You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘disability’ tag.

Sorry for the missed updates last week. As an explanation, I offer you a sample of last week’s schedule:

Monday: AM medical appointment, lunch, PM medical appointment

Tuesday: Breathe a sigh of relief because I don’t have any appointments. Make a few calls to schedule things.

Wednesday: Acupuncture.

Thursday: Spend an hour on the phone figuring out health bureaucracy, have a semi-panic attack, and get documentation in order. Call doctor at 9 pm to get advice on dealing with anxiety.

Friday: AM medical appointment, spend several hours sleeping everything off. Apply ice pack to foot every few hours.

Saturday: Go to a wedding.

As you can see, it was kind of a never-ending saga of appointments and phone calls. Not to mention an emotional crisis of sorts over what it means to have a “disability,” and feeling like I was going to spend my life going from one appointment to the next. Just as a reassurance – things are looking up now.

Updates may be slightly scattered for awhile, as I have a lot of appointments to go to. Blech.

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This winter I found the cutest pair of boots. They were utterly impractical “puck” boots, and I knew they would look absolutely adorable with the new skirt I got. (The skirt was specifically chosen because I could stay warm in it, it looked good, and it was light-weight: fashionable and fibro-friendly.)

I don’t normally indulge in fancy shoes, but I was filled with fantasies of myself wearing these boots with my new skirt, dazzling my friends and having a night on the town. On a whim, I bought them. They didn’t hurt too much in the store, so I figured I’d be safe. I wore them around the house for a few hours the next day, and quickly realized that my feet (and body) would be in agony if I wore them for much longer. With much regret, I took them back.

What to do about my lovely black skirt?

Given my current foot/pain issues, I’ve been sticking with shoes I know will be comfortable. I have Asic running shoes with custom-made orthotics. Unfortunately, they come in running shoe color: blindingly white with blue reflective trim. They do not merge well with a floaty black skirt. I’ve taken to wearing both, and screw anyone who wonders if I might be a nurse who’s just come off of night duty, or a runner who’s forgotten to change her shoes.

When my foot gets better and the weather gets warmer, I have permission from my podiatrist to wear either Teva sandals or Birkenstocks. I think they make fancy Birkenstocks now, so I’ll have something to wear to my sister’s wedding besides bright white sneakers.

Why does practical, comfortable footwear seem to conflict so readily with fashion? The orthotic shoes at the podiatrist look like they were made in the 1950s. It’s bad enough that I already feel self-conscious about having a handicapped placard when I “look fine.” Do I have to draw attention to my feet as well?

I suppose this isn’t solely a disability issue. Women have been crippling themselves on the altar of high heeled shoes since they were created. Let’s not forget ballet flats and platforms and all the other fashionable killing machines people seem to put themselves into.

I dream of a day when our society realizes that an attractive woman is one who knows how to pick a practical pair of shoes for that long walk on the beach at sunset.

I feel like their is a war waging on the battlefront of my body. I’m not talking about the pain or fatigue I feel from fibromyalgia. I’m not talking about migraines, or mood disorders, or any of that.

I’m talking about the way medical providers (“Western”, alternative, and complementary), the media, drug companies, and even sometimes people from my everyday life try to co-opt decisions about what the best treatments are for my body. Often, they don’t agree with one another. Then I’m left stranded, trying to figure out what the best course of action is. It is not therapeutic, and it doesn’t help.

Some (not all) “Western”/modern medical providers are all about science by the books. I think fibromyalgia threatens them, because the diagnostic tools basically involve ruling out other things and then poking the patient in 18 places. If 11 out of the 18 hurt (divided in certain sectors of the body), then it’s fibromyalgia. Even though fibromyalgia has been documented as a real condition in countless places – and new clinical data shows that fMRI’s can pick up signs of fibromyalgia in the brain – many doctors are only now accepting that fibromyalgia is a real condition in the way that arthritis or diabetes is.

“This is the crux of it, the reason more than a handful of physicians have such disdain for FM and its sufferers: they don’t know how to see it, how to measure it or how to effectively treat it.  In short, FM is a mystery many physicians would rather not contemplate…. ‘As treatments have been developed that work fibromyalgia is being more widely accepted as a legitimate, scientifically credible disease.’ In other words, FM might become increasingly viewed as legitimate because physicians are becoming better able to do something definitive to attenuate the suffering.”

