What I'm Not
It's been just over three months since I was diagnosed with endometriosis. Already, it has been quite the experience - and not the kind of experience I wanted when I told myself to be more adventurous. I've been dealing with it much longer than three months, but having a diagnosis changes things. The moment I woke up to that news, the little glimmer of hope I had been holding onto died.
The last time I posted about this was the day after my surgery. I was trying to be strong. I wanted to take it in stride. I wanted people to see me and think that either nothing was wrong with me, or that I just really have my life together and am impervious to chronic illness. I was resisting reality. It wasn't until I had a little talk with myself that I was able to stop resisting it.
I was laying in bed one morning waiting for my pain medicine to (hopefully) kick in. My frustration was growing exponentially. Before I knew it, that frustration had turned into little tears that quietly rolled down my face. For the first time, I just let myself cry. I didn't think about anything, I didn't tell myself I was being dramatic, and I didn't look for a silver lining. I just cried (and cried and cried). Once I stopped, I thought to myself, This is your life. Whether you like it or not. If you want any peace, you just need to accept it. And that was that.
Since that day, I've been working on giving myself grace - which is where the title of this post comes in. Part of accepting is understanding what all this really means for my life and what it doesn't. I tend to be ridiculously hard on myself, and often use words like weak, lazy, and hypochondriac when I think about myself. Especially when I'm having a rough day.
As much as it feels like it, I'm not weak. I wake up every morning and start the day with medicine that I know will most likely make me extremely nauseous all day. I continue my day with varying levels of pain, and for the most part carry on so that nobody knows anything is wrong unless I tell them.
If I need a little rest or nap during the day, that doesn't make me lazy. More often than not, I am up in the night for hours at a time because everything hurts. Who wouldn't need a nap?! Nothing makes me feel lazier than not being able to keep up with a group of people. Especially when the people I'm with don't know that there's anything wrong with me (I hate how that sounds by the way). They don't understand why sometimes I just need to sit down, why I'm so wore out after a "normal" day, or how quickly I can take a turn for the worse. Even if other people don't understand, I do. Other people don't have to understand for me to take care of myself. Other people can think I'm lazy, but I know better - that's what matters.
Sometimes I start to feel like I'm being dramatic. Maybe I'm just the world's biggest hypochondriac. Can I get a Guinness World Record for that? Then I remember one small detail: I saw the pictures from my surgery. You can't fake that. I often think back to those pictures when I need to give myself grace. They are a bitter reminder that I am not a hypochondriac. Sometimes I think it would be better if I was. Then, I could just get a boyfriend to distract myself from my fake ailments. (By the way, that's actual advice that I've gotten.)
I'm probably writing this more to reassure myself that I'm not a weak, lazy, hypochondriac than to make you understand my struggles. Regardless, I hope you do have a bit of a better understanding, not just for me, but for everyone who deals with chronic pain, invisible illness, autoimmune disease, etc.
Even if you ignore everything I've said up to now, I want you to pay attention to these three things:
Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.
Just because you can't feel it doesn't mean we don't.
Just because you don't understand a condition doesn't mean it ceases to exist.
The last time I posted about this was the day after my surgery. I was trying to be strong. I wanted to take it in stride. I wanted people to see me and think that either nothing was wrong with me, or that I just really have my life together and am impervious to chronic illness. I was resisting reality. It wasn't until I had a little talk with myself that I was able to stop resisting it.
I was laying in bed one morning waiting for my pain medicine to (hopefully) kick in. My frustration was growing exponentially. Before I knew it, that frustration had turned into little tears that quietly rolled down my face. For the first time, I just let myself cry. I didn't think about anything, I didn't tell myself I was being dramatic, and I didn't look for a silver lining. I just cried (and cried and cried). Once I stopped, I thought to myself, This is your life. Whether you like it or not. If you want any peace, you just need to accept it. And that was that.
Since that day, I've been working on giving myself grace - which is where the title of this post comes in. Part of accepting is understanding what all this really means for my life and what it doesn't. I tend to be ridiculously hard on myself, and often use words like weak, lazy, and hypochondriac when I think about myself. Especially when I'm having a rough day.
As much as it feels like it, I'm not weak. I wake up every morning and start the day with medicine that I know will most likely make me extremely nauseous all day. I continue my day with varying levels of pain, and for the most part carry on so that nobody knows anything is wrong unless I tell them.
If I need a little rest or nap during the day, that doesn't make me lazy. More often than not, I am up in the night for hours at a time because everything hurts. Who wouldn't need a nap?! Nothing makes me feel lazier than not being able to keep up with a group of people. Especially when the people I'm with don't know that there's anything wrong with me (I hate how that sounds by the way). They don't understand why sometimes I just need to sit down, why I'm so wore out after a "normal" day, or how quickly I can take a turn for the worse. Even if other people don't understand, I do. Other people don't have to understand for me to take care of myself. Other people can think I'm lazy, but I know better - that's what matters.
Sometimes I start to feel like I'm being dramatic. Maybe I'm just the world's biggest hypochondriac. Can I get a Guinness World Record for that? Then I remember one small detail: I saw the pictures from my surgery. You can't fake that. I often think back to those pictures when I need to give myself grace. They are a bitter reminder that I am not a hypochondriac. Sometimes I think it would be better if I was. Then, I could just get a boyfriend to distract myself from my fake ailments. (By the way, that's actual advice that I've gotten.)
I'm probably writing this more to reassure myself that I'm not a weak, lazy, hypochondriac than to make you understand my struggles. Regardless, I hope you do have a bit of a better understanding, not just for me, but for everyone who deals with chronic pain, invisible illness, autoimmune disease, etc.
Even if you ignore everything I've said up to now, I want you to pay attention to these three things:
Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.
Just because you can't feel it doesn't mean we don't.
Just because you don't understand a condition doesn't mean it ceases to exist.
Today to see your blog, reminds me of the recently read the book, when the air into the air, I do not know what to say, my English is very poor, I hope you can restore health.
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