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I was diagnosed with a chronic pain disorder when I was 35 years old. Though my symptoms can be traced back many years earlier, I had managed to, well, manage the pain for some time. That was no longer possible. Finally getting the diagnosis was a relief, but what it meant for my future was uncertain.
Would I have to take medication? Yes, and some of it actually made a difference. Would alternative therapies help? Some, but not all, and the journey to discover which was which is ongoing. Would my family and friends look at me differently? Yes, and no. Those who love me still love me. Those for whom my doing was more important than my being struggled.
Could I continue to work full time? No. After a few years it became clear that I would have to cut way back. Luckily, I could job share. My work is still fulfilling. But a day does not go by when I don’t hear myself saying, “If only I were better—I could do so much more!”
When we become ill, we discover what it means to be a human being as opposed to a human doing. There can be extraordinary guilt when we realize that many things we assume about ourselves when we are healthy are no longer true. Whether a temporary setback (with recovery likely) or a chronic condition (to be managed, not cured), illness challenges us to see ourselves in a new light and to accept our humanness.
When we are sick or injured we suffer. Symptoms may range among pain, disorientation, an inability to move or care for oneself, loss of sleep and appetite, etc. Our bodies betray us. Drugs, therapy and care from medical professionals and loved ones can ease our suffering. But it is up to us to find a way to accept that pain and suffering are a part of being fully human.
We cannot wish them away, but we can learn ways to work with our suffering instead of fighting against it. Each of us will find our own path to healing—a word that comes from the same root as wholeness. Accepting that we are whole even when we are ill or injured is a first step toward healing.
Dealing with chronic illness and pain is a constant dance between perseverance and acceptance. If I give in to it fully, I might never get up and do what I am capable of doing. Yet when I push myself too hard, the price I pay is high. Balance has become my mantra. That, and learning to truly live one day at a time. I try to take good days as gifts and let the bad ones roll off my back, realizing that most days bring a little of both. Life in the midst of the suffering can be hard, but it is still living. And life can be good and hard at the same time.
I find myself turning to a spiritual truth of our grace-full faith: we are challenged to do good things in the world, and all people have inherent worth and dignity. I don’t have to earn God’s love, I just need to accept it. And I need to accept that illness does not make me any less whole.
Quest for Meaning is a program of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF).
As a Unitarian Universalist congregation with no geographical boundary, the CLF creates global spiritual community, rooted in profound love, which cultivates wonder, imagination, and the courage to act.