These are the words of medical doctors (MDs) who practice/research at Johns Hopkins and the University of Michigan. Wait, wait – the people who diagnosed me with this syndrome might not believe that it’s real? When I was first diagnosed, my rheumatologist basically gave me the following prognosis: you may never be able to work full time. We don’t really have any medications for this. Physical therapy might help. Have a nice day, see you in six months. (Note: I do not see that doctor anymore, and have found much better ones.) I did end up going on some medications that seem to help, which I’ve added to my cocktail of mood disorder medications.

Physical therapy most definitely helps, as do other more “alternative” or “complementary” medical practices. Reiki, light touch massage, integrative manual therapy, meditation, healing drumming…all of these things have helped enrich and improve my quality of life. They also help alleviate mental and physical suffering.

The problem is that there are skeptics in both sides. Western practitioners often don’t “believe” in reiki, because of lack of clinical trials. The same goes for a lot of other alternative/complementary techniques. And a lot of people I know from the alternative community have their own prejudices against Western medicine. There are too many side effects, it’s too intrusive, the drugs often do more harm than good. I am not saying that alternative medical practitioners urge me to go against the advice of my doctor. But when I tell people the medications I’m on – it’s quite a cocktail – there is sometimes a general pursing of the lips. A certain look in the eye that says, “I wouldn’t take all those chemicals.”

Ah yes, the Great Medication Debate. Western doctors often don’t like to prescribe pain medications, as they can be addictive. Emergency room doctors sometimes treat fibromyalgia patients as though they’re drug addicts. As already mentioned, alternative medical practitioners have their own skepticisms about the effectiveness of prescription medications. Meanwhile, I run across the occasional friend who says something glib like, “I really don’t like taking medications.” Guess what. I don’t like taking them either. I take them because they help, even though there are sometimes really terrible side effects.

So what’s a girl to do? I’ve received positive help from medical practitioners from all practices. I’ve also received some care that just hasn’t helped. My social support network is, for the most part, very supportive.

You know what would be really helpful? If I didn’t have to defend one set of medical practitioners or traditions to practitioners of another tradition. If they worked together, and I received holistic advice that integrated healing modalities from a range of traditions.

This is my body. MY body. If you are going to be my medical provider, treat it with respect. Please leave your personal baggage at the door.

(Note: I’m not targeting this at a specific person. So if you’re someone I know, and you’re wondering if this is about you, it’s not. ^_^)

I wanted to take a break from my regularly scheduled health/ability discussions to talk about race, ethnicity, and white privilege. I don’t view issues such as racism as distinct or different from health issues, because they are intrinsically linked. What about the soaring HIV/AIDS rate among young African American women? What about folks with multiple identities (e.g. dis/abled and Asian-American)? I could go on, but I hope you get the point.

Anyway, I was eating in an “Asian fusion” restaurant today with someone, reflecting on table manners and the process of eating. I know someone who is Indian-American (as opposed to American Indian), and I’ve noticed her instruct her son to remember not to eat with his hands when they’re at a restaurant. At home, it’s okay to scoop up curry with naan bread. In a restaurant, he has to use silverware.

I always use naan bread. It’s the way the food is meant to be eaten. It’s really hard to scoop up all of a delicious lentil dish with a fork. Bread (or rice) is a necessary and delicious part of the eating process.

I mentioned this to an Arabic friend of mine, who said that her grandmother and mother always insisted that she use silverware in public when she was growing up. She said they didn’t want her to look “common” or like she was “from the country.”

This seems to me to be an issue of racial/ethnic self-censorship: “We must eat with silverware to prove how white/upper-class we are.” I don’t say this to chastise folks who decide to eat with silverware instead – rather, I see it as another facet of privilege and oppression.

I have much more freedom and privilege eating in a restaurant as a white person, particularly since I’m a white person who grew up with class privilege. (I’ve noticed that people who grew up poor/working class often have similar hang-ups about not seeming “common.”)

If I eat with naan bread at an Indian restaurant, then I am (purposefully or not) showing that I know how to eat Indian food the way it’s “supposed” to be eaten. I can fill a role as an urban, worldly person. Even if I don’t use the naan bread very deftly, I’m still making an effort to fit into another culture – another thing that can get me cultural bonus points.

