Back in the heady days of pre-lockdown (remember them?) a friend and her son had asked us to join them for dinner. I politely declined and suggested they visit us instead. You see, I like to compare myself to the supermodels of the 90s who wouldn’t get out of bed for less than £10K.
I don’t do evenings.
My reluctance to go out in the evening is unrelated to any financial incentive or indeed my appearance, I simply can’t do it. My inability to go out is by way of becoming ill with Lyme disease a few years ago, which wasn’t diagnosed until 7 years after the tick bite.
My life, as I knew it then, was flipped 180 degrees. I had stroke symptoms, including limb weakness and speech problems. When I could talk it was with slurred speech and my tongue would get stuck on some sounds. I did a really great impression of Max Headroom! At this stage I’d like to pay tribute to my children, for lots of reasons but mostly because they in effect learned how to read my mind. Or read my texts. I typed out what I wanted to say on my mobile phone to communicate with them. My approach has always been to be as open as possible with my children, explaining everything that was happening.
I’m a driven person, I was always striving to improve every aspect of my work and life. I had been busy, working at a job that I loved while the kids were at school, playing tennis, catching up with friends over coffee and being bad at running. Life was pretty good. So imagine the shock to my system, not just of the physical collapse but the mental aspect of being suddenly and completely incapacitated. I tried, in vain, to continue with the same prevailing attitude of living the same active lifestyle. I was very impatient for a diagnosis of this mystery illness and getting back to work as I had no other income. Occasionally friends would kindly point out to me that I was being very hard on myself. This resulted in me being hard on myself for not realising that I was being hard on myself. A little part of me died inside each time I realised I could no longer do what I wanted to. Now I can quietly accept my new normal and move on, however I do have my moments of feeling upset.
How can we all accept this new normal of isolating and living indoors? How can we screech to a halt and be content in our new slow lives in order to somehow live with it? I’m not an expert and can only give advice based on my lived experience. The biggest stealer of joy is resistance. By pushing away uncomfortable feelings you may be increasing your discomfort or fear. Change is hard. Acceptance of change may be even harder. We are all in a new and unfamiliar place.
Do what you can to be gentle with yourself and those around you who may be struggling. Have reasonable expectations. Adapting to this new life is something we are all doing. Try to allow yourself to feel uncomfortable or a bit lost. That way you might settle into those feelings, instead of amplifying them by pushing them away.
I’m not one for saccharine affirmations, I prefer more practical and useful tips.
pain + pain = pain
pain + resistance = suffering
I have a fighting spirit and a realistic attitude. We can’t just positively affirm our way out of problems. Many hours of CBT have helped me to get to this place of acceptance and allowing. I can’t take all the credit!
So back now to my visit from our friends, we were chatting candidly over our tea and cake, setting the world to rights. The conversation turned to how my kids felt about having a disabled Mum. I sat and waited with bated breath to see if I could discover something new, and I did.
My son answered that we always had hope.
Photo by geralt is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA
Lisa Wells is a disabled single parent living in a rural village in Co Down, the name of which hardly anyone can pronounce and only the residents know how to find. She has been writing a blog on life indoors for a few years.
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