

Re-membering involves putting ourselves back together, recovering identity and integrity, reclaiming the wholeness of our lives. When we forget who we are we do not merely drop some data. We dis-member ourselves, with unhappy consequences for our politics, our work, our hearts.

A large part of being able to continue my life story was figuring out how to connect who I once was with the person who now has limitation due to FM. Although the wonderful people who are a part of my life help to define me, I also knew there was a core me that I didn’t want to lose but no longer knew (or remembered). I was searching for some continuity of me. Here is a journal post from the third year after developing FM:

 I found a picture of me when I was about 2 years old that delights me. When I look at the picture, I see myself now. That little girl striking a pose is so “me.” There I stand, looking up at the giants, with my feet firmly planted, my hands on my hips, training panties on, one sleeve pulled up, a smile on my face, and a goofy but cute hat on my head. (Personal Journal, 2007)

I hadn’t lost me after all; I just had to look way back to remember who I am. And knowing who I am on the inside gives me the courage to continue the work of emotional healing and maintaining wellness while living with a chronic illness. Yes, time heals.

Here are some bloggers who have impacted on my life and my healing in ways that relate to this post, at least somewhat closely. They are expressing their reality, and in many ways also reflecting mine. Maybe they will bring some emotional healing to you. Together we will make sense of physical and emotional pain.

http://megansayer.com/2012/09/14/hearing-voices/

http://throughthehealinglens.com/2012/09/22/savasana/

http://withreverence.wordpress.com/2012/09/20/turning-an-external-encouragement-in-internally-realized-strength/

http://theretiringsort.com/2012/09/20/leading-a-textured-life

If you have posted on a related topic or we have inspired a future post, please feel free to leave a link to your blog in a comment with a sentence or two describing your topic.