In writing this, I’ve decided to tie it back to dis/ability issues. I’ve found that I sometimes want to “prove” that I’m still able – either to myself, people who know me personally, or to the general public. I end up trying to be a super-productive superwoman, just to show that fibromyalgia hasn’t got me down. Sometimes I feel frustrated when I start feeling pain or fatigue because of all the work I’ve done. It’s then that my friends have to sit me down and tell me that anyone would be tired accomplishing what I’d just done. My disability isn’t the only thing making me tired, it’s how much I try to do. Feeling the need to overcompensate – to show my disability who’s in charge – causes more pain and suffering than I would encounter if I allowed myself to follow my body’s lead.

Today is my birthday. I feel as though I should write something birthday related on my birthday, but really wasn’t sure what. I thought about writing about age-ism, or about reflections on my life thus far.

Really, though, this birthday has made me think a lot about my 21st birthday. It was my first birthday party after being diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and I was (am?) still adjusting to life with the “disability” label. I’d just applied for Supplemental Security Income. It was difficult for me to socialize much, as a lot of my friends were in other states or simply outside the distance I could comfortably drive.

It was so amazing to have a night with friends, to really feel surrounded and supported and loved. We went to a drag show at a local bar. It was exciting to be able to get into a 21-and-older establishment, and to order an obligatory alcoholic beverage. I had fun tipping all the drag queens, and they singled me out for having a birthday.

I know that people usually don’t like the whole have-everyone-at-the-restaurant-sing-a-song thing, but I really enjoyed it that night. Basically, a drag queen pie-d me in the face with a whipped cream pie while my friends laughed and took pictures. That probably sounds horrible and humiliating, but I actually felt…normal. Like a human being, instead of some fragile, trembling creature who was afraid to venture out of the house for fear of pain.

I was a bit worried about having a pain flare from the chairs in the restaurant. They were plastic patio chairs, and not ergonomically designed at all. I sat in them for four hours or so, and didn’t get up to stretch. My doctor would not have been pleased.

Imagine my surprise when I got home and found out that I wasn’t in pain. Anywhere. I usually have some sort of “background noise” of pain that never really goes away, even on my better days. My shoulders ache, or my hands are swollen. Something like that. For my 21st birthday, my body decided to give me some time without pain. It was incredible.

I decided I would use my new energy and pain-free body to do something “productive.” I went to sort and clean and organize, and soon found my body brought back to earth and pain. I learned an important lesson. If your body is feeling good, savor it. Experience that moment. Cleaning can always wait until another day.

Periodically, I go through phases of wondering what life would be like if I didn’t have a mental illness, if I didn’t have fibromyalgia, if I fit into some preconceived box of “normal” and “able.” These trains of thought are usually exercises in futility. There is no good answer. At best, thinking this way leads my mind in fruitless circles. At worst, these thoughts torture me with images of what “might have been.”

I am a big fan of speculative fiction (also known as sci-fi/fantasy), which is essentially the genre of “all that might be.” It’s entertaining, creative, and often has a useful perspective on “real life” that might be hard to write about in other genres. One of my favorite authors is Terry Pratchett (although he’s recently been knighted for services to literature, so I guess I should call him “Sir Terry Pratchett”). His books are usually set in “Discworld,” but he recently wrote one set in something very much like the South Pacific. (He is emphatic that it is not the South Pacific, though – perhaps more like an alternate universe version of it.)

The book is called Nation. One of the main characters is a boy named Mau, who was canoeing back from an initiation on the Boys’ Island when a tidal wave sweeps through the entire region. When he returns home, he finds his entire home altered. His family and community have been killed by the tidal wave, and the only other living person on the island is a “ghost girl” (read: white girl) who was shipwrecked on the island. Gradually, other survivors begin to trickle into the island. I don’t want to spoil it too much, but Mau does a lot of growing up. There’s a really excellent section of the book that addresses some of my own questions regarding what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten a disability. In Mau’s case, someone asks Mau if he would rather go back to the way things were before the tidal wave.

“How can I answer you? There is no language. There was a boy called Mau. I see him in my memory, so proud of himself because he was going to be a man. He cried for his family and turned the tears into rage. And if he could, he would say, ‘Did not happen!’ and the wave would roll backward and never have been. But there is another boy, and he is called Mau, too, and his head is on fire with new things. What does he say? He was born in the wave, and he knows the world is round, and he met a ghost girl who is sorry she shot at him. He also called himself the little blue hermit crab, scuttling about the sand in search of a new shell, but now he looks at the sky and knows that no shell will ever be big enough, ever. Will you ask him not to be? Any answer will be the wrong one. All I can be is who I am. But sometimes I hear the boy inside crying for his family.”

