Last year I decided to use this blog to share my story with the world. More specifically, I decided to share my story with those who were unaware of the fact that many of their fellow humans walk around every day with an invisible illness hiding just below the surface. I just wanted to pop a few bubbles of blissful unawareness— that's all.
But then Covid-19 kinda took over the world, and all of a sudden everyone was aware. Sickness was (and still is) everywhere, and it was definitely invisible. All of a sudden, every single human on the planet went from being "presumed healthy" to being "presumed sick".
So then where do I fit in?
That's what I got stuck on, why I haven't written in pretty much forever. Scratch that— that's why I haven't posted in forever. I've spent hours drafting blog posts, making everything perfect, and then totally chickening out before hitting that big shiny "Publish" button. I'm not even sure I can explain why— something along the lines of, Why would anyone care what I have to say? They're all busy worrying about their own problems. And look, their problems are way worse than mine. What right do I have to complain about my tiny little health hiccups right now?
So here's me, talking to the me from seventeen months ago who lost her nerve to write:
Dear self,
If we play the comparison game, you definitely won't win. Sure, you may have issues, but we both know warriors who are fighting far more drastic issues than yours. So don't even go there. Just don't.
Wow, you just went there. Okay. Do me a favor and stop looking at the differences between you and all the other hurting people in the world. This "ranking system" you've got going on in your head, the one where you decide how much love and care and attention a person deserves based solely on their life experiences, yeah... that's got to go. I'm pretty sure determining a person's worth is God's arena, not yours.
Could your illness, your life situation, your family drama— could they be worse? Yes, definitely, absolutely. You and I have that magic ability to dream up a million different ways everything in our life could evolve to "worst" in an instant. But, my dear self, however much "worse" your life could be, none of those possibilities negate the fact that you are struggling right now.
You may not be facing death, but you are facing darkness. You may not be paralyzed, but you are weak. You may not be alone, but you are lonely.
Whether or not the person next to you is facing their own demons, that doesn't change the fact that you are indeed facing yours. And no matter how sick you are or aren't, that doesn't change the ailment of the person sitting next to you.
Dear self, there's really no way around it— no matter how loud you scream "I'm fine", it will always be a big fat lie. Stop pretending to be fine when you're not.
Instead of looking at the differences, look at the similarities. What do you, with your chronic illness, have in common with the person sitting next to you who is hurting from their own version of trauma?
You both are hurting, obviously, which means you both have the capacity to feel pain. And recognizing pain presupposes that you both know what it is like not to feel pain. You both have memories of an existence before the pain began. Underneath whatever "strong front" gets you through the day, you and the person next to you probably feel like little children who just want everything to be okay again. And, more likely than not, you both know that the end to your particular pain is nowhere near.
So then, if magical healing isn't readily available, what then should your goal be? May I suggest: Comfort. Companionship. Knowing that you have a buddy at your side as you go to war.
We've all got our demons to fight. Some are physical, some are mental, some are bigger than we ever could have imagined. They are all definitely very scary.
So yeah, I know you're scared.
Know who else is scared? The person sitting next to you.
Fear has a funny way of backing off when spoken out loud. Not completely, not magically, just a little bit. Enough to be worth a try. So maybe, when the time is right, speak your fear. Swallow your social fear just enough to tell one other person in the world how many more fears lie just beneath the surface.
I dare you.
What's that, you're tired? Too tired of the pain, too tired be brutally honest today?
My dear, chronically ill self, the truth is that you are sad and you are hurting and you will be hurting for a very long time. And that's okay. It's okay to listen to your body, to hear your hurting heart, to validate your own pain.
But the truth also is that the person next to you is hurting. And whether you acknowledge your own hurt or not, that person will still be hurting. Hiding your pain doesn't erase their pain. But maybe, if you speak up, just maybe the person next to you will be willing to share their pain with you too.
Maybe together you can find comfort in the pain.
You'll never know unless you speak up.
I dare you.
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Thanks for coming to my self-talk TED talk.
Please know that I am praying for you, that you will find the strength this week to be brutally honest— when the time is right.
With all love and respect,
Bonjé
P.S. Do you have a chronic illness buddy? A life-hardship-pal? Is it hard for you to be brutally honest with yourself? Tell me all about it!
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