Cave of the Golden Calf: Study of Two Frenzied Dancers, Spencer Frederick Gore, 1912
I have more energy than I used to.
It feels like in the blink of an eye that also felt like an eternity I went from someone so debilitated and bedbound by illness to someone who is moving through the world like a semi-normal human.
But I don’t feel like a normal human.
I feel like every good day I have is both so precious and astonishing that it deserves to be front-page news. That every activity I return to post-severe illness, is like standing on the podium at the olympics—a medal-worthy physical feat.
At the same time, there’s the kind of music that plays in a thriller in the background. The kind with dissonant harmonies and ominous rumbling bass that implies: you never know what’s going to pop up and beat her down next.
When I’m on the subway, or at a museum, or a social gathering, I think to myself, “They don’t know how much I went through to be here right now. They don’t know how amazing it is that I am sitting here looking like a semi-normal human.”
No one talks about the return to better health from severe illness. The utter confusion. The sleepless nights. The routine adjustments. The gratitude. The tears. The sun-tinted grief. The questioning. The uncertainty of becoming someone new. again.
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That topsy-turvy middle ground of transition
For a long time, work was the way I measured how sick I was. How many hours was I able to work per day? How many minutes could I look at the computer screen before my brain screamed? Could I attend meetings in person or only virtually? Work serving as a measuring stick for my functional capacity.
Now, I’m working. I’m working a lot. In preparation for my course Believe Your Body I worked a few 10-12 hour days. 10-12 hour days. From someone who a few years ago could work only 2-3 hours.
I’m loving my work. I feel very motivated and fulfilled by it. And I won’t lie to you, there have been times where I feel shocked in my place. Like I’m floating above the scene of my life, uncertain if it’s safe to feel safe feeling less sick. Is this actually my body?
I worked so hard to accept that other body. That other mind. The one that severely limited me. And now what? There’s a new baseline? Is this the old me? Is this the new me? Is this a newer me? Is there even a “me” to begin with?
Chronic illness makes you face your changing self in ways most people never do.
Share with someone navigating the transition to better health.
When I started getting the pangs of wanting to exercise again—not just the walks and PT exercises I’ve been doing, but big exercise like going to a barre class or the gym—it was a strange feeling.
Is this a trick? Is the universe teasing me? Will I crash if I follow this inkling? This curiosity?
With chronic illness, uncertainty around what's actually good for you bangs so loudly it's hard to concentrate. Like every adjustment to a new normal is a marching band parading through the city. Adjusting to a new self is cacophonous work.
In those moments of uncertainty about my body’s capacity I ground myself back in my truth: I trust myself to follow my intuition. To be in conversation with my body. To manage whatever comes up, even if it’s hard. To allow joy and peace no matter the change. One day at a time. I accept myself as I am today. Whether that’s more or less sick than I was before.
Opportunities are open, which reminds you of what was closed
Becoming less sick widens your perspective. You start to see all of the opportunities you missed out on before, when you were busy feeling physically miserable and limited. At some point those opportunities became less painful, because you accepted the beauty in your more limited life.
And then you get better… and you reckon with how much it sucked to have your world so small.
At some point you come around the grief bend, though. And you don’t take a single opportunity for granted. You smile because illness gave you that—a winning perspective that can only be won through hardship. Ughh but why did there have to be hardship?
Accepting a changing body
When it comes to chronic illness acceptance, what we have to accept is that our bodies will consistently change. And as soon as you’ve come to terms with a certain level of functioning, or the presence or absence of a certain symptom, your body will poke a little fun at you and show you something new. A symptom you thought was gone. A capacity you thought you'd lost returning. A limitation you didn't see coming.
I used to feel weighed down by those changes.
Occasionally the uncertainty catches up to me even now.
But after a week or so of heightened anxiety I remember this one big truth. I continue to face my changing self without expecting myself to stay the same.
Most people aren’t doing that. Will you?
Sending lots of love for joy and healing always <3,
Dr. Talia
Reflection for you: How do you manage the changing seasons of chronic illness? What does it feel like to face your changing self?
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I have recently had better health than I have in a very long time due to a combination of fortuitous developments and I know exactly the timidity you describe, the fear that it won't last, all of it ❣️
I have recently had better health than I have in a very long time due to a combination of fortuitous developments and I know exactly the timidity you describe, the fear that it won't last, all of it ❣️
This is so wonderful to hear! Hoping the good days continue for you. I know how precious they feel after being very ill.