Photo by 愚木混株 Yumu on Unsplash
I’m waking up with nausea. My back is flaring up. A fifteen minute walk is leaving me in agony. I’ve had to cancel on three social events this week.
I’ve regressed to the point that leaving the house seems like a risky endeavour. The nausea leaves my appetite in confusion. I know that I need to eat, but my sense of appetite is totally suppressed.
Such is the world of recovery. One week is good, another three weeks are difficult.
I’ve felt quite bitter around how isolated I’ve been forced to be. My small sources of regular social contact have been stripped away. I miss regular exercise, and the sense of calmness from going to the gym. But I also know any attempt to force myself into such activities will only make me worse.
Patience, is the answer, as they say. But it is far easier to give it as advice than actually live it. ‘These things take time’, as if I didn’t know after two years. By the end of the conversation, I mention the end of the year as a rough recovery date. The response? ‘Oh wow, that’s a long time’. Turns out that the people preaching patience aren’t often very good at it themselves.
At least I am no longer in the spiral of wondering whether I am doing something wrong. Many people end up panicking when they see new pain arising. In reality, this is a moment where my body is releasing a lot of tension. The back pain, according to my osteopath, is coming from my breathing coming more from my chest, rather than my diaphragm. The sense of anxiety has had such an effect on my body that it has changed the way I breathe.
I’m not an anxious person. I actually have a far healthier mentality around worries than most people. The problem is that I am in a system which has pushed my sense of concern and worry to a consistently heightened level. It’s an important distinction to make, because there isn’t anything about me to fix. But there is something to fix with the system.
Nonetheless, I do feel somewhat in despair. It’s hard to navigate a sense of isolation and pain, particularly when I know there’s nothing I can really do about it. I can either choose to accept it, or try to avoid it and ultimately just make it longer and harder.
The additional loneliness is having few outlets to talk about these difficulties. Well meaning friends, and often even professionals, give generic advice. They essentially revolve around worrying less, taking a break or changing diet.
Such conversations quickly become tiring. I end up having to explain that if it were that simple, I would have ‘fixed’ this years ago. But I also need to be careful in the way I phrase my answer. If I push back too much on someone arguments, they may react badly. Many people without realising it have cult-like beliefs around health.
Because going to the gym worked for them, they believe that this is a solution that will work for everybody. The idea that people can do all the right things and still be doing poorly makes them question their sense of fairness in the world. Many people are not willing to do that.
There is no magic solution, aside from rest. Flare-ups during recovery are documented, and they will pass. It was previously digestion, then it was feet issues, now it is back pain. I don’t know what the next issue will be, but I guess I’ll know soon enough.
The fact that I am feeling pain is the sign that my body is cleansing and waking up. This is the paradox of recovery.