My hardest learned lesson has been patience. Having a body that attacks itself in a myriad of ways means being patient with yourself. Getting here is a journey that I am still on.
Most of the time I am patient with my usual limitations. Usually I can be kind, find things to be grateful for, prioritize my family and manage to contribute sometime to the running of the house.
I still struggle with finding patience when I have additional challenges, such as a concussion caused by a slip on black ice two weeks ago and a head cold.
When things add up and my body begins to feel like an all over plague area I start to lose my patience. I get cranky with myself for not being able to do enough. I lie in bed and stare about my room and rearrange it a million times in my mind. I read a book and discard it mid-chapter because it’s not the right book. I start a play a game or watch a show and they don’t help distract. I get impatient and restless and increasingly miserable the longer my physically forced rest continues.
I feel like Meg is Little Women cutting up all her dresses to redo them “á la Moffat”, destroying perfectly good things because I am feeling a sense of malaise.
I do have things to be grateful for and I try to count my blessings. I fear in times of difficulty my inner child is too full of the “unfairs” to really hear the counting.
Basically, I’m currently a whiny woman-child and a hot mess.