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The Not-So-Gentle Art of Acceptance

This article ended up in my Inbox today, and it helped me so much. No matter what your own struggle might be, I hope it encourages you too and gets you thinking.

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The not-so-gentle art of acceptance
by Jenni Prokopy

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. For most of my life, I hated that $&^%ing prayer.

That prayer haunted me. I had to say it at the Al-Anon meetings I attended as a child. I had to hear it spoken by many people during moments that seemed, to me, so OBVIOUSLY in their control that it sounded like a cop-out. I would smirk meanly when I saw it posted in other people's homes, thinking, "You poor sap. A fat lot of good that'll do you." It really seemed like a load.

Here I sit today, reciting that prayer. Your humble Editrix -- a woman who doesn't even know if God exists -- says a prayer. Sugar, I'm here to tell you, that thing actually kinda works.

Sometimes.

Resistance movement

Through all the work I've done to ease the symptoms of fibromyalgia -- the physical therapy, the cognitive therapy, all the different meds, dieting and exercise, meditation, biofeedback, journaling, visualization, you name it -- the hardest thing I've tried is to accept the fibromyalgia. I don't mean resigning myself to the fact that it's chronic, that it's not going anywhere. I mean, accepting it as part of me. An inherent part of what I am. A component. Not a flaw, not a broken-ness. Acceptance is something I've resisted for a looong time.

Today I was talking with my coach, Suzan, about how I had balanced my weekend. I had a hugely significant event all day Saturday, and while I had originally planned to lay low on both the Friday before and the Sunday after, on Sunday I wound up going to brunch and a movie, and hosting a BBQ for close friends and their two small kiddos. All fun stuff, all with great people. But in doing that stuff instead of resting, I broke my commitment to myself to rest on Sunday -- and as a result, Monday rolled around with me too exhausted to work. I camped out all day on the couch instead.

The result was so frustrating, because it seemed to highlight the confusion I still feel about when to push myself and when to hold back. Sometimes I feel a certain kind of cruddy, and the best thing for me is some time with girlfriends, a nice meal out, or playing with a friend's child. (Nothing like pure innocence and joy to get you out of your own head!) Other times, I feel a different kind of cruddy and I know that I just need to veg out, sleep in, cut out of work. And sometimes, I just don't know what's going to do the trick. It's confusing!

Suzan had a different take. What if, she said, you consider the idea that the fibromyalgia -- that inherent part of you -- is a message, a signal, telling you that you are in need of devoted self-care? The idea, she explained, is that instead of seeing your body's signals as some kind of misfire or malfunction, you instead choose to interpret those signals/symptoms as your body's way of telling you to stop and re-examine how you're living.

No. Frickin. Way.

Unh-uh. That is a crappy signal. That is not the kind of message I will accept. Return to sender.

The idea just seems so shocking; the concept that my body, with fibromyalgia, is in a state of wholeness? That's crazy talk. The idea that my body is full of wisdom? That those symptoms -- those signals -- are the easiest way my body has of maneuvering me into a place of total self-care? Whoa. (I'm crying as I write this. This is not an easy concept for me to wrap my brain around.)

I have always resisted the idea of acceptance, because I always felt my body was flawed. That I was broken in some way. Who wants to accept that? And I have spent many, many years searching for my "fix." Because it is just so damn unfair, so wrong, there has to be a solution. And I am surrounded by people (and their books and stuff) who believe they have the answer and are willing, for a price of course, to reveal to me their secrets. So it's very tempting to search and search for the answer. Because it feels like if you stop searching, you're giving up. It could be right around the corner! I'm no quitter!

The results of resistance

So anyway, after my appointment with Suzan, I had to force myself to go back to work -- and I had to let the ideas stew for a few hours. In the evening, I came back to them, and sat down to write.

What have I gained from resisting the reality of my condition, the fact that it is an inherent part of me? It certainly has kept my fighting spirit strong, has motivated me to try lots of things, to reach out to people for answers. And I've learned a lot of great tricks and tools, and met lots of great people along the way.

But that resistance has also hurt me in many ways. It has weighed heavily on my spirit; I've spent a ton of time with the idea that it's just not fair. It has caused me to push through times of great pain and exhaustion, working beyond my capacity, because I refused to accept limitations. Like, "I'll show my body who's boss!" But that never works.

I think, because of experiences as a younger person, I equated acceptance with surrender. I always thought that acceptance meant I was giving up, that I was accepting less of a life, accepting a lesser version of me. But all those times I resisted, I was lessening myself by not caring for my needs, by running myself ragged in order to prove -- to whom? -- that I could "beat" this illness.

What if?

What if Suzan is right? What if, way back in 1997, my body just got worn out? Worn out from all the craziness of my family, my friends, work and school stresses, a broken romantic relationship. The smoking and the drinking. The staying up all night because there was so much to do -- so many things to write, so much music to hear, so many people to meet. My childhood was very hard in many ways. I had health problems all my life: spinal meningitis, mononucleosis, chest pains, allergies, lower back spasms, gastrointestinal issues, migraines. What if there came a moment when my body finally said, "Hey! I've been sending you a steady series of signals for years and you've ignored me, so here's your last chance! Here's a big glaring signal you can't ignore! Start taking better care of yourself!"

I'm not saying I deserved to get sick, or that I did something to make it happen, or that it's anyone's fault. (And certainly, dear fellow fibromyalgia readers, I'm not trying to say it's the same for you, either.) But what if...what if it's true? What would that mean?

It would mean accepting that I am whole, as I am, as I sit here today in front of the computer.

It would mean accepting that my body is not broken; that no matter what it is doing, it is wise at its core. And that I have to listen to it.

It would mean accepting that my gut does not lie, and that if my gut instinct is to take Friday and Sunday off, I better do it or pay the price, no matter how much my brain thinks "I should be able to do more this weekend." Etc.

It would mean accepting that I already know all I need to know to take care of myself: Trust my gut. Rely on experts who I trust. Encircle myself with intelligent, supportive people...people who call me on my BS.

It would mean trusting myself. Somehow that seems scariest, the idea that I can trust myself wholly and completely to take care of myself. Isn't there supposed to be somebody out there who knows better? Who left me in charge? Maybe this is where people who believe in a higher power are able to let go and let God, as they say in the 12-step groups.

So here I am, saying that darn prayer.

I am thinking about acceptance, and about what it means. And I am thinking that if you've read this far, you have either been down this road, or are headed down it. Or that you're thinking, who is this wacky chick and what the heck is she talking about? There must be some great punchline...

I don't know if I can truly accept it all just yet. It's been a long, powerful, thoughtful day. So I'm going to rest, because that's what my gut tells me to do. And when I feel like it, I'll write some more. I don't know if it's helpful for any of you to read this, but it helps me to write about it -- and maybe there's someone out there who's thinking about the same stuff and will at least know that she's not alone with her thoughts.

Labels: Arthritis/Fibromyalgia, From My Inbox

posted by Lindsay @ 8:50 AM