Through the trauma of dealing with my disease and all of its fallout in my life, the strategies I have cultivated to keep myself safe and alive have been steadily shaped into some robust protectors. These voices are invaluable resources when my body is falling apart; however, when things are less dire, these voices become counterproductive, more harmful than helpful. What I mean by that, as an example, is that the parts of me that are trying to keep me safe make me very fearful to take some chances, such as trying to learn how to ride a bike. Engaging some of those lower core muscles is VERY reminiscent of different ways I brace myself against certain pains, which puts me in a certain mental space less conducive to learning. Outside of these emotional elements, the logical components seem to feed off of that momentum, that there are real elements of physical danger when it comes to riding a bike, particularly when you don't know how and I am not keen to break a bone again, if possible. All told, the sum of these experiences make for a lot of white knuckles, although now at least I'm aware of what cliff to talk myself down from.
Another muscle that Survival!Larissa likes to flex is a fierce protectiveness of my bodily autonomy. No one will force a treatement on me or make any permanent change to my body--whether it's a medication, procedure, or even a "healthier" choice for lunch--without my express consent. This will take me from zero to sixty in an instant. That particular sharpness doesn't give a damn about anyone else's feelings in that moment; it's all about survival. Even the implication that I might not be doing the right things to take care of my own health will trigger that immediate anger. "You don't know my case; you don't know the full details of my medical history; you don't know where I'm at emotionally," I scream at the hypothetical person giving me advice. I am braced for a fight.
So when it came to Andy's vasectomy, I have had a lot of mixed feelings about this. I made a decision that ultimately influenced his decision to make a permanent change to his body. It was a decision for both of us, but the change was to his body. I feel some level of guilt, but much more gratitude, that he recognized that he was part of the team, that birth control wasn't just my responsibility. He was the one to suggest the vasectomy--it had scarcely crossed my mind to ask, since I was so focused on protecting my body to scarcely think outside of it for a solution. This decision helps me enjoy physically intimate time with my husband much better, that I'm not worried in the back of my mind that I messed up the birth control somehow--he has taken that worry away from us and that baggage out of sex.
I had this same Survival!Larissa tactic flex in another arena recently, when my sister-in-law came into town with her new baby. She had made the request that folks must be up-to-date on their TDaP vaccine (tetanus, diphtheria, and acellular pertussis [whooping cough] for those curious) before they would be allowed to hold him. Two things hit me immediately: 1) I can understand completely why she would establish those rules and I respect her choices for her and her child and 2) the veritable roar of my subconscious that was already readying my defenses including walls, cannons, and boiling oil.
I am absolutely an advocate for vaccination. The proof is irrefutable from any reliable source that vaccines have and continue to prevent disease and, emphatically, do not cause autism. There are some vaccinations I cannot receive due to my Crohn's--specifically, I cannot re-up my measles vaccination. I absolutely rely on herd immunity to protect me from these. Surely I would extend that logic and courtesy to my nephew.
But logic and courtesy weren't what I was feeling nor what I needed to feel in that moment. Instead, I was on an immediate mental tirade. How dare anyone even indirectly imply that I wasn't taking care of myself correctly? How dare anyone try to impose a choice and change on my body? If I have to jump through these stupid hoops just to have the privilege of being in someone's presence, maybe I'll just stay at home, thanks.
In short, I had a lot to work through and ultimately had to come up with some alternate reasons to get my booster shot prior to their visit. I can't even bring myself to say that I did it for Keaton--it has to be for me or I cannot stomach it. I have to give myself a selfish reason, despite my other beliefs, in order to calm Survival!Larissa voices. There was no way to allow empathy in when those voices were so loud. I genuinely cannot see outside of myself in those moments. I have to protect myself. I have to protect myself. I have to keep the castle from crumbling again. I can't waste away to Crohn's again. Not again.
Not again.
The rage covers up a lot of grief and fear. These voices that want to keep me safe, the intentions are good and wonderful, but less useful out of those situations. I acknowledge them; I have compassion on those parts of me. There were and are so many reasons for these voices to be here. But in the meanwhile, I need to feel the rage, to ride it out and see what's happening at the source of it. I need to understand that trigger better and will only do so if I allow myself to feel it.
I do not expect this one to go away completely. I am aware of my medical rights and will continue to exercise them. Unfortunately, I will be in many, many more situations where they are necessary--I am an active member of my healthcare team and will continue to be. But better honing in on when those voices are needed and when they are counterproductive, that's the trick.
No comments:
Post a Comment