Four years ago, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition that brought about an incredible turning point in a long journey to identify and soothe the intense brain fog and chronic headaches I had increasingly lived with for a decade. Through significant dietary limitations, lifestyle shifts, and even picking up our family and moving to an arid climate, I have found and enjoyed a vitality and health I hadn’t known since I was…. a child.
However, a recent trip sent my symptoms into a significant resurgence, which has been deeply humbling. At first, I fought against the collapse of my system, I moped in submission, I curled up in devastation, and I struggled as I tried to regain clarity of mind, comfort in my body, and ease for my emotional turmoil.
However, in my unravelling at the rise of these old symptoms, a deeper pattern was revealed. I could see how my attempts to eliminate my symptoms through extreme and life altering means has also been a way ofavoiding this disorder.
And now it has come knocking with a vengeance, and all I hear are whispers with an invitation: “can you be with, rather than run from, this unexpected guest?”
For so long I fought against these symptoms, trying to overcome them, to rise above them, to escape them, and though I did find many gems in that process (like my own strength, resiliency, self-worth, and sacredness possible in any experience), there was always a longing to feel better and then my life would be different.
To be clear, this was a completely human and perfectly acceptable ask. Don’t we all want to feel well and vital and clearheaded?
But, as I sit with this unexpected guest again, which has been stubborn to leave my side, I have to ask myself “is there another lesson I’m meant to learn here?” And the clear reply is “yes, there is”. I see the only way through is to turn toward what is happening now, whether I like it or not.
So this time around acceptance and surrender are at the table too, and I humbly open the door to this unexpected guest saying “hello, I didn’t expect to see you, but you are welcome here. What would you have me know now?” And though this doesn’t soften the symptoms of my physical experience, it greatly decreases the emotional hell scape that always accompanies me not feeling well.
This time, I’m willing to listen while I recover.
And with that willingness, slowing down becomes imperative, rest is nonnegotiable, the present moment is all I have the bandwidth to meet, and step-by-step the unexpected guest leads me toward a new level of appreciation for the tenderness of life, the precariousness of my physical health (and how quickly that can change) and asks me to contemplate how I meet my life with this knowing.
I will likely never have a system that is impervious to the triggers that set me off, but I am no longer willing to run away from the discomfort. It is now my companion, a fellow traveller of my inner community, not an enemy meant to be conquered or destroyed. And there is something unexpectedly healing in that.