If I hadn’t been diagnosed with any disabilities, I would probably have graduated “on time,” have gone to graduate school already, have some sort of career. And yeah, having a disability sucks sometimes. Pain, fatigue, times when I’ve been so down I thought I could never get up again. But those are the kinds of experiences that make you grow. In my general experience, life lessons can be excruciating when you’re learning them – and amazing once you begin to learn from them. I feel more empowered to take my own path in my life, not following the dictates of what other people expect.

And there are times when another tidal wave comes, and knocks you off that course, and destroys things that you hold dear. Those things are unavoidable. If it had not been a disability, something else would have happened to shake my world and my preconceptions apart. And I know that there will be more tidal waves, because that’s part of life.

I am who I am because of the events of my life: the way they have shaped me and the way I shape them. I cannot take them back without taking back parts of myself – and I like myself.

So perhaps asking “what if’s” is the wrong type of question. Though I think that the asking provides an opportunity for compassion to myself. A time to grieve for what I have lost, and to be thankful for what I’ve gained.

When I was in the 3rd grade, my teacher gave the class an exercise. We were given big strips of paper with the words “I can’t…” written on them. My teacher instructed us to fill them with things we thought we couldn’t do. My friend and I gleefully filled every centimeter with things we couldn’t do: fly, do algebra, dig to China, speak French…Our teacher then had us put the list of things we “couldn’t” do in a shoebox “casket,” which we ceremoniously buried in the schoolyard. She told us that limiting ourselves with what we couldn’t do created a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Years later, I got a similar message in group therapy. According to the psychologist there, your brain doesn’t focus on things like “no,” “not,” “don’t,” etc. So if you say something like, “I won’t commit suicide tonight,” your brain actually hears, “I won’t commit suicide tonight.” (A more effective way of framing that might be, “I will stay safe tonight.”) Basically, another example of the way you think about yourself determining how you will be.

People with physical or mental limitations are already coping with the effect of those physical/mental limitations (be they chronic pain, mood swings, side effects of medications, or what have you). Empowering yourself through the way you think and speak can improve quality of life and even improve symptoms.

Why is it, then, that our country’s [for me, the U.S.] disability support system focuses solely on what you cannot do? Determination forms evaluate how well you can function in terms of tasks in your daily life: cooking, driving, getting dressed, etc. I remember that when I first filled out one of those forms, I looked it over and though, “Wow, I am really disabled.” (This train of thought eventually fed into the pain/depression cycle.)

Positive thinking is left by the wayside as people with disabilities must pathologize themselves to get basic support systems that they really need. (Without Medicaid or some other form of insurance, I would have to pay $500 a month for medications.)

Our disability system is oriented towards paying the least amount of money possible to those who are deemed completely unable to support themselves. It’s a grudging, “Well, if you jump through all these hoops and prove you really need it, I suppose we’ll give you some money.”

Standard neo-conservative (and even neo-liberal) lingo also rails against those who “take advantage of the system,” “subsist off of government handouts,” and others who are just “lazy.” As though the limitations of disability are worth getting under $8,500 a year and jumping through the aforementioned hoops.

Meanwhile, the system has no trouble allocating roughly half our budget to military spending.

The stimulus bill provided a one-time payment of $250 to each SSI recipient. The bill also allocated $759 million (for fiscal year 2010 alone) for “continuing disability review” (CDR). CDR is basically a program that checks to see if people on SSI are still eligible. “Are you still disabled?” I recognize that this is an important question, but I am also troubled by a report by the Social Security Administration that asserts that, “Estimates continue to indicate that SSA will achieve a sav­ings in Federal SSI payments of roughly $10 for every $1 spent conducting additional redeterminations above our base workload volume.”

Our health care system if fundamentally broken. For gods sakes, people go bankrupt trying to pay their medical bills. I suppose it’s no surprise that the system for providing disability benefits grudgingly gives support only to those who are “most deserving” and “completely unable to work.”

Meanwhile, the determination process forces applicants into self-defeating and negative self talk. The application process can ultimately damage one’s self-worth, recovery process, and mental well being.

You may wonder, “What’s a better system?” How about a more nurturing and supportive system which provides a social and economic safety net to all individuals, regardless of how “worthy” they may be. Don’t hold your breath. I’ll keep hoping for and promoting a more compassionate and humanistic approach.

Note: I’ll try not to talk politics all the time, but I felt really passionate about this particular post.

