What happens when you feel better, after being sick for so long?
Yesterday, I felt perfect. It was the second day in a row and I didn't know what to do.
It feels as if I have stepped out of one phase of life and into a distinct new one.
Like unzipping a one-piece pajama suit and watching it fall to the ground.
It has been so many months of low energy, low oxygen, high anxiety, medications, supplements, appointments, surgery, and questions. And I suddenly feel like myself again, only different.
It is a bizarre experience. And it gives rise to this question:
What happens when you are better?
After nights of breathless sleep.
Awakening in terror, gasping for oxygen.
Confusion ruling each day. My only goal being my survival.
Food restrictions, activity limits, and energy depletion dictating every aspect of life.
What happens after the alternating tidal waves of depression and anxiety that have pummeled your being and questioned the structural integrity of your very foundation subside?
When you can clearly see the path you have taken.
The distinct steps of bewilderment, desperation, anger, surrender, acceptance,
and euphoria that are now leading to freedom?
What happens when you feel better?
Once your body reclaims its energy and life force?
When breathing happens naturally and effortlessly?
Once your sense of smell returns after playing hide and seek for months?
When your hair begins to grow back, wild and free?
What do you do then?
You get really freaking grateful.
You learn to release fear.
And you are more present than ever before.
Food tastes more delicious, your tastebuds do backflips with each bite.
Scents seem multi-dimensional and the familiar smell of spring elicits tears in your eyes.
Sunshine warms your skin, reaches your soul and inspires your dreams.
Gently blowing wind feels like Mother Earth softly touching your face, running her hands through your hair.
Images of unity, harmony, vitality and new possibilities fill your mind.
And you love others in the best way you know how. Especially those who have held your hand along the way, however tumultuous and terrifying it has been for them.
You are living proof that whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should (- Max Erhmann, Desiderata).
This experience of chronic illness has transformed my life.
Brought me to my knees. And given me the most incredible gift.
The old foundation of my previous self has crumbled into tiny pieces on which I stand,
a phoenix rising into who she was meant to be.
The version of me that used to roam this world no longer exists,
though I have endless love and appreciation for her.
In her place, a radiant new being stands.
One who sees the beauty in all things, however subtle and small.
One who feels the love holding her child's hand, an electrical current of deep knowingness.
One who sees God in the eyes of others, mysterious and enchanting.
One who sleeps soundly, peacefully.
And if awakened in the dark, observes the lacy shadows on the floor made by the moonlight shining in and knows she is safe.
Safe in herself. Safe to be seen, heard, recognized.
To breathe, to take up space, to be honest and authentic.
One who is learning to trust life's unfolding.
The desire to predict or control the outcome gradually fading away.
The one who stands here now is discovering a newfound freedom.
She is beginning to grasp that the Universe offers limitless possibilities.
Its sheer magnitude far beyond her wildest dreams.
That the sparkle of the starlight in the night also runs in her veins.
She is safe to let go.
For it is intrinsically more divine to flow with the natural waves of life than to try to hold on to the rocks.
I love her.
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