Well I know that you heard a lot about
Things you can't control
So many things we like to have
We just cannot hold
You gotta be kind to yourself
She And Him - Me And You
In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
For you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
Psalm 4:8
Health burn-out.
It’s a real thing.
Because I’m living with fibromyalgia and endometriosis, I am now an avid list-maker, symptom-researcher, tip-reader, and pain-documenter. I've picked up numerous tricks for dealing with my set of circumstances. Avoiding large amounts of sugar seems to help. I've been working on my water intake, which for this coffee-loving girl is a JOB and a HALF. Taking supplements on a regular daily basis makes a huge difference, too--and I've never been one for schedules. I make a lot of random to-do lists-on backs of receipts, in small notebooks, on ripped out sheets of paper--my brain is often foggy and if I don’t write things down, well, they may be lost FOREVER. I read a lot about what works for other folks with fibromyalgia, what doesn't work for them. I try a lot of things-eating coconut oil, sipping on apple cider vinegar, stretching gently, avoiding wheat and dairy, soaking in Epsom salts, and resting as much as I can. My most recent health project is a daily fibro log, where I document levels of pain and fatigue, noting activities and what I eat.
It’s very, very easy to focus most of my energy on getting well, on feeling better, on finding new things to try. Too easy. After all, it’s a good thing to want to improve one’s health, right? When you feel good, you can do more, be more, see more, experience more. Our culture values busyness and activity and accomplishments. There seems to be no room for rest without movement, for space to be ill, or encouragement to do what you need to do if it‘s outside the norm. Sometimes it can feel like if you can’t take a selfie or fire off a round of jealousy-inducing pictures or statuses, you really have nothing to offer. What can a physically limited person like me hope to offer the world? Or even offer to my little corner of the world, to my friends, to my family, to my co-workers, to my community?
It’s during this frenzied line of thinking that I need to just take a freaking moment. And breathe. In. And. Out. Repeat.
Because I believe that everyone has worth and value regardless of what they can produce, I suppose that has to go for me, too. That even though I am researching my brains out and trying new things constantly to feel well, I still get to be where I’m at. I can still rest and enjoy life even though I will always be searching for wellness. I can shed the false guilt that comes along with having to be still. I will give myself a break from thinking about health and just live life how it is right now. Balancing the reality of fibro with responsibilities and goals and dreams will probably always be in the cards. When I calm down enough to realize I’m still An OK Person, it’s easier to see the ways I am doing well and taking care of myself and being available to the people to around me. Heck, I can even see how this stupid fibro thing has prompted me towards more gentleness and empathy and humility. My expectations are becoming, ever so slowly, more realistic. I am letting others help me more often; I am savoring good times with my favorite people more. I see how much I need Jesus and faith and prayer and grace and other people more and more, and that is a brilliant thing.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Megaphones and Haircuts
"I wish that I could be like the cool kids,
'Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.
I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids."
-Echo Smith, Cool Kids
For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.
The Apostle Paul, 2 Corinthians 5:14-15
I made it to my haircut appointment a couple weeks ago. I’d had one scheduled in late August, but had to cancel last minute due to extreme fatigue and achiness. It’s been quite the struggle this fall to get past my aches and pains, so I was pretty proud of myself for managing to get to my appointment. My hair was in quite the state, I assure you. Two months past its expiration date, needing a desperate thinning and trimming. Plus, everyone knows that Haircut Day is just another term for Best Day Ever.
I’ve been going to my hair lady now for nearly five years-she’s fantastic. Whenever I see her, I’m in constant awe of her style, her makeup, and her hair…naturally. It’s always PERFECT. It is, of course, the number one trait you should look for in a hairstylist-ENVIABLE HAIR. She’s always sweet, kind, funny, and laughs at all my jokes (the second thing you should look for in a hairstylist). Plus, my hair always looks perfect after I walk out of the salon-mmmmmm. Happiness.
Whenever I get my haircut, though, I’m reminded of how my fibro makes me look to others who aren’t around me all the time. I’m jolted out of my usual space. Normal, everyday conversation topics suddenly seem awkward.