Bronnie Thompson has written a wonderful blog post about Balance, control & passion. It echoes a lot of what I’ve been pondering (to myself and friends) lately about the meaning of work and values when one has a chronic medical condition/disability.

“Yesterday a couple of colleagues were talking about balance in life, and making it plain that they think people who spend a lot of time and energy on their work are sad.  Their opinion? Work is the means to pay for your ‘real’ life, to spend more on working means less on what is really important to them…

One way of looking at the distress and disability associated with chronic pain might be to think of it as a result of conflict between what can be done (resources) and both values (what is important) and goals (how I want to express my values). An ongoing problem with life itself is the limited resource we have to do what we want!  The whole of life is really about this balancing act.  And I suspect that one of the major sources of distress for people with chronic pain is that they carry on using the same strategies to express values but with limited resources to achieve it.

I’m not the only one to think of it this way – several authors have talked about the concept of ‘psychological flexibility’ (McCracken & Vowles, 2007).  Psychological flexibility involves several processes such as acceptance, mindfulness, values, and cognitive defusion.  This is a bit of jargon from ACT (Acceptance & Commitment Therapy) and basically means being able to allow oneself to experience all that life brings, while at the same time choosing to act according to what is important and valuable to you – and being prepared to alter the way in which this is achieved, depending on the situation.

So one way of looking at people with disability from their chronic pain is that they are stuck.  Stuck using old and unhelpful ways to achieve what is important to them.” [emphasis mine]

What wonderful insight. In my introduction, I talk a lot about my pre-bipolar-and-fibromyalgia self and preconceptions about what it means to be successful.

A lot of people talk about finding a balance, often finding a balance between mind, body, and spirit. How does having fewer resources to do so affect this balance? What happens when you don’t have as much energy, or you’re dealing with chronic pain? Bronnie discusses some different treatment modalities, such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and ACT (Acceptance & Commitment Therapy).

“One problem I have with CBT is that when my own resources are low (I’m really tired, maybe I’m a bit depressed) the energy it takes to process and evaluate my automatic thoughts can be really hard to find.  It takes a lot less energy to simply allow the thoughts to be there but not act on them and remain focused on achieving things that are important to me.”

I actually hadn’t heard of ACT before, so that’s something for me to look into. I have to echo thoughts on the energy it takes to use CBT. If you’re already in the midst of some emotional or physical pain/fatigue/distress, it’s very hard to kick-start yourself into using those CBT coping skills. When I’ve dealt with some negative thought patterns due to mental illness, I found that it was very important to use my coping skills as soon as I noticed a problem. If I waited until it was a bigger problem, it snowballed out of control. Physical pain can sometimes come on very suddenly. You don’t always get some head notice that you’re going to have a flare-up. That’s why I prefer mindfulness meditation to CBT when I’m having a fibro flare.

“What we are trying to achieve in pain management is living according to what is important (valued) and being flexible enough to find ways to achieve this despite pain…

What this means is that there are times when I choose to act according to what is important to me, despite my own thoughts (which might be automatic, and wanting affirmation from people that I’m OK and not ’sad’), and despite my own energy levels.  To be able to choose whether I persist with some things and drop others, knowing that I’m living out my important values gives me that freedom that we call ‘being in control of my own life’.”

Well said.

I know this post may seem very strange given the recent bout of winter storms. I’m posting it now because, (1) it’s a reminder that spring is coming, and (2) you can think/organize/plan gardening things now, in time for the season. If you’re a gardener, that is.

I come from a gardening background. My mother is a Master Gardener, and our garden is a lush bonanza of color and foliage during the growing months. I’m not nearly as involved as she is. I enjoy getting outside, and there’s something about getting your hands into the earth that I find healing and grounding.

Since I began dealing with chronic pain, gardening has been more of a challenge. I have to be hyper-aware of whether or not I’m reaching too far, kneeling too long, or overexerting unused muscles. I say “hyper-aware” because these are things all people contend with. I’ve known athletes who overdid it planting a tree.

Fortunately, there are a lot of tools and methods out there to make gardening more accessible for anyone with physical limitations.

The PBS website has a short article on several types of tools that are enabling gardening tools. These include fist trowels, ratchet pruners, multi-purpose benches, and pulley-system hanging baskets. (I’d never heard of the last one before.)

