Chronic illness: What Nobody Told Me
There’s a saying that “just because they carry it well, it doesn’t mean the burden isn’t heavy.”
I wish someone had warned me before every terrible situation I’d face — the lightened load I’d so proudly conquer with my perfectionist planning. Would I have actually made the right changes in time to avoid the wounding pain of my chronic illness today? Or are some bad things simply part of this world? Things done to you, forcing you to escape a prison for a crime you never committed?
I recently shared my story on how nearly bleeding to death kicked off my journey to recover from a chronic health crisis. What no one told me is that it would take more than two years, and counting, to get out of this crisis.
I created this series “Nobody Told Me” to chronicle what’s underneath the surface of these prisons for health victims — the emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual pain we endure on an almost daily basis. There are many days the pain is unbearable. And then, we see what we’re made of.
What Nobody Told Me: THE Physical Pain
Nobody told me I’d nearly die from blood loss from tumors and mercury toxicity.
That I’d shiver as the bone-chilling cold of another person’s blood entered my body to replenish my low levels.
Nobody told me I’d be too fatigued to feel present in my daily life for years at a time.
That I’d need to take 15 pills a day to simply digest my food and absorb nutrients again.
Nobody told me I’d scream at God while my skin cracked opened and oozed as the toxins leached out of my body.
That I’d consider suicide to relieve myself from even a minute of the pain.
But nobody told me I could endure daily pain and still survive.
That the physical pain would force my internal transformation and build healthy, lifelong habits.
Nobody told me that I’d look younger at 40 than I did at 30 because I stopped putting junk on and in my body.
Nobody told me I’d find my inner strength. That I’d set a goal to live to be 100 because I know I’d feel amazing, even then.
Nobody told me I’d be a conqueror over my pain.
What Nobody Told Me: THE Financial PAIN
Nobody told me I’d lose my entire savings account to save my life.
That I’d feel guilty for spending an inheritance on medical treatments and creating a non-toxic lifestyle.
Nobody told me I’d have so many medical expenses, I’d quality for a tax break.
That spending $2,000+ a month on recovery would render me helpless and dependent.
Nobody told me I’d feel like a failure in my personal life and in my business.
That the crushing debt would crush me.
That I’d feel guilty for not contributing more to the household.
But nobody told me I’d finally face my demons of connecting my self-worth with money.
That I’d be blessed with having just enough for my needs, every day.
Nobody told me money is a renewable resource and that despite no logical signs now, to hold onto hope of its restoration.
Nobody told me I’d take bold financial risks in my business because I’d finally realize I’m worth it. And I’d start to hope again.
What Nobody Told Me: The Social Pain
Nobody told me being sick would make me feel more alone than ever.
That I’d give up alcohol and most of the foods I loved — and the social lifestyle that went with it.
Nobody told me I’d unfollow friends. That in jealousy I couldn’t watch them have a normal life while I was homebound long before the pandemic had ever started.
Nobody told me I’d set impossible expectations for what others could give me.
Or that I’d turn inward, unable to be the caring friend I really wanted to be.
But nobody told me this is only temporary.
That I’d reframe my mindset around the simple pleasures of life, like peaceful morning walks and phone calls with long-lost friends.
Nobody told me that I can still have beautiful community and conversation without a glass of wine.
That I’d understand that sharing my story will unite a movement. And reframe my life’s purpose.
Nobody told me I’d find a new, rich, and authentic community through the bond of suffering and support.
Nobody told me I’d find my true tribe, my support group and my joy renewed through more meaningful connections.
What Nobody Told Me: the Emotional Pain
Nobody told me I’d experience panic attacks when the bloody tumors released from my body on a monthly basis.
Nobody told me the depression would be so overwhelming, I’d isolate myself from everyone.
That I’d feel like less of a wife, less of a friend, and less of a coworker. Completely useless to society.
Nobody told me about the heaving sobs I’d shed on a nearly daily basis. Or the seething anger I’d feel toward the world and the wrong that had been done to me.
Nobody told me I’d choke back tears in grocery stores as I passed aisles of food I couldn’t eat, wondering if I’d ever have a normal meal again.
But nobody told me the streams of tears I’d cry would bring emotional healing.
That I’d find the inner strength to rise above and carry on. And reframe sacrifices into saving graces.
Nobody told me I’d unknowingly inspire others to make huge health changes just by sharing my raw story.
Nobody told me that their health transformations would motivate me to keep fighting, keep pushing.
Nobody told me I’d address the toxic thoughts that stemmed from my emotions.
That therapy is always a good thing. And that I’d finally tell my emotions who’s boss.
What Nobody Told Me: Lost Dreams
Nobody told me I’d watch everyone else live their dreams while I lost mine.
Nobody told me I’d wonder why I had quit my job and safety net, so sure of the next move to use my gifts and talents only to watch them go to waste.
Nobody told me I’d want to give up on life. On children. On my future.
Nobody told me that dreams are only for some elite, chosen Americans. That my dreams will be just that — dreams.
But nobody told me I’d stop dreaming and finally get clarity on my true calling.
That I’d stop falling asleep to my own ambitions.
Nobody told me I’d finally step up and make bold moves by saying no and by moving in the right direction.
Nobody told me I’d experience the strongest sense of my life’s purpose now more than ever.
That delayed dreams are an opportunity to refine and grow. That slow growth builds strong roots.
Nobody told me my calling can’t be missed. That I’ll never be too late for the bus. Because I’m the one driving it.
What Nobody Told Me: The Spiritual Pain
Nobody told me I’d question my faith when I lost so many things to chronic illness.
Nobody told me I’d question God’s goodness and kindness.
Nobody told me I’d hate God. And I’d tell Him that. Repeatedly.
Nobody told me my happy ending may not be on this side of heaven. That my physical body is temporary and it might stay broken.
But nobody told me my life was too valuable to destroy and that the devil won’t win this game.
Nobody told me God would be my greatest friend, my steady rock and my healer. That He is unchangeable, ever-loving and trustworthy.
Nobody told me I’d have the best alignment, deepest faith, and truest sense of spiritual connection and revelation now more than ever.
Nobody told me that I would fight the good fight. Complete the race. Keep the faith. (2 Tim. 4:7)
ARTIST’S NOTE
I created this series to process the pent-up thoughts and emotions I’ve been processing for two years fighting out of mold toxicity, heavy metal toxicity and an autoimmune disorder. The double-exposure in some of these images represent my range of peace, happiness, and hope pitted against fear, depression and anxiety, emotions experienced often only seconds apart from each other.
I took this self-portrait in my living room. No makeup. Unwashed hair. I didn’t even try to retouch out a fever blister or my under eye circles — all reminders that my body’s immune system was compromised, and fatigued and malnourished during this particular season.
If you know someone struggling with chronic illness, please send them encouragement today. Show up if you can. They are very likely experiencing the same emotions and struggles I have and the wounding sense of isolation is only more magnified during this pandemic. We often soothe our deep, painful emotions with temporary placebos that ultimately spiral us downward into worse places than before. Your love gets us through these hard times.
