There’s nothing wrong.
It’s tendonitis, arthritis, neuralgia, depression, anemia, hypochondria. PMS.
Take your vitamins, your ibuprofen, your time.
The first time someone said the word to me, they followed with, “Christian women are particularly likely to develop this because they think they have to act like they’ve got it all together. They don’t deal with their stress.”
I heard, “It’s all in your head.”
18 years ago.
Now, having been the reason for our wheel spinning for nearly 20 years, I’m torn between glad to see the face of the enemy I’ve shadow boxed all this time and wrecked because the girls are nearly grown and so many opportunities have slipped through our fingers.
I mean seriously, how can someone possibly screw up the job of home maker? What fun to be able to take your kids to the park or have friends over for play dates. Careful planning can yield as much as another income would, because there’s no “cost of working” for the second spouse.
Please. I am functioning at capacity when I dress in the morning.
About one day a month, give or take, and not on any predictable basis; I wake feeling almost like what I think maybe the rest of the world probably expects to feel like regularly.
Hand in hand with the doctor who said I didn’t deal with my stress and the one who just wanted me to take a drug no
matter what it was for and get out of his hair– I thought I was weak, sinful, lazy, less than others. I’m ashamed of how selfish I am because I don’t create a nicer life for my family…
I’VE WASTED ALL THIS TIME.
A couple of weeks ago, the pain was after me again. I called the nurse. She reminded me I’m supposed to be taking supplemental vitamin D and a major sign of deficiency is pain. She was right, but in addition to that, I got a little focus and perspective. I realized that due to my denial, my inability or refusal to stand up to a physician and say, “I don’t deal with my stress because after I clear the kitchen counter tops, there’s nothing left for dealing with stress,”–I’ve handed those I claim to love the short end of a dirty stick.
I’ve worshipped at the altar of me– I’m fine, I should just work harder, I know better than this, I’m just a darn rebel and won’t do what I know Jesus wants me to. Me, me,me,me,me… That’s sin. What about them? Their life. Their moments. Their potential. Their opportunities slipping away while I refuse.
It was a split second’s insight and as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
And now. I need to make sure I don’t let the reason become an excuse.
Yesterday, the doctor said,”I have no doubt you have Fibromyalgia.”
At least now, we can do something about it.
The rest we can sort out as we go.
The only real problem is that even when I look at a symptom list and say, “Yeah. That’s me.”
I can still see that though it’s practically everything; to everyone else, it looks a lot like nothing.