There are some other tools that I’d recommend. In my opinion, anyone using a wheelbarrow should use an ergonomic wheelbarrow. Extra cost is definitely offset by ease of use, maneuverability, and lack of doctors’ visits. There are a bunch out there. I don’t know where ours was purchased, as it was some online place  several years ago. (I’d imagine something like this model from Home Depot would do the trick.)

I also find that finding the right gardening gloves has been a challenge for me. My hands tend to be slightly swollen and sometimes tender. Anything that’s too tight or chafes is definitely out. There’s a garden store near my house where I go and try on all the gloves to find the one that’s most comfortable for me.

I used to scoff at ergonomic this and that, but having the right tools really does make a huge difference. Having the right tools applies to more than just gardening, of course. There are tools to make computers more accessible, to help people walk, to help people shower….There are lots out there. If you know of any more good ones – gardening or otherwise – feel free to post them in a comment!

We had the mother of all snowstorms this weekend, with 29″ dumped on every surface. It’s beautiful, and it also presents many practical challenges. (These include power outages, being housebound, snow-weighted trees, and making a space for the terrier to go outside and use the bathroom.)

Saturday night I was keeping my friend company while she started clearing off one of our cars. The power was out all around the neighborhood. The storm clouds had passed. The sky was a deep purple, reflecting the light of the snow and city lights in the distance. All of our street lights were out, giving a much better view of constellations punctuated by the occasional whispy cirrus clouds. Partway through shoveling, the power came back on. Some of the constellations disappeared, but my disappointment was tempered by the promise of having heat for the night.

That was the wonder of the snowstorm.

We also probably lost at least two trees, which succumbed to the weight of the snow and ended up almost touching the ground. I spent a good bit of the day of the storm wading through the ever-accumulating snow (it ended up reaching almost to my hips) and shaking trees off to prevent further tree death. My friends did a lot of the work, but just “walking” through the snow proved difficult.

Then came my body’s reaction to the experience.

I won’t bore you with an entire catalog of the pain. Suffice it to say that every joint in my legs was sore and burning. Other parts of my body would periodically pipe up, as though saying, “Me too! Pay attention to me too! I hurt too!”

I knew what would help: very light exercise (stretching or walking), meditation, medication, a hot shower, taking it easy by staying out of the snow…

Knowing is easier than doing. It was as though the pain had taken over my brain, and all I could focus on was how much I hurt. Add to it the increasing dismay at being housebound AND in pain, and I was not a happy camper.

I recruited my friends to help me out. Sometimes I just need encouragement to take steps in the right direction. I unhesitatingly took my pain medication, and got to verbally express some of the pain I was feeling. My friend helped me pick out some nice shampoo, and I took full advantage of my shower chair and hot water. I just let it wash over me.

Then I took my big step. I decided I would get situated for a meditation. I got out my mp3 player (which has several guided meditations on it). I decided I would see how meditation went – I wouldn’t force myself to do it for a certain period of time. I just let my meditation be what it was – a way to get in touch with what was going on in my body.

It was painful, at first. But because I have some experience with doing mindfulness meditation while I’m in pain, it was not unexpected.

There was this remarkable feeling of openness that happened during my meditation. I realized how much of my body actually feels pretty good.

This next part may sound crazy, but bear with me. (Having a familiarity with the Buddhist idea of equanimity might help.) I realized that when I found a part of my body that was not in pain, I thought, “Oh good, it feels great!” When I found a part of my body that was in pain, I thought, “Drat, that hurts. Maybe if I focus on it, it’ll stop hurting.”

Then I tried something different – letting go of the idea that pain is good or bad. However terrible the experience of pain is, it is a million times worse if I dedicate my conscious mind to thinking about how terrible it is. I also have a tendency to dedicating my conscious mind to how I want to feel good all the time when I’m enjoying myself. If I do that, I’m not actually enjoying myself anymore – I’m just dwelling in the desire to feel good more often.

So I just let go. I allowed myself to be in pain without judgement. The pain was still there. It still hurt. But it wasn’t in control of my consciousness anymore.

Now I can just be.

My Etsy Store

A fibro-friendly item from my Etsy store

I've been working on making fibro-friendly jewelry. I'd love it if you checked them out by clicking the image above, or going to www.etsy.com/people/RogueCrafter

About Me

This blog is intended as a place for me to reflect on my own healing journey, in the hopes that others may also gain insight from my experiences. I've "borrowed" a line from Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken:

'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.'

I think the most important thing for me now is that I feel empowered to be a force for positive change in my life. And that, my friends, has made all the difference.

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