Category Archives for Mindfulness

The Right To Take Up Space

I believe some people undervalue the benefits of therapy. Because of therapy, I can admit that I’m lying: to everyone in my life and to myself. Whenever anyone asks how I’m doing, I say I’m fine. Of course, that’s not true, but it’s easier than telling everyone who asks how much pain I constantly feel. It’s easier than having a conversation that’s all about my pain and me. The question is, is that what’s best for me. Is that what’s best for the health and longevity of my relationships? Is that what’s best for anyone living with chronic pain or a chronic illness?

I had a virtual therapy session earlier this week, and as I was talking through my feelings – and fears – with my therapist, the truth of what I do, repeatedly, struck me. I lie to everyone because I don’t want to take up too much space. To limit the amount of time spent talking about my pain I put a smile on my face and brighten my voice regardless of how terrible I feel. Leaving people to marvel at how healthy I sound and look. I hide my pain when I don’t say no to people in my life who ask me to go places and do things I know my body can’t cope with, or will take days to recuperate from. I do whatever I can to appear “normal” so I can avoid talking about my pain in any circumstance that isn’t clinical.

The thing is, I have the right to take up space. Before this illness came into my life, I wasn’t an extrovert but I lived my life more openly with the people who are close to me. I talked more about myself, and the ups and downs in my daily activities. Now, I feel as though I need to keep those ups and downs to myself. I feel the need to hide what I’m feeling and thinking about – a life with chronic pain – from everyone, so they don’t worry; I don’t have to answer questions; and I don’t take up too much space.

While talking to my therapist, it stunned me to realize that I feel this way about myself. I don’t know for sure that this feeling wasn’t alive in me somewhere all along, but I know that it’s not true or right to feel this way now. No illness should prevent any person, including me, from actively occupying her or his space in this world. I don’t know how I’m going to silence this feeling or reclaim and refill my space, but I believe recognizing that I feel this way because of my pain can only help me get better, and stop me from feeling so small.

 

OneRepublic – Feel Again

Never Doubt Your Lived Experiences

Being ill with all these glorious old and all the wonderful new symptoms is teaching me a lot about the people in my life and myself. However, I think the singular most important thing is that I should never allow another person – not even a doctor – to make me doubt my lived experiences. What I’m living through cannot be completely understood by another person, so why should I allow another person to question my experiences. Why should someone else get to tell me how much pain I should be feeling, why I shouldn’t take so much pain or other medications, or believe they have the right to question why my surgery didn’t deliver the results they expected. Why am I allowing their questioning about my health to make me doubt the value of my lived experiences?

I’ve caught myself allowing some of these doubts to creep in before. This morning a close friend reminded me why I shouldn’t allow that to happen. I spoke to him yesterday about the swelling in my legs and feet then sent him a photo so he could see the extent of it. He called me this morning to tell me how shocked he was by the photo. His exact words were, “When someone tells you their feet are swollen you try to imagine it, but when I saw the photo of your feet I gasped.” He was shocked at how “unrecognizable” my feet are. He said he couldn’t imagine how I must feel or what I’m going through while trying to cope with this on top of everything else.

His expression of empathy toward me was the jolt I needed to remind me that I should never doubt myself. Because of doubting myself, I was delaying going to see my family doctor to get my legs and feet checked because I told myself the swelling isn’t a big deal – the swiftness with which my doctor responded to my email yesterday clearly says I’m wrong. I downplayed this symptom because I was allowing the voices from other people telling me I should be better by now to cloud the reality I’m living with. I’m not better yet. My surgery did not eliminate my pain. I’m taking a significant amount of pain medications because they make it possible for my body to move so I can do basic daily tasks. My legs and feet are swollen beyond recognition and the swelling is adding to the difficulty I already have with walking.

What I’m experiencing is real. What I read that is written by others with health issues, general life issues, or just things from their lives they want to share, are real experiences. No one ever has the right to make another person doubt their lived experiences – their reality – and I have to remind myself of this more often.

 

Adele – Chasing Pavements

Gratitude and Creativity: We Rise By Lifting Others

The wife of my friend R has cancer. It started as colon cancer for which she had surgery to remove the tumour followed by radiation; and her doctors believed they removed all the cancer. Unfortunately, after a follow-up CT scan they found a new cancerous tumour in her liver. They surgically removed that tumour along with a significant piece of her liver and again treated her with radiation. About two months ago, they found another tumour on her liver. She started radiation treatments for the new tumour a few weeks ago, trying to shrink it, but her oncologists now believe she needs another surgery to remove this tumour too. The looming question is whether there is enough of her liver left from the previous surgery to cut any more of it out.

My friend R is losing sleep over this every night, but he’s trying not to let his wife see it. He’s worried about his wife and her prognosis, but can’t let her know how worried he truly is. In their marriage, he is always the level-headed, strong, practical, rational thinking being. He’s the one that gets things done and takes care of everyone. He manages the household finances, figuring out when they can splurge and when belts need tightening; and he works at pulling his introverted wife out of her shell by trying to include her in his various circles of friendship, taking her on trips to far off places, and always putting her first.

Unfortunately, R’s wife has never warmed to me: even though he and I were friends, long before he ever met her. Her excuses for not liking me have ranged from I’m too young – they are about fifteen years older than me; I’m single – my past relationships have never changed her attitude, and I learned that only a marriage will suffice; and I’m too attractive, which as far as I’m concerned is about her lack of self-esteem. R has hosted dinner parties, where his wife has exchanged so few words with me it was obvious is efforts to spark a friendship between us, were for naught. So, our friendship – R’s and mine – exists away from his wife’s lack of fondness for me.

Even though she’s not fond of me, I’m worried about her. I’m worried that the recurrence of her cancer is a bad sign. According to R, one doctor is concerned that during the last surgery – when they removed the first tumour on her liver – they may have taken too much of one lobe of her liver to make sure that the tumour would not regrow. If that’s the case, they may have to rely heavily on radiation to shrink this tumour then follow up with another CT scan to see whether she needs more radiation or if they have to attempt to remove the remaining mass with surgery. For both their sakes, I’m desperately hoping the radiation works.

Recently, R told me that his wife has lost interest in all the hobbies and activities she used to do before she became ill. I’ve decided to send her a gift that I hope will lift her spirits. I know that she loves flowers: she wanted to open a flower shop when she retires from her current career. I can’t give her a flower shop, but I can give her some adult colouring books with drawings of flowers and gardens, and a set of coloured pencils. My hope is that the simple act of colouring will soothe her mind, distract her from thinking about her illness and pain, and, I hope, re-spark her interest in the things she used to love doing – as it has for me.

We Rise By Lifting Others

I can’t count all the ways over the course of our friendship R supported me through a tough time, or said or did something to lift my spirits. I want to support him and his wife in any way I can. I know that what I’m doing isn’t much, but when I told him about my plan, he was happy and grateful; and I hope it helps his wife, even if it’s just to put a smile on her face.

 

Cyndi Lauper – True Colors