I was talking to my therapist today about something I think a lot of people living with chronic illness will understand.
Lately, I’ve been having a few little mini flares. Nothing crazy. I also have a pain in my right side that I’ve had on and off for about two years. It hasn’t gotten worse, but every time I feel it, the same dreaded thoughts start running through my mind.
What is this?
Is it my familial Mediterranean fever?
Is something else going on?
And once those thoughts start, they can just keep swirling around in my brain.
The strange part is, I understand exactly where that fear comes from.
When I was younger, I honestly believed I wasn’t going to live past 35.
I had so many things going on with my body, and doctor after doctor kept telling me they couldn’t find anything. Eventually, I started wondering if maybe I really was crazy.
I wasn’t.
It took 35 years to finally learn that I had familial Mediterranean fever.
Thirty-five years.
Years of fevers. Feeling like I was coming down with the flu. Body aches. Joint problems. Exhaustion. Days when I just didn’t feel completely present in my own body. That awful, unexplainable feeling of simply being sick.
And yet, if you looked at me during some of those days, you might never know.
My makeup could be on.
My hair could be done.
I could be talking, laughing, getting things done, and functioning.
But barely.
That is one of the hardest things about living with an invisible chronic illness.
People see the outside.
They don’t always see what it takes to keep that outside going.
Yesterday, I even caught myself feeling guilty because I was sitting on the couch while my husband, Miguel, was making dinner.
Why should I feel guilty for resting when my body is telling me it needs to rest?
I’m still working on that one.
Miguel has never made me feel guilty. If I tell him I don’t feel well, he believes me. He doesn’t question it. He doesn’t judge me. He just steps in.
I don’t know how I got so blessed, but I sure am.
Maybe one of the bigger lessons for me is learning to give myself the same compassion that he gives me.
And maybe this is also a reminder for all of us.
The next time you see someone who looks perfectly fine, remember that you are only seeing what they are showing you.
You don’t know what their body feels like.
You don’t know what thoughts are running through their head.
You don’t know how much energy it took just to get dressed, leave the house, smile, or make it through the day.
So be kind.
Because I say this all the time, and I believe it more than ever:
You truly never know what someone else is going through.
Xoxoxo
Debbie
Between the Flares
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