Reflections from a Chronically Ill Therapist

Chronic Illness

Jul. 9

It is three PM in the afternoon. I have at least five more things on my to-do list left for me to accomplish today, ranging from the small (answering emails, scheduling an infographic on Instagram, cleaning up my case note) to the more involved (cleaning my house, which sorely needs it after a weekend away and the ever-growing list of chores that have been sidelined for midterm assignments). All seem impossible and overwhelming in the face of the head-splitting migraine that makes it almost impossible to so much as open my eyes. The idea of lifting this blanket off of my face, to even contemplate sitting up, is enough to make me nauseous.

This is living with chronic illness, I think miserably to myself. The thought is heavy, like the weighted blanket I have managed to drag over myself. The thought is as dark as the room around me, and for a moment as sharp as the pain in my skull.

It is easy at times to talk about one’s illness from a place of resilience. To talk about the ways our lives are still rich and meaningful, to advocate for the value and importance of our bodyminds even as they sometimes fail us. To marvel at your strength in pushing through symptoms that would debilitate someone who has not experienced what you have.

It is harder to hold onto these things at times when you do not feel resilient.

When your body decides that you are done for the day before you do. On these days, it can feel like a battle against yourself, against your body as well as your mind. Because on these days, disappointment creeps in. The anger and despair and hopelessness keeps you company when you have to isolate yourself from family, friends, the world. It has you checking social media for the things you are missing out on, and re-reading cancellation messages to try and wonder if this is the time they give up and stop inviting you.

Is this living with chronic illness?

It is three PM in the afternoon. I have at least five more things on my to-do list left for me to accomplish today. My body is begging me not to do any of them. It craves slowness, gentleness. It demands a break. The usual remedies of light movement, time away from screens, and pharmaceuticals have not brought relief. The pain is still there, my body still screaming.

I don’t fight it. I take a look at my list and determine that only one thing is absolutely vital to be done before the end of the business day. One more thing, and then we’re done, I promise myself. Do I do it perfectly? Of course not. Not even close. But, slowly, I get the bare minimum done.

I make enough room on my couch-turned-nest for my partner to keep me company. I nap. I wake up feeling just better enough to eat in the living room, and watch a show with the volume a little quieter than we normally would. Was the afternoon perfect? No. But was it lost, wasted, pointless? Also no.