So, that is not the purpose of this piece. For me, I want to reach out to some very select women dealing with a very difficult issue. It is to these women that I dedicate my words and pray that I can be of some guidance through an unheard-of journey. I say unheard of because I have looked tirelessly for guidance for myself and come up empty over and over again. I know I am not alone, but when no one shares it can feel that way. So today I speak for the women that have a chronic condition but who seek to be mothers. Maybe if I share, then someone else might not feel alone.
My story is not typical for a newly married, almost 24 year old but it is also nothing special. I have done nothing inordinately special in my entire life. I do pride myself on seeing glory and honor in the mundane but that means very little except to make me feel less mundane myself. I know and have known for some time that Fibromyalgia runs in my family and I knew one day it might rear its ugly head again. What I didn't expect was that day would come at 16. At first the symptoms were light and manageable. I was very skinny then (and remained that way for several years) which meant usually the toughest thing I had to deal with in a day was fatigue. Pain was not a stranger but because of my size and activity level it was completely tolerable. Besides the occasional day of swollen joints, misguided neck rubs, or misplaced grabs near tender spots, no one knew I even had issues. I decided with youthful vigor and the wisdom of a high school senior that I would get my massage therapy license and heal all of the people with chronic conditions! And I would do it with a condition myself. I was finally a healer who could truly sympathize with what her patients were going through. What a spectacular, selfless, innovative, idiot I was! I did get my license and I do plan on using it to help people, but I am now facing the daunting reality of potentially loosing the one tool I have to do so: my hands. We'll go into that another day.
After finishing my training and taking the boards, at 19 I was a massage therapist ready to conquer the world. I was going to put my way through college working as a therapist and it was going to be amazing. I did go to college, but I didn't work as a therapist (besides the occasional helping a friend who can't study because of tension headaches etc.). The state requirements had changed and I couldn't practice where I was studying, but I kept up with my license and pressed forward with my schooling. For 3 years I drove my health into the ground because of my obsession with perfection. I had to deal with the very trauma that brought on my disease, to deal with my personal hatred, and my view of my future. I had a lot of anger, which for years I had turned into fuel pushing me past the pain and fatigue that would have stopped me from doing the things I loved. But the anger wasn't mine to control anymore. It had taken over and turned my actions into self destruction. I said I was skinny when I got out of high school, but after my 3rd year of college, I was a corpse. I ate maybe one meal per 18 hour day, with soda and protein shakes as boosters, and slept maybe 5 hours a night. I'd nap when I had the chance and I never really stopped moving. If I stopped long enough to think, I would not get up again. I felt like all I could do was run from the anger, the pain, the overwhelming sadness that I was not perfect but I had no way to fix what was broken.
It wasn't until I met my wonderful Husband that someone broke my pattern of self-destruction and self-hatred. I wasn't perfect, but those imperfections were endearing to him. He delights in taking care of me, of just being there. No expectations, no demands, no judgement. It was like I could breathe again. During my last year of college I focused more on balancing my life instead of orchestrating it and it still wasn't perfect, but I no longer felt like I was a ticking time bomb. I felt the pressure, the heart aches, the struggles of being a busy senior who is getting married, but none of it was life or death. I began to see each day as something I needed to get through and find something good about it. Then at the end of the day, it was over. That's it.
Now, days are still not perfect and I'm still struggling to discover my limits. This Journey is not over by a long shot. I have no miracle attitude fixer, no magic cocktail of pills and therapy to make it through every day. Some days I don't make it through; I just cry uncle and remember that tomorrow I can try again.
What I have discovered is that I am grateful someone broke my pattern. They interrupted my life and helped me see that just because I am broken in some ways does not mean I'm trash. I do not have to prove my worth to anyone. Not even to you.
So there is my story. I don't really care what you think about it. It is what it is.
As this blog thing grows I will warn you: I will have good days and bad days. This is the story of a journey of mine. I might complain about things, I might rant, I might even have a pity party, but I want to leave a record of the journey I am taking as I try to deal with my own life as I (hopefully soon) carry the life of another within me. We are not pregnant yet but we are trying and this is part of the journey too.
One step at a time...
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