For crying out loud: Grief
Crying, searching, learning, feeling, grieving, the roots of growing. Working with my counselor I have accepted I never grieved over my disease. For years my life was almost untouched by CF, I did not understand the trials that CF caused until I was 21. I viewed my disease as a slight inconvenience but more importantly I accepted it for what is was. I showed myself grace by working with myself, deciding I would take on the challenge to keep myself healthy. Viewing my care as a choice is extremely important in the coping process. By choosing, it gives me a sense of control over something there isn't any control for. Now I view my disease much differently, I have witnessed the ugly course of this disease which has finally lead to this pit of darkness ( every hero has to have a cool sounding evil opponent dwelling place) that I would say takes up the majority of this past year. Viewing myself as incapable,not having confidence, feeling out of control, sorry and pitiful that my disease had gotten out of hand. I thought it was depression, but what my counselor has enlightened me with is, for once I am feeling my disease. I am feeling, not thinking, what it is to live with a chronic illness, how uncomfortable it might be. Having these feelings shows how necessary this process is and that I am moving forward. I am in my adult life, a place I was told most of my childhood it was unlikely to make it too. I am in uncharted waters and what I thought was feelings of not having a choice or any control in the matter, is actually the weight of full responsibility of choosing to live or not. It is even a more important time to extend grace, welcoming this process so that I will once again be able to choose life whatever CF looks like.
I am self conscious about this process because I like all my cards together. The girl with a neatly ordered datebook, the well placed accessories, who can entertain following all the right social rules. I take pride in being prepared, showing up on that stage and showing off all my talent. CF is the mess under my nicely made bed, the hallway closet filled with odds and ends you keep people from opening, the neighbors yard with untrimmed hedges and weeds. Even though I take pride in my appearance on the outside, with my sweet shoes or artsy blouse, my insides, my lungs are a mess. No amount of make-up or container store boxes will keep CF in line. My brokenness, my mess, is something that I need to accept and be able to share. Be able to throw it out on the table in all its sticky glory and nonchalantly proclaim, "yeah I happen to have CF, whatevs, would you like a cocktail? I can see it, I can see myself being this strong again, but I need a little more time to grieve that my life as a perfectly set dinning room table is going to have a little CF decoration. My family and friends accept it, you bloggies accept it, and I am next.
I am self conscious about this process because I like all my cards together. The girl with a neatly ordered datebook, the well placed accessories, who can entertain following all the right social rules. I take pride in being prepared, showing up on that stage and showing off all my talent. CF is the mess under my nicely made bed, the hallway closet filled with odds and ends you keep people from opening, the neighbors yard with untrimmed hedges and weeds. Even though I take pride in my appearance on the outside, with my sweet shoes or artsy blouse, my insides, my lungs are a mess. No amount of make-up or container store boxes will keep CF in line. My brokenness, my mess, is something that I need to accept and be able to share. Be able to throw it out on the table in all its sticky glory and nonchalantly proclaim, "yeah I happen to have CF, whatevs, would you like a cocktail? I can see it, I can see myself being this strong again, but I need a little more time to grieve that my life as a perfectly set dinning room table is going to have a little CF decoration. My family and friends accept it, you bloggies accept it, and I am next.