I Make Me Sick!

I've always found the response "It is what it is" annoying. Sounds too much like a cop-out. But it can be useful when it sets the stage for giving thanks for the bad days as well as the good ones.

I once fought a two-year battle with chronic fatigue syndrome. It's a mysterious condition in which unrelieved exhaustion is the major symptom. I remember tidying the sheets and blankets after tumbling out of bed in the morning, when all I could think about was crawling back under them at the end of the workday.

But I wasn't just tired. I also felt sick in a strange, hollowed-out kind of way. It was as if someone had sucked out my insides, then pumped in volumes of gelatin to refill the empty space. The Internal Wobblies, I called it.

Weak, sometimes light-headed. A sense of weariness that could not be "rested away." Brain fog followed me everywhere. Muscle and joint pain came and went, for no apparent reason. Pretty depressing, especially when there are no known treatments or clearly identified causes. My CFS came on after my only sibling passed away shortly after his 53rd birthday, so I subscribe to the mishandled stress theory.

That was 24 years ago. In December of 2022, after a year of acute anxiety related to totally unexpected heart-health issues and a series of successful treatments, I wasn't feeling as good as I should be. Too many listless, push-through days. Too much time devoted to bed rest. The Internal Wobblies were back.

Frantic prayers for guidance led me to take inventory of my emotions, and the "I've been guilty of . . . " revelations came flooding in:

•Anxiously checking my pulse every 20 minutes, terrified I might miss any danger signals.

•Indulging in outrage over things beyond my influence—raw negative emotions that annihilate my peace of mind.

•Relying on treadmill sessions to release tension, with no thought for addressing its sources: reflexive panic responses; catastrophizing; mindless perfectionism.

•Getting lost in the past, especially during the holidays. Dwelling on good times brings an aching awareness of loss, reliving the bad times, a wrenching sense of remorse.

•Withholding annual donations to worthy causes, just in case more unexpected health expenses crop up in the future. A tightened grasp feels mean-spirited and fuels my insecurities. Letting go in faith, and within reason, is liberating.

•Praying from a stance of gloomy desperation instead of joyful expectation. With forethought, I can bring a hopeful, trusting heart to prayers for healing, comfort, and guidance—especially for others.

•Becoming captivated by tragic news while neglecting the need for lightness and laughter. Stability cannot thrive on a perpetually teetered totter. The mute button is my friend.

When I fixate on feeling depleted, I make myself a victim. When I refocus on tweaking my reactions, my attitude, and what I expose myself to, I gain confidence and activate all those helpful neurochemicals.

So c'mon, dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins. Do your stuff!