When I entered the realm of the ‘chronically ill’ one year ago, I felt unprepared for all the changes and emotions I would encounter along my journey. The medical world is fraught with minefields like broken expectations, grief, loss, insecurity, fear…all the danger zones for a person in recovery like me. However, as time passed and my perspective grew, I realized that my situation felt familiar. This was precisely what I had experienced in early recovery.
Since my loved ones have learned more about my disease (likely in way too much detail), I have been told numerous times how brave and strong I am. Often, the knee-jerk reaction to these compassionate words of encouragement is to think sarcastically, “Well, what choice do I have?” In reality, though, I do have a choice. I could sink into despair and refuse to fight for health and wholeness. I could quickly shut people out and ruminate about the world’s inherent unfairness in isolated misery. Thankfully, I have a vivid example of how to choose a wiser course. My recovery transformation taught me five key tools for having the courage to say yes to life ‘one day at a time.’
#1 Acceptance With Self-Compassion
Recovery certainly taught me that it is imperative to accept the reality of my disease. This lesson proved true for my neurological disorder as well. As much as I wanted to be able to keep the life to which I had become accustomed, I had legitimate limitations that made this impossible. It is equally important, however, that I acknowledge my diseases do not make me less of a person. By researching, sharing with others who live a similar reality, and determining the facts about my situation, I can develop new and creative ways of living that bring peace and fulfillment. All this is easier said than done, of course. Nevertheless, I accept that my emotions will periodically run amok, but I remind myself that feelings are always temporary.
#2 Communication and Vulnerability Are Key
Another hard-earned lesson of recovery was how communication serves as the foundation for the process. When I first entered recovery, I didn’t want to talk about my difficulties (and I was not very interested in genuinely listening to others, either). I slowly discovered that hearing others’ stories was essential because they were also telling my story. Once I grasped that truth, I opened up and reaped the benefits of my vulnerability. I remember the times when the things I most feared saying out loud were the things that brought the biggest reactions of relief and relatability from others. I spent years learning how to speak about my struggles, ask for what I need, and listen to what others need; it all prepared me for the immense amount of communication chronic illness would require. Speaking to innumerable doctors, fellows, residents, family members, friends, and colleagues with vulnerability and transparency is necessary in a complex web of information and emotion. We ultimately heal when we speak the truth about our growth pains.
#3 Have a Safe Space
Recovery taught me that I should never go anywhere without an escape plan. I needed safe spaces where I didn’t have to fight the triggers of the world. In chronic illness, chaos and confusion can easily consume me, so safe spaces are again havens of rest for my mind. Places where I find peace are when I am near or in water, when I am cuddling with my cat, or when I am on a long drive in the country with my husband. These all allow me to recharge and reestablish balance.
#4 Pace Yourself
When we first tip-toed into sobriety, we used various approaches to get from dire straights to long-term recovery. Some used a series of steps, some used a continuum of care, and some used progressive spiritual connection. Our pathways are as varied as our drugs or behaviors of choice. Whatever our route, however, we all discovered that recovery is nowhere near an instant recipe. Balance and pacing became new concepts as I veered from immediate gratification to reaping the rewards of consistency. In chronic illness, I must constantly hone my pacing skills and remind myself that I cannot leap from diagnosis to total acceptance and improved functioning immediately. My old pattern: I have a ‘good’ day (this is now a day that is somewhat close to neutral – not the typical joy that others feel on a ‘good’ day). Then, I overdo it by trying to be overly productive or immerse myself in social interactions. The result was that I would pay for it in the following days. My current goal is to practice scaling back on days I feel neutral and pushing through the difficulties of the severely symptomatic days to find some balance overall.
#5 We Are Not Alone
Recovery is just not likely, nor enjoyable, in isolation. We need others to share in our new lease on life. Being sober does not mean being shackled to a drab existence but being free in the purest sense to feel joy and genuine intimacy with humankind. When we have those inevitable days of emotional turmoil or just living ‘life on life’s terms,’ our community is always there for us, to hold us up until the time comes when we are capable of returning the favor. Such is life with chronic illness as well. We need caretakers in many ways–sometimes for practical assistance and sometimes for support through thick and thin. Thank goodness I’ve already experienced how crucial community can be so that I am readily willing and able to create community with others, making the best of life with chronic illness.
The comparisons I make here between living in recovery and living with chronic illness can be extended to any life struggle. Whether it’s grief, a medical complication, emotional turmoil, or some other hurdle, we can all trudge the road more effectively using these five seeds of courage.
Want to learn more about the communities I have discovered? Check out The Mighty, an online support system for medical/mental health situations: The Mighty—Making health about people. Check out a community dedicated to outdoor experiences for people with neurological disorders called Outdoor Mindset here: Outdoor Mindset. Check out an adventure community for ladies called Women Who Explore: Adventure travel for women around the world.
Megan Wright is a person in long-term recovery, living with chronic illness, a proud mother and wife, and an avid purveyor of the philosophy ‘When Was the Last Time You Did Something for the First Time?’
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