'Resilience' is another field of myth making as is unconscious ageism.
A few years ago, a friend of mine braved the Annapurna while I was happy and lucky to lurch 2000 steps in the park...
Pema Chödrön, in one of her books, I forget which one, remarked that everyone gets to their limit, and it feels the same, whether it's a famous himalayan mountain-top or a much-desired bench in the park... we all get to our limit. And it's the same limit. It's the same. And when you get there (as I did during cancer treatment), you have reached the realm of being unapologetically human. No competition, no shame. Just a very humble love: of your companion lurching beside you, the sun in your face, and the park bench beside your path.
Thank you Elisabeth. This is so beautifully said. It reminds me of a time when I was very sick in the hospital and all I wanted was to be able to sit outside on the picnic bench under the tree that I could see from my window. I managed to convince my nurses and my Mom that I could make it. So we hobbled to the elevator, took it down to the first floor and I sat at that table and sobbed, too exhausted to enjoy it and too exhausted to go back. They brought me the wheelchair I had refused earlier and kindly, quietly took me back to my room. I'm in a very different stage of my life now, healing from another, very different surgery, and feeling frustrated at the slowness of my recovery, shaming myself even. So thank you for this reminder and thank you for helping me remember a lesson I had forgotten from so long ago.
I've been there too. not actually your bench, but in my own way! Waiting on biopsy results the oncologist was convinced were terminal, I hugged a palm tree in my garden and spent many more hours than ever before weeding. Thankfully the cancer gods gave me a break. Now I'm recovering from a big incisional hernia op and I'm just tired. It's all quite hard and recovery is taking longer. But I'm getting there. Best wishes to you too.
This was like honey for my soul this morning, as a person living with long covid, which is largely invisible. I do feel like a warrior badass some days, for continually whispering to myself, it's ok mama, you're ok, keep going. For resting instead of doing. Thank you Andrea.
I too am with you as a long Covid warrior.; we are as strong as it gets. We are indeed living through unimaginable pain, suffering, and decline that is unrecognized and even denied by the world around us . The world has moved on as we navigate our new normal of living in disabled bodies and living with the reality of likely reinfection that can make us worse. I often share this last issue in a way that my cancer survivor friends understand— imaging surviving your cancer treatment and being in remission but everywhere you breath air with others gives you a certain percentage chance (up to 50-60% or more when the virus surges multiple times a year) just by being in that room and breathing. It’s a lot to live with…but we keep moving forward and doing all we can to live.
You are for sure amazing for any and all that you can do AND even more so for honoring what you need to do now for your body. I’m sending you my support, care, and hope.
I am right there with you, long covid for 18 months now, visibly wearing my mask, and invisibly wearing this interminable fatigue, in public on the days when I *can* get out of bed.
Every day I feel like I should do more, like my partner doing the dishes or cooking for the dozenth time this month, or walking the dog without me again, is more than I deserve. And just working from bed and still having a job and letting that sap almost all of everything that the stimulant medications are artificially giving me, which is *enough to stay awake and type reports and conduct video calls for work* and just about that alone.
And like you--and YOU ARE A WARRIOR BADASS--sometimes I whisper my own mantra "keep going, I love you, babygirl, you're okay, you've got this, you can do this" to push through the fatigue and weakness and racing heart to wash my hair. And some days I whisper it to make myself stay in bed and rest, no matter how much I worry about others' judgment or losing friends who don't understand (the real ones do).
Thank you for this: "it's ok mama, you're okay, keep going, resting instead of doing."
I'm there with you! I'm 4+ years into long Covid and thankfully doing a lot better than I was one or two years ago, but there is still a lot of whispering assurances to myself that it's okay to rest . . . okay and essential!
I've been chronically unwell my whole life and the ablest fear that's haunted me more often than any other has been, "maybe I'm just weak??" Learning to see, honour, cherish, and CHAMPION the way that strength manifests in this brave, suffering body of mine has been such an important journey. Strength in me looks like love. It looks laughter and play. It looks like curiosity. It looks like a hundred things, it just doesn't look like walking around!
What a beautiful, strong post Andrea. I LOVE "Sometimes Child’s Pose is even stronger than Warrior Pose. Because strength in the mind really just means openness in the heart.” Whoosh. Yes. Those are the words that hugely out of touch yoga instructor could benefit from hearing. I'm glad you made it through, stronger for it.
Oh Andrea, I just finished journaling this morning about this body of mine that feels so broken and burdensome.I reminded myself that there is beauty and celebration to be had in every moment if I just turn my attention away from my pain body. At the end of my journaling I wrote, "Think of Andrea, let her be your inspiration and teacher." And then I opened my email to THIS beautiful message. Thank you for being the truth teller who reminds us that life is love and everything else just window dressing. Blessings to you dearest one.
