B.F. (before fibro), I don’t think I’d ever once been accused of being “distracted.” I was more likely to be lumped in with groups such as the insufferably Type A, the hyper-focused, the obnoxiously prepared and intent. People who got off task were, frankly, frustrating to me. I kept my eye on the prize and I got.shit.done.
A.F. (after fibro), I have worked ceaselessly to avoid the thing that screams violently and tugs mercilessly at me. The thing that demands my focus at all moments of the day has become the thing I willfully seek to elude. Pain.
I’ve become a master of self-distraction. I crave it. I claw after it. I latch onto it often because it seems to be my only remaining choice, except for lying down and giving into suffering.
It’s why travel works for me.
New sensations give my nervous system something else to consider.
If something tastes delicious,
If something takes my breath away,
If something smells divine,
If something warms my skin,
Then I can’t only be in pain.
I must also be experiencing, exploring, touching, and feeling. I must be alive.
And it’s like magic. My frame of reference expands beyond the narrow, often lightless tunnel that is pervasive, unceasing pain, and—even if only for a moment—there is relief.
It’s humiliating and humbling and joyful and miraculous all at once to be reduced to these kinds of basic, gutteral reactions, as a crying child is suddenly quieted by a soft hand or the flash of a shiny toy in front of her face.
In the absence of travel (which is, let’s be honest, a rare luxury), I improvise. I reach for the comfort food, the piping hot tea, the frothy latte. I scroll obsessively through social media apps, as if I were close on the heels of the cure for cancer, perhaps just rows below in my Pinterest feed. I gravitate to pretty things, soft fabrics, home decor ideas, plans for parties I know I’ll never throw. I wreck my body in the yard in the summer, because the sun is shining and my skin rejoices, like toes curling into a soft throw blanket, at the feeling of heat. I spend countless moments of my life trying to make them pass, in the most pleasant and least torturous ways possible.
I cope.
And I need you to know, it’s more complicated than it looks.
This is why I can spend an hour deliberating scarf colors at Target, but I can’t stand long enough to select the cleaning products I went there for. This is why I can find all the recipes, but I can’t chop the onions. This is why I can sit across from you over coffee and laugh and smile, but when I’m home, I can feel desperately alone and acutely aware of the gnawing pain in my neck, my shoulder, my face, my knees, my tooth, my jaw, my left hip, my right ankle.
This is the power of my mind and the grace of my will. I rely on it daily. Through the tool of distraction, I’ve found new focus. I’ve discovered the deep and profound meaning in that cliche phrase, “We create our own realities.”
So when you see me at the restaurant, in the theater, at your home for a visit, I need you to know it’s not necessarily because I feel better. (Although, on rare occasion, I just might.)
It’s generally because I’m willing myself to experience more of this moment—this bite of shrimp, this scene in the movie, this conversation I’ve really missed since the last time we talked—than I experience of the pain that is its constant backdrop.
When I show up, when I rise to the occasion, even when I seem like I’m on the planet of phone-obsessed gremlins, I need you to know: I’m choosing life.
And many times, I’m also choosing you.
What I need you to know is an ongoing Tuesday series written from a person with chronic illness to the people who love her, enjoy her company, and live with her (her husband will tell you: these things do not always overlap!).
Great piece.
Thanks, Ana.
I love this.
Thanks, Amanda.
I absolutely loved this post. The way you describe Fibro, the pain and sheer misery of it. The fact that you continue to do things you love, that makes you feel alive despite of it, is inspiring. I use my blog as my major distraction. The pain in my hips, legs, neck, ect..they take a backseat for awhile. {{Hugs}} Merbear
Thanks, Merry (certainly NOT MEREDITH
!)Your blog is a marvelous distraction for me, too. And thanks for thinking I’m inspiring. I don’t feel worthy of that compliment, but I’ll take it!
Love this. I have been lately realising I cannot stand being ‘undistracted’, but I didnt know why – this has clarified things for me alot. Maybe also there is some emotional discomfort lurking there. When i stop, it all comes flooding in… thats why I am devouring books on meditation and how to just ‘be’ atm. Am not actually doing anything about it though,even though I know I need to ‘take the tigers out the cage’, and just stay still for a minute. Im reading a great book though by Tara Brach called ‘Radical Acceptance’ that proposes a different way to deal with physical/emotional pain. From what Ive read it could partly be summed up as ‘Notice it, breathe and sit with it…say to it ‘This too…” It sounds good – I just need to do it, dammit, and get off the internet, stop talking, watching TV….lol.
Oh my goodness, yes! Exactly. It’s very…meta, isn’t it?
All the learning to be well that simultaneously makes us unavailable for doing the well things. Hhhmm. I probably need Tara’s advice, too.
Totally true. Maybe i should read less self-help books and read more stories…
Beautiful. Thank you for continuing to share your story.
Thank you for reading, Sarah.
Beautifully written, per usual. Hope today’s a good day.
Thanks, girl. Yesterday actually sucked, but today is better
. Looking forward to seeing you Friday.
This is such a beautiful expression. Most of us (although we may not be in physical pain) might have other struggles or other issues that we need to be distracted from. Your writing today gives all of us hope to take control of ourselves and find the healthy distractions in life that can help us push through our time of “pain”. Sometimes appreciating the small things that we all often taking for granted is just the remedy we need. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings. I hope today is a wonderful day
I think that’s a wonderful point. Pain comes in many forms, shapes, sizes. Thank YOU for reading.
That is perfect! I have felt so much guilt over why I can seemingly do some things “easier” than others, why the pain dulls into a backdrop rather than being the main act. Am I just lazy? Am I choosing to be sick?
But this resonates with me. It’s not like it ever goes away… but I am choosing life.
Cassandra, sometimes it seems like the line of questioning and self-doubt is endless. For good or for bad, that’s usually when I get on Pinterest…:)
Great post!
Thank ya, dear!
Great blog, very relateable
Hello and welcome. Thanks for following!
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing these words. They hold so much importance in understanding us more deeply.
Dave, you’re one heckuva reader. Thanks for always showing my blog some love.
Wonderfully written! And SO so true.
Hey you. And thanks!
(I’m sappy) This made my eyes fill up with tears. You’ve (again) put words to something that clearly needed words but just didn’t quite know it. Thank you. The description of scarf contemplation vs cleaning products is perfect–when I’m feeling less gracious I tell myself the distraction is lack of discipline, but in reality, I think it is what you said–that desire to actually live.
You are not sappy, you’re lovely. Well, okay, you might be sappy, but then so am I, so I’m going with lovely. Did you see Cassandra’s comment, above? We’re not alone in our self-doubt, that’s for certain. Hugs.
I love this series. Have I told you that lately?
You have a powerful ability to express what so many of us go through daily. I, too, am easily distractable; I, too, read all the recipes but can’t chop the onions (I’m thankful for my hubby who takes care of the chopping, grating, and stirring!). I prefer to think of my distractions as fibro teaching me to appreciate the little, wonderful things in life, like the colorful scarves, the countless lattes, and the crazy things my friends say on Facebook. Thanks again for sharing your writing with the world.
Thank you, Connie. I’m so glad my writing resonates with you.
I’m also lucky that my husband does a lot of my “sous chef” work. And he’s become quite the cook, too.
I think you’re right–our “distractions” are small studies in the “things that matter” often, too.
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