There is something so cathartic in finding out there is actually something physically wrong with you. For the first time in so long, I’ve felt a softness, a tenderness toward myself. Compassion has been streaming from my eyes in the form of hot tears at random intervals for the last few days. Despite all the fear and uncertainty and struggle that still lies before me, there is a sense of sweet vindication.
It might seem strange to feel grateful for external validation of being sick, but it feels so much better than believing you’re just not trying hard enough even though you have nothing left to give. I’m overwhelmed by that beautiful healing break of tension. All of my frustration, and futile efforts finally making sense. The relief of no longer gaslighting myself into thinking I could be better, that I’m lazy, that I’m exaggerating, that I’m just ungrateful, that I should be capable of more than this.
It finally feels okay to rest, to be kind to myself, to acknowledge that I’ve been doing a great job. It’s not just in my head. My years of struggling distress have been real. I’m doing everything I can, even going above and beyond what I should be capable of. I’m not a mentally/spiritually/emotionally broken person. I’m not a bad person. I’m not a failure. I’m just sick. And maybe I can even get better. For the first time in so long, I feel it. I feel that stirring, timid excitement of “maybe I can get better.”
And even if I can’t get better, I’m going to try. Even if I get worse, I’ll still feel better knowing that none of this is my fault. That, in fact, I’m actually quite incredible. There is no shame in feeling tired and overwhelmed. I’ve been overcoming so much every single day. And I am so, so grateful to finally be able to make sense of it all and acknowledge how hard I’ve been working.
Protect the Innocent 