Balance? Don’t know her.
Because health is a lot, and sometimes acceptance just isn’t realistic.
Welcome to Solicited Advice, our weekly column that celebrates the helpfulness in health. Because in a world where strangers at the grocery store love to tell you that a specific brand of magnesium will indeed “cure” what ails you (it probably won’t, so sorry), we’re all about passing on our lived experience in a way that makes your life a little better. Are we experts? Nah, not really. But we’re great listeners who have perfected the art of pillow screaming. Let’s get into it!
I just got a new diagnosis and feel like I am going through the acceptance process all over again. I want to find joy, but I’m just not there right now. How do you all balance the never-ending cycle of joy and hurt?
Ash: Acceptance is accepting that acceptance isn’t always possible (now say that 10 times fast!). What I mean — when I’m not trying to be funny — is that acceptance is something that can change by the hour, the day, the year. I can do everything "right," and gut-wrenching anger or fear will still come barreling in. For me, acceptance looks like doing what I can to live the best version of my life at this time, in this moment. It’s releasing my anger when my spoons are out and I have to spend the day recovering, when I can barely do more than play games on my phone to keep my mind engaged. It’s allowing myself a good cry and sitting with those twinges of hopelessness. On the flip side, acceptance can also feel like I'm capable of conquering anything in my path. When I allow myself to feel and then let those harder emotions pass — even when my mood disorder fights like hell to hold on — it’s easier to cope with the ever-changing nature of my body on days both good and bad.
Skyler: The cheeky answer? I don’t. The actual answer? Weekly therapy sessions. The more elaborate answer? Like Ash said, it depends on the day. Lately I’ve been trying to move toward a place of neutrality, rather than acceptance, anger, self-pity, celebration, or straight-up apathy. I often think about the song “I Am What I Am,” the act one closer from my favorite musical “La Cage aux Folles.” Albin sings, “I am what I am / I don’t want praise, I don’t want pity.” My health conditions are a fact and a facet of who I am. I don’t need to be inspiration porn and I don’t need anyone — including myself — to feel sorry for me. As I look at my situation more neutrally, I also try to remember that I am a person outside of my conditions — despite how much and how often it doesn’t feel that way. For instance, I love all things theatre and I’m also someone who lives with chronic pain. Multiple things can be true at once, and one doesn’t have to hold more weight than the other. All this is to say: You don’t have to “accept” anything all the time. It’s an ongoing process and one you get to define for yourself.
Kat: I was diagnosed with lupus in the summer of 2023 and I am (still) not over that initial state of shock quite yet, especially because the disease state is progressing at a rate that none of my doctors (or myself) saw coming. I tell you this to say that acceptance is an art form, and holding space for joy alongside deep pain — be it physical, emotional, or mental — is really freaking hard. One thing I’ve found especially healing is talking my face off about it, which I know isn’t possible or of interest to everyone. The more I speak the reality into existence, the lighter it becomes to carry. I found that keeping it a secret multiplied the shame tenfold.
Another thing I’m trying out these days is intentionally doing something in my everyday routine that lifts me up — splurging on a fancy toothpaste, crunching through the leaves with my dog, frolicking on my walking pad (I pretty much always feel better after I move my body), texting a safe friend who always makes me laugh. The list goes on. The point I’m trying to make is that when I weave happy threads into my day — especially when fun things like vacations are not in the cards for me right now — I feel less depressed. It’s forced joy sometimes, sure, but it also shows me that I’m capable of it. That not everything is dark. That acceptance lets the light in.
Jess: I tried to find some kind of equilibrium for a long time, but eventually I realized that trying to force myself to come to terms with things didn’t work for me. Sometimes I need to put health things I’m not ready to deal with into the mental box, set it aside, and let it simmer. Sometimes I need to rage and cry and have my “it’s not FAIR” moments first (or, in some cases, for like a decade). The more I allow myself to deal with them in whatever way comes most naturally to me in that moment, with as little self-judgment as possible, the quicker I’m able to come to some stage kind of acceptance; and the easier it is for me to access joy that is not dependent on my acceptance or emotions. We sometimes joke here at Alive and (un)Well about my uncanny ability to “forget” that I’m disabled. To “forget” I have a condition, or that the reason XYZ thing is happening is because it’s a symptom. Even with conditions I’ve known about since childhood, I still do this. So it’s very much an ongoing process of recognizing and accepting, and then remembering and re-remembering. Because it’s a lot, and we can’t hold all of it, all of the time.
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Welcome to Solicited Advice, our weekly column that celebrates the helpfulness in health. Because in a world where strangers at the grocery store love to tell you that a specific brand of magnesium will indeed “cure” what ails you (it probably won’t, so sorry), we’re all about passing on our lived experience in a…