(4 min read)
As I continue to trek down the path of uncovering the chronic health issues and seeking the help and support of my doc, my heart burns with one question over and over again. Will I get better?
Sometimes I break down about it. Because this still feels like it shouldn’t be me. This still feels impossible. Like it can’t really be happening to me.
I cry. Sometimes Justin catches me. He walks into a room, and there I am on the floor. Crying into my hands. Because I had just been trying to clean or work on a project or cook, and my body will just stop being able to take it. I collapse. And sometimes I handle that with grace. Deep breaths. Mantras of acceptance and release of control. Because when I tense up and stress about it, the crash gets worse.
Sometimes though, I collapse and cry. I’m unable to stop the sadness from boiling over.
So Justin will sometimes catch me. And when he does, I sometimes ask him through my tears “will i get better?”
It’s an impossible question for me to ask of him. He says various things. He tries to comfort me. Something in me so badly wants to know with certainty that I’m going to be well again.
Today, through writing, I heard an answer come to me. It came to me from……source? My highest self? God? I don’t know what you want to call it. All of the above are true.
“If your question is one of fear, then it is also your answer. For an answer to a question that is birthed from fear is already in motion- creating in the Universe more fear. You cannot really answer that question with Love. Instead, hear the fear in your question, and re-phrase it to a question that is based in Love. A question that is based in Love is also an answer, and will go out into the Universe, creating more Love.”
(I apologize if that sounds too airy-fairy; its just what came to me.)
And I realized that “will I get better?” was coming from the fear in me. It’s coming from terror that I will not get better. There isn’t a good answer to it. Fear will only actually create more of the same……more pain, sickness, fear, etc.
And since our thoughts are creative, and have the creative energy to transform, and our words have even more creative power, I am sitting here trying to re-imagine that question into one that is coming from a place in me that is grounded in Love, not fear. (Since Love and Fear are the two operative forms of creation and are always in motion).
So, I’m thinking that it’s okay to cry when I’m sad and scared. No harm in the honest raw expression of emotions. But then, to carefully create a better thought about my circumstance.
And that maybe my question could instead be
“what will I do with this today?”
Or
“How can I bring love into this challenging situation that I am in right now?”
“How can I accept myself today, in this moment?”
“How can I show my body love in this moment?”
Or at the very least
“Justin, can you just sit with me for a few minutes?”
And, as difficult as it is sometimes, to remember that the future self is never coming. I will always only ever be in this moment. In the present. Here. Now. And all I will ever be able to do is accept the present moment as it is, with grace and gentleness.
Because honestly, wondering about the future me, and if she will still be sick in 1 year, 5 years, 10 years………makes me sick. Makes my body tense. Makes me stressed. My heart races and I get anxious and sometimes even begin to panic.
And though I do not believe that I have brought this sickness upon myself in any way, I also hold the tension of knowing that I have the creative power to re-create myself in each moment. Our thoughts and our feelings and our words are powerful, always writing and re-writing our experience.
And yeah, maybe I just got wayyyyyyy tooooooo spiritual, metaphysical, theological cosmology- ish.
But aside from all of that, I really do only see one way to truly live well: Acceptance. Loving what is.
This is what I can control: How I feel about it. What I say about it. What I create my life to be about.
Grace or anxiety.
Peace or fear.
Relaxing or White knuckling.
Flowing with life or Fighting it to the death.
Breathing in acceptance and love, or panicking and wondering.
Weirdly, one of the reasons I write about my experience is to create for myself (and maybe for a few others who read this and find it comforting in some way) something beautiful from this pain- to ask a better question about the challenge I am in.
I will, at the very least, have my own words as a living witness to my experience. To go back to and remind myself of how it has hurt, what wisdom I have gained, how it has created my heart to be more open, how much I have grown and become truer.
With much love y’all, especially those of you who have hidden illnesses and challenges. I’m with you!!
