That's my Secret

There was a point when I was getting back into lap swimming again, as I have for a couple different intervals in my life, where I clearly remembered just enough to realize how very out of shape I was.  I have taught swim lessons through the Red Cross, and I've been part of swim teams--I remember what I needed to do to have the most efficient and effective stroke, but convincing my body to do it correctly took a lot of retraining.  I knew the theory, but I had to help my body remember the right movements, particularly with any new changes in my body at that age, at whatever point I was now in my life.  

Whelp.  Now I have something similar happening in therapy.  I'm aware of certain things and different components that I need to work on, but actually implementing them and acting on them, that's the tricky part right about now.  And it's immensely frustrating.  I know that I need to look toward my body with compassion, for example, but I'm so indoctrinated into thinking of it as an "other" or at least outside of my sense of self that it's no easy trick just to snap out of those habits.  Lots of retraining and mental frameshifts.  Plenty of guilt and annoyance as I don't make good on the things that I know I should be doing.  

What really felt weird, though, was when we discussed how inauthentic I am to my experience sometimes.  

I balked at that.  I mean, I would go as far to say that I pride myself on being able to pour out thoughts on my blog of those different things that really matter to me, to lay bare the experience as I see it and discuss it with others.  What he said next though made some parts of it really click:  "you don't have to be nice about your experience with Crohn's."  

I don't have to be nice about this.  Well, that's just weird.  But I know with how hard his words hit my chest that they were true.  There's a part of this experience that I hold back. I filter out parts a little too thoroughly sometimes.   

I'm giving myself permission to be angry today.

I'm angry.  Deeply angry.  I'm goddamn fucking furious.  

I know you in that moment, Bruce.

At my body.  At the things I have to do to get stuff done.  The roadblocks and adaptations and appointments and setbacks.  Why that anger comes out as tears and is so intertwined with grief.  I don't know how to let it out "safely," but I'm damn good at ignoring it until it hits critical mass.  It's always there, sometimes triggered by dropping something on my foot or forgetting my coffee at home that morning.  I can channel it sometimes into getting things done or exercise parts of it out, but there's a part that remains...or recharges, I suppose.  

I'm deeply envious of people who can just ignore what their body is doing for 90% of the day, pausing when they are hungry or thirsty or when they're trying to get into the correct yoga pose.  I'm envious when people don't know the name of their doctor or make it to August without having to update their insurance information at Walgreens.  Or have no idea what their deductible is because they've never come close or are angry that they have to have insurance that they'll never use anyway.  Or people who wonder why there are that many lines on the medication part of their medical forms (or people who make these kinds of forms with only ONE LINE for previous surgeries/procedures).  

Want to complain about how that shirt makes you look fat?  I'll think about how I'll always have this asymmetrical bulge underneath mine once the bag fills up.  Crunches from the gym hurt your stomach?  Well, at least you can make them without worrying about the giant hole in your abdominal wall.  Tummy hurts after some greasy fast food?  Golly gee, that sounds like the worst thing ever!  Totally hungover after a weekend of drinking and revelry?  I've never been actually drunk because of how it can counteract with my medications or how it could cause/exacerbate a Crohn's flare.  I've never been okay with casual sex because trusting someone with my fragile body is a HUGE issue, hell, even in my marriage it's still an issue, but, please, make another sixteen sex jokes in this conversation.  When are we having kids?  Well let me just subject my body and all of its unpredictably to match your ridiculous expectations and timelines, even if getting pregnant is likely to be very dangerous on some levels for me; just for you, Champ, I'll put all of my very real fears through a whole slew of new symptoms and variables that change how successfully I can monitor my own health.  Oh and please tell me how eating X food or Y food is bad for my health, since you must somehow be an expert about my particular situation--I'll put back the enriched white bread with the extra vitamins I need and pick up that whole wheat which has parts in it that I cannot digest right now.  Chiropractor, essential oils, fresh air, and a positive attitude will fix everything?  Gosh, thank you, Internet, for curing me!  I feel better already.  Only have two weeks of vacation this year?  I had to use most of mine to go to different doctor's appointments and procedures that I don't even have enough time for a staycation.  You don't want to go the bathroom because I just emptied the bag and it smells bad?  I'm sorry that I don't fart sunshine and rainbows like you (please teach me how!), and how silly of me to think that the bathroom was the right place to go for this!  I'll try to keep all my bodily functions completely contained from your delicate sensibilities.  

I'm not singling out anyone in particular in the above and I further rationally recognize that my experience does not invalidate anyone else's, but I'm also not apologizing nor will I deny that these thoughts don't spring up my mind from time to time.  It happens.  I swallow it.  I ask for changes in habits/conversation as I need to if it becomes a concern.

Even as I sit here writing this I'm trying to think of a way to add something positive at the end, to add an uplift or word of encouragement and reassurance, because that's also a part of my experience, how I've chosen to react to it.

But today, I'm so very tired.  And my heart hurts.  And these parts are valid, too.

Anyway, here's an owl that I drew.

I call him Doodlesworth