Harnessing the healing power of snark
(Mostly) pain-free days are wonderful things, especially when they come after an extended flare-up.
But ironically, they can also throw me for a loop. When I’ve been hunkered down in survival mode for weeks and months at a time, I can’t just automatically switch over to openness and enjoyment. It’s too big of a leap.
I’m afraid to trust these moments of relief and fully embody them because I don’t know how long they’re going to stick around. It’s hard to relax and stop bracing against illness, because the inevitable return of pain after finally experiencing its absence can be heartbreaking.
They give you a lot of information when you get diagnosed with a chronic illness. But they never tell you about the kind of courage you need to be in pain and chose life anyway.
January has always been a tricky month for me. For a long time, something about the old year ending and the new year beginning triggered a lot of difficult emotions and old stories for me. And then, of course, there are the years when it seems as though the sun has gone into the Witness Protection program and will never be heard from again.
I could never see any beauty in January; everything I noticed just seemed to prove my story of doom, gloom, and depression. So I just grit my teeth, pulled out my Happy Lite, and tried to power through.
But then I picked up a camera, which forced me to focus on just what I could see in the viewfinder at that, specific moment. It reminded me to ask myself, “What is in front of me right now?” No jumping ahead into the future. No overwhelming myself by trying to figure out RIGHT THIS SECOND how I was going to survive the entire month without losing my mind.
What piece can I see right now?
What is right in front of me?
And sometimes the answer was beauty, and moments of grace.
Between flare-ups, pain meds, and sheer, utter exhaustion, I stay at home a lot. A L-O-T. And I get so tired of looking at the same things over and over again that I stop seeing them, and instead see my stories about boredom and isolation and doom.
It is hard to be sick. It is boring a lot of the time. It is lonely. But I forget that it’s not like that all the time.
So I love how doing something so simple, like shooting the familiar view outside of my office through a filter, can make the familiar look new.
Sometimes the circumstances of my illness make my life feel very claustrophobic. It’s hard not to get stuck in thinking that I am only my body, only this pain, only a chronic illness patient. When the pain gets really bad and I’m taking lots of meds and can’t go anywhere, the cabin fever and boredom can make me feel crazy.
So I’m very grateful for everything that reminds me that I can always shift my vision and focus on something new, even while acknowledging the truth of how sick I am.
This year (all two-and-a-half weeks of it) I’ve been experimenting with a “word of the year”, one of the lenses through which I might view the next 365 days.
I started off with the word “peace” but it didn’t feel like a perfect fit, and then about halfway through this week the word “vision” appeared in my head.
It’s not surprising considering that my latest fascination is with photography, thanks to the classes of the fabulous Vivienne McMaster (the next one starts on February 1st, so sign up soon!) and a great new camera from Santa.
One of the first ways “vision” is showing up for me has to do with noticing what’s around me.
Given that I’m a writer who’s always looking for material, I’m pretty good at noticing things like gestures, tones, and great dialogue. But now I’m noticing more visual details, like the way the shadows fall on my office carpet at different times during the day, or the fact that even though the trees around me are bare of leaves or blossoms, they are still filled with incredible colors and textures.
So here are some of my favorite visions from this week.