How are you? Horribly achy and tired. Completely sleep-deprived. Oh, just fine! Just a little tired, that’s all.
What have you been up to? Hanging out on my couch. Nothing much, just the usual. You know.
Planning any trips? Uhhhh, to the pharmacy? Nah, not any time soon. Maybe for our anniversary?
What’s new with you? Trying a new vitamin supplement! Woohoo! Making it to this haircut! Haha!
I have told my hairstylist a bit about my chronic life, though-filled her in what fibromyalgia is, what endometriosis does. It’s a bit disconcerting to see someone else, although kind and interested, try to understand. I can see the confusion, reflected back in the large mirror that seems to amplify my tired face. It feels like I’m trying to explain my entire life when I explain what fibro’s done to me. I feel like I have to apologize or validate myself for my chronic pain. My fibro keeps me from “getting out there,” and so life feels small at times, especially talking to someone I only see occasionally. It reminds me of the impact fibro has on me. I feel like a bit of a freak in these times, to be honest. It’s sure not my hairstylist’s fault-it’s mine. I have these expectations of what my life should be like, what it should have been by now. I compare my life to everyone else’s, and that never ends well, even if you don’t have a chronic pain condition. I hear other’s stories and observe their high moments on social media, and feel laaaaaaaame. I think of all the things I want to do, the things not done, not experienced. Talk about the road less traveled; sometimes, it feels like no road is being traveled at all right now.
And then somehow I’m usually reminded that we all have something. We each have something about us that makes us feel lame, like we’re on the outside, like we don’t have what everyone else has. Things that we struggle to make sense of, let alone to other people. We all have story after story after story about our struggles; how we’ve succumbed to trials at times, and how we’ve overcome them. We have health things, we have personal bents, we have histories, we have issues. We don’t always see ourselves or others clearly because of our something.
For me, fibro makes it so clear that I can’t depend on myself for happiness or security or peace or a sense of identity. Shockingly clear-like plunging into an icy river. Fibro, and everything it leaves in its terrible wake, makes me ask a lot of my own questions, about life, faith, identity. All the things that matter.
Is God really for me in this?
Why hasn’t He healed me?
Can God really use my pain and turn it into something good?
Where is the hope that my faith promises?
Can I still live a good life with this chronic pain?
Complicated questions that can’t all be answered instantly or flippantly or easily. In the past few years, I find myself rereading known Scripture passages and testing them against my new normal. While I don’t know why God hasn’t taken away this physical pain, I can say with confidence that yes, God is still for me. He is instilling in me new roots, a new and growing sense of identity, which has nothing to do with what I can do or produce or experience, and everything to do with simply being loved by Him. Daily I choose to follow Him-I choose to love Him and my neighbor. Only because I know God, the Maker and Redeemer of this world, loves me. It sounds so simple, yet it’s taking a lifetime to realize. I’m slowly realizing that God only wants a relationship with me-this is what He wants for me, this is what I was made for.
Perhaps God is using my fibro to weed out perfectionist ideals, my insistence upon independence, or any number of things that keep me at arm's length from Him and others. C.S. Lewis puts it so eloquently in his book, The Problem of Pain, “We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” I hope that whatever season we find ourselves in, whether we battle against struggles or find ourselves in joyful places, we will find and see that the love of God does indeed compel us, infusing our daily living with His joy and hope and peace.
'Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.
I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids."
-Echo Smith, Cool Kids
For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.
The Apostle Paul, 2 Corinthians 5:14-15
I made it to my haircut appointment a couple weeks ago. I’d had one scheduled in late August, but had to cancel last minute due to extreme fatigue and achiness. It’s been quite the struggle this fall to get past my aches and pains, so I was pretty proud of myself for managing to get to my appointment. My hair was in quite the state, I assure you. Two months past its expiration date, needing a desperate thinning and trimming. Plus, everyone knows that Haircut Day is just another term for Best Day Ever.