10 years ago this Dec 12 I had a freak blood clot fly off a metal heart valve. I lost 25% of my sight in my left eye so I lost driving-at 57 and I have no peripheral vision on my left. It was not just the driving but everything from where I sit in theater or church or a play (have to be the highest up on the left). Where I sit at a table-no one on my left otherwise food and drinks go flying. What is worse is no one can see ( how ironic is that) that I have this blindness. Anywhere there is a crowd I am bumping into someone coming at me at a diagonal on my left and I cannot see them. Usually I just say, I am sorry-didn't see you but some people sneer or make a nasty comment.
One day at grocery store, I stepped up to open door to get some milk and did not realize a lady in a scooter had driven up. She started yelling at me, " are you so rude that you have to jump in front of a disabled person-how ugly of a person are you? I still feel the shame pour over me as people gave me angry looks and one person cussed at me. I ran out of the store and sobbed in the car with my husband.
The gift of a disability is (of which they are very few), is I have learned that I and others judge a whole lot of actions without one minute of knowledge about someone. It has shaved down my pride and attitudes. But sometimes it is still oh so painful.
I’m so sorry for your pain. You may have already thought of this, but maybe a white cane would be a signal to others to be more caring and kind to you. Sending you love and hugs.
I am always touched by what you write. Today’s post was especially moving. Your clear voice rings so true. As for that silly instructor all those years ago, her words were thoughtless even to a health person. Demeaning a person, especially in front of others is just plain cruel.
When I began my journey with cancer...the message I learned to carry and repeat was NO PRIDE, NO SHAME just living my life...It continues to be a good mantra for healthy relationships with self and others.
A wonderful reminder about walking in another’s shoes to discover what is not visible. Thank you. Though not alter-abled, I experience moments of pain, so I always give others the benefit of the doubt that they know what is good for themselves better than I do.
Thanks for this Andrea! I am one with a lot of invisible disabilities due to brain surgeries and radiation, etc. I feel a lot of shame when I have to say "No...I don't feel well enough."
In my 60s I had a very young, very nubile yoga instructor who would often repeat, "If your mind is flexible, your body will be flexible," while bending into shapes I couldn't hope to emulate. Luckily, I was already at an age where I simply laughed silently. She'll find out, bless her.
'Resilience' is another field of myth making as is unconscious ageism.
A few years ago, a friend of mine braved the Annapurna while I was happy and lucky to lurch 2000 steps in the park...
Pema Chödrön, in one of her books, I forget which one, remarked that everyone gets to their limit, and it feels the same, whether it's a famous himalayan mountain-top or a much-desired bench in the park... we all get to our limit. And it's the same limit. It's the same. And when you get there (as I did during cancer treatment), you have reached the realm of being unapologetically human. No competition, no shame. Just a very humble love: of your companion lurching beside you, the sun in your face, and the park bench beside your path.
Thank you Elisabeth. This is so beautifully said. It reminds me of a time when I was very sick in the hospital and all I wanted was to be able to sit outside on the picnic bench under the tree that I could see from my window. I managed to convince my nurses and my Mom that I could make it. So we hobbled to the elevator, took it down to the first floor and I sat at that table and sobbed, too exhausted to enjoy it and too exhausted to go back. They brought me the wheelchair I had refused earlier and kindly, quietly took me back to my room. I'm in a very different stage of my life now, healing from another, very different surgery, and feeling frustrated at the slowness of my recovery, shaming myself even. So thank you for this reminder and thank you for helping me remember a lesson I had forgotten from so long ago.
I know that picknick bench in the hospital park! ❤️
And now I think of you, and all my other companions lurching along beside me. Love to you!
I've been there too. not actually your bench, but in my own way! Waiting on biopsy results the oncologist was convinced were terminal, I hugged a palm tree in my garden and spent many more hours than ever before weeding. Thankfully the cancer gods gave me a break. Now I'm recovering from a big incisional hernia op and I'm just tired. It's all quite hard and recovery is taking longer. But I'm getting there. Best wishes to you too.
Best wishes to you!
Showing off my strength was/is the easiest thing in the world. Admitting I need help is the hardest damn thing I’ve ever had to do.
Me too. 💗
This was like honey for my soul this morning, as a person living with long covid, which is largely invisible. I do feel like a warrior badass some days, for continually whispering to myself, it's ok mama, you're ok, keep going. For resting instead of doing. Thank you Andrea.
Oh the pain must be tripled when people say Covid was fake, not real, and very callous about the immense suffering of thousands yet today.
I too am with you as a long Covid warrior.; we are as strong as it gets. We are indeed living through unimaginable pain, suffering, and decline that is unrecognized and even denied by the world around us . The world has moved on as we navigate our new normal of living in disabled bodies and living with the reality of likely reinfection that can make us worse. I often share this last issue in a way that my cancer survivor friends understand— imaging surviving your cancer treatment and being in remission but everywhere you breath air with others gives you a certain percentage chance (up to 50-60% or more when the virus surges multiple times a year) just by being in that room and breathing. It’s a lot to live with…but we keep moving forward and doing all we can to live.
You are for sure amazing for any and all that you can do AND even more so for honoring what you need to do now for your body. I’m sending you my support, care, and hope.
I am right there with you, long covid for 18 months now, visibly wearing my mask, and invisibly wearing this interminable fatigue, in public on the days when I *can* get out of bed.
Every day I feel like I should do more, like my partner doing the dishes or cooking for the dozenth time this month, or walking the dog without me again, is more than I deserve. And just working from bed and still having a job and letting that sap almost all of everything that the stimulant medications are artificially giving me, which is *enough to stay awake and type reports and conduct video calls for work* and just about that alone.
And like you--and YOU ARE A WARRIOR BADASS--sometimes I whisper my own mantra "keep going, I love you, babygirl, you're okay, you've got this, you can do this" to push through the fatigue and weakness and racing heart to wash my hair. And some days I whisper it to make myself stay in bed and rest, no matter how much I worry about others' judgment or losing friends who don't understand (the real ones do).
Thank you for this: "it's ok mama, you're okay, keep going, resting instead of doing."
I'm there with you! I'm 4+ years into long Covid and thankfully doing a lot better than I was one or two years ago, but there is still a lot of whispering assurances to myself that it's okay to rest . . . okay and essential!
“There isn’t a healthy body in the world stronger than a sick person’s spirit.” 🙏💙
I've been chronically unwell my whole life and the ablest fear that's haunted me more often than any other has been, "maybe I'm just weak??" Learning to see, honour, cherish, and CHAMPION the way that strength manifests in this brave, suffering body of mine has been such an important journey. Strength in me looks like love. It looks laughter and play. It looks like curiosity. It looks like a hundred things, it just doesn't look like walking around!
❤️❤️❤️
What a beautiful, strong post Andrea. I LOVE "Sometimes Child’s Pose is even stronger than Warrior Pose. Because strength in the mind really just means openness in the heart.” Whoosh. Yes. Those are the words that hugely out of touch yoga instructor could benefit from hearing. I'm glad you made it through, stronger for it.
❤️
Oh Andrea, I just finished journaling this morning about this body of mine that feels so broken and burdensome.I reminded myself that there is beauty and celebration to be had in every moment if I just turn my attention away from my pain body. At the end of my journaling I wrote, "Think of Andrea, let her be your inspiration and teacher." And then I opened my email to THIS beautiful message. Thank you for being the truth teller who reminds us that life is love and everything else just window dressing. Blessings to you dearest one.
❤️
10 years ago this Dec 12 I had a freak blood clot fly off a metal heart valve. I lost 25% of my sight in my left eye so I lost driving-at 57 and I have no peripheral vision on my left. It was not just the driving but everything from where I sit in theater or church or a play (have to be the highest up on the left). Where I sit at a table-no one on my left otherwise food and drinks go flying. What is worse is no one can see ( how ironic is that) that I have this blindness. Anywhere there is a crowd I am bumping into someone coming at me at a diagonal on my left and I cannot see them. Usually I just say, I am sorry-didn't see you but some people sneer or make a nasty comment.
One day at grocery store, I stepped up to open door to get some milk and did not realize a lady in a scooter had driven up. She started yelling at me, " are you so rude that you have to jump in front of a disabled person-how ugly of a person are you? I still feel the shame pour over me as people gave me angry looks and one person cussed at me. I ran out of the store and sobbed in the car with my husband.
The gift of a disability is (of which they are very few), is I have learned that I and others judge a whole lot of actions without one minute of knowledge about someone. It has shaved down my pride and attitudes. But sometimes it is still oh so painful.
I’m so sorry for your pain. You may have already thought of this, but maybe a white cane would be a signal to others to be more caring and kind to you. Sending you love and hugs.
😭💥🖤
I love this - The strongest people in the world are very often those whose bodies aren’t strong at all. Thank you!
❤️
I am always touched by what you write. Today’s post was especially moving. Your clear voice rings so true. As for that silly instructor all those years ago, her words were thoughtless even to a health person. Demeaning a person, especially in front of others is just plain cruel.
When I began my journey with cancer...the message I learned to carry and repeat was NO PRIDE, NO SHAME just living my life...It continues to be a good mantra for healthy relationships with self and others.
“There isn’t a healthy body in the world stronger than a sick person’s spirit.”
Damn straight 💪✨❤️ love this post Andrea...
❤️
A wonderful reminder about walking in another’s shoes to discover what is not visible. Thank you. Though not alter-abled, I experience moments of pain, so I always give others the benefit of the doubt that they know what is good for themselves better than I do.
❤️
Thanks for this Andrea! I am one with a lot of invisible disabilities due to brain surgeries and radiation, etc. I feel a lot of shame when I have to say "No...I don't feel well enough."
In my 60s I had a very young, very nubile yoga instructor who would often repeat, "If your mind is flexible, your body will be flexible," while bending into shapes I couldn't hope to emulate. Luckily, I was already at an age where I simply laughed silently. She'll find out, bless her.
“….nothing has left me feeling more fragile, afraid, and disempowered than my own hiding.” Beautiful insight.