I’ve been going to my hair lady now for nearly five years-she’s fantastic. Whenever I see her, I’m in constant awe of her style, her makeup, and her hair…naturally. It’s always PERFECT. It is, of course, the number one trait you should look for in a hairstylist-ENVIABLE HAIR. She’s always sweet, kind, funny, and laughs at all my jokes (the second thing you should look for in a hairstylist). Plus, my hair always looks perfect after I walk out of the salon-mmmmmm. Happiness.
Whenever I get my haircut, though, I’m reminded of how my fibro makes me look to others who aren’t around me all the time. I’m jolted out of my usual space. Normal, everyday conversation topics suddenly seem awkward.
How are you? Horribly achy and tired. Completely sleep-deprived. Oh, just fine! Just a little tired, that’s all.
What have you been up to? Hanging out on my couch. Nothing much, just the usual. You know.
Planning any trips? Uhhhh, to the pharmacy? Nah, not any time soon. Maybe for our anniversary?
What’s new with you? Trying a new vitamin supplement! Woohoo! Making it to this haircut! Haha!
I have told my hairstylist a bit about my chronic life, though-filled her in what fibromyalgia is, what endometriosis does. It’s a bit disconcerting to see someone else, although kind and interested, try to understand. I can see the confusion, reflected back in the large mirror that seems to amplify my tired face. It feels like I’m trying to explain my entire life when I explain what fibro’s done to me. I feel like I have to apologize or validate myself for my chronic pain. My fibro keeps me from “getting out there,” and so life feels small at times, especially talking to someone I only see occasionally. It reminds me of the impact fibro has on me. I feel like a bit of a freak in these times, to be honest. It’s sure not my hairstylist’s fault-it’s mine. I have these expectations of what my life should be like, what it should have been by now. I compare my life to everyone else’s, and that never ends well, even if you don’t have a chronic pain condition. I hear other’s stories and observe their high moments on social media, and feel laaaaaaaame. I think of all the things I want to do, the things not done, not experienced. Talk about the road less traveled; sometimes, it feels like no road is being traveled at all right now.
And then somehow I’m usually reminded that we all have something. We each have something about us that makes us feel lame, like we’re on the outside, like we don’t have what everyone else has. Things that we struggle to make sense of, let alone to other people. We all have story after story after story about our struggles; how we’ve succumbed to trials at times, and how we’ve overcome them. We have health things, we have personal bents, we have histories, we have issues. We don’t always see ourselves or others clearly because of our something.
For me, fibro makes it so clear that I can’t depend on myself for happiness or security or peace or a sense of identity. Shockingly clear-like plunging into an icy river. Fibro, and everything it leaves in its terrible wake, makes me ask a lot of my own questions, about life, faith, identity. All the things that matter.
Is God really for me in this?
Why hasn’t He healed me?
Can God really use my pain and turn it into something good?
Where is the hope that my faith promises?
Can I still live a good life with this chronic pain?
Complicated questions that can’t all be answered instantly or flippantly or easily. In the past few years, I find myself rereading known Scripture passages and testing them against my new normal. While I don’t know why God hasn’t taken away this physical pain, I can say with confidence that yes, God is still for me. He is instilling in me new roots, a new and growing sense of identity, which has nothing to do with what I can do or produce or experience, and everything to do with simply being loved by Him. Daily I choose to follow Him-I choose to love Him and my neighbor. Only because I know God, the Maker and Redeemer of this world, loves me. It sounds so simple, yet it’s taking a lifetime to realize. I’m slowly realizing that God only wants a relationship with me-this is what He wants for me, this is what I was made for.
Perhaps God is using my fibro to weed out perfectionist ideals, my insistence upon independence, or any number of things that keep me at arm's length from Him and others. C.S. Lewis puts it so eloquently in his book, The Problem of Pain, “We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” I hope that whatever season we find ourselves in, whether we battle against struggles or find ourselves in joyful places, we will find and see that the love of God does indeed compel us, infusing our daily living with His joy and hope and peace.
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