Maybe it’s an answered prayer

In the Bible, Paul talks about the thorn in his flesh, the “messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from becoming proud.” Paul says he begged God three times to take it away. Each time, God said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.”

Thursday and Friday were difficult days for me. Saturday kicked my ass. I blew off family plans and stayed home. It was the third day in a downward trend. Fortunately, yesterday was better. Today’s a mix bag. I woke up with pain and went for a run. So far, I’m not paying for that decision. We’ll see how the day goes.

God has either allowed or sanctioned the pain in my body. It will most likely be with me to one degree or another for the rest of my life. It’s a cruel master, whose lessons are taught with physical pain, fatigue, brain fog, and self-doubt.

But the lessons are valid.

As a person, I’m still far to willing to judge others from afar. This one’s stupid. That one’s lazy. That one over there, he’s incompetent. I can wear all those labels and more when the Fibro hits me. Some days, I just survive, doing enough to keep the lights on, but little else, because I’m tired and my body pulses with pain. Saturday, I barely left the house. I’ve been on work phone calls when I’ve had to ask what was just said because my train of thought derailed in the middle of a sentence.

My affliction has helped me better see those character flaws in myself. It’s made me more likely to see the strengths in others. Until recently, I’ve never understood the true weight of being a caregiver. I’ve never understood the guts required for someone with a chronic illness or condition to just get by day to day.

I’ll never celebrate my Fibromyalgia. But I’ll never consider it a complete loss. I’m weakened by my experience. I won’t consider some previous activities because of what might happen. I’m more likely to stay home than I used to be.

But my eyes are opened to new things. And I appreciate a lot of the things I already have. Exercise isn’t a burden, it’s a privilege. Steady work is a blessing, even if the day’s a little difficult. I no longer take a pain-free day for granted, as something I deserve and am entitled to.

I don’t understand God, but it’s at least possible he’s using Fibromyalgia to make me see new things. If that’s the case, it’s not a loss. In some ways, it might be a roundabout answer to my prayers to be a better person.

God, Mr. Miyagi, and Fibromyalgia

Remember in The Karate Kid, when Daniel-san went to Mr. Miyagi for help because William Zabka kicked his ass? To help him, Mr. Miyagi puts him to work painting the fence, sanding the floor, and doing the wax-on, wax-off thing. Daniel-san goes along to a point. After all, Mr. Miyagi kicked Zabka’s gang’s ass.

But he’s not feeling great about himself already, and as the menial labor goes on, he feels like he’s been taken yet again. Then Mr. Miyagi shows the muscle memory gained by painting the fence, sanding the floor, and waxing the car.

I woke up this morning with pain. It’s been kind of an on-going thing since last August. The experience doesn’t seem to end. I’ve gone to God about it and tried to trust in his approach to the whole thing. After all, if this is happening, God either ordained it or allowed it, so I have to believe there’s purpose.

Yet sometimes I feel like Daniel-san, just going through another long day of painting the fence, or sanding the floor, or waxing the car. I don’t understand it and it seems like it’ll never end. And, in the darkest moments, I wonder if I’m a sucker.

If I truly believe that there’s a purpose to all this, then what seems menial and unrelated to anything is actually preparing me for something important. And it’s not to kick the Cobra-Kai champion in the face and win Elisabeth Shue’s love.

You can withstand almost anything if there’s purpose behind it. And if you try to find purpose and somehow there isn’t any, but you make it through anyway, what’s the harm?

I hate that my body hurts. I hate that I can’t do the things I want to. I hate that I have to chose between a massage therapy appointment and an evening work dinner because the massage therapy is likely to kick my ass.

If there were no purpose behind this–if it were random and arbitrary–I’d struggle even more just to make it through the day.

Maybe I’m a sucker. Maybe God doesn’t care. Or doesn’t exist. Or has smited me for my transgressions. But I’m better than I was, and that ain’t nothing.

Sometimes it’s enough to get through a hard day.

How they did it

I don’t know how you do it.

In 2015, when everything went to hell, people told me this now and again. Being what it is, my ego took that as fuel to go another day. Until the tank was dry and there was nothing left.

The secret to how they get through an unimaginably hard time isn’t magic. It’s not elegant. It doesn’t leave them feeling like Dirty Harry at the end of the day.

The truth is, they just did it. When their eyes opened in the morning, they fought the daily battle of not wanting to leave the comfort and safety of bed. They dragged themselves through their morning routine (or not, if it’s really, really bad). Then they did what they could for as long as they could before collapsing again.

Along the way there was self-doubt, maybe a little self-hatred. There was resentment of those who didn’t see (or care to see) the burden. There was envy of those living a normal life while they couldn’t.

There was crying and depression. They pushed the emotional toll of the situation down the road because they just couldn’t handle it today. Eventually the bill came due in a fit of rage, tears, anger, or hopelessness (any or all of these, actually).

And then they got up and did the same shit again on a new day.

SSDD, baby.

I was lucky in 2015. Though it got incredibly dark during that time, I was lucky. The burden went away within a little less than a year.

Sometimes the burden doesn’t go away. Sometimes people just keep going because they just have to.

I wish there were an inspiring story behind how they do it, but there isn’t. It’s usually long dark tunnel with no doors, no exit, and very little light. And the wall of time is always moving behind you, forcing you forward.

I had a friend and colleague who asked how I was doing almost every morning during that period. I rarely spilled my guts to her, but just the fact she asked helped a lot.

Next time you’re prompted to say I don’t know how you do it, maybe reframe it a little. Ask how they are? Then ask how they are really? Ask if they need anything. Tell them it’s okay if they lose their shit in front of you.

Help them understand that it doesn’t have to be something they do alone.

Still worrying and trying to believe in a better approach

If I really believed, I’d think differently.

I woke up this morning earlier than I wanted to. I fiddled around a little. Checked the Mets score–they lost. Checked the socials and my news sites. Then I dove into my devotionals for the day. It was pretty rote this morning. I went through the motions with the dawning understanding that a relationship with God is about faith, not feelings.

When I set out for my walk, I’d already missed my internal deadline for when I wanted to start–based on when I woke up. As I walked, I realized just how many things I’m regularly anxious about. There’s work–there’s always work. There’s health and whether I’d have a good Fibro day. Then a dozen other things followed.

It’s not like I lack a track record. I’m successful enough that I’m still here and doing pretty well by most standards. I’ve been challenged and persevered through those challenges. I’m the best person I’ve ever been.

And I’m still concerned that’s not good enough.

If I really believed what I profess on Sundays, I’d handle it all differently.

I don’t know what it’s like to live without some level of anxiety. Through my adult life, I’m not sure I’ve ever really relaxed and been comfortable with what I was and what I bring to the table.

And yet, Jesus was pretty clear about worrying. We’re not to worry. If God takes care of the birds and the lilies of the field, then he’ll take care of us.

Ultimately, I worry that I’m not good enough–that when I die, what lies beyond won’t be what I want, but what I deserve. That’s perhaps the ultimate sacrilege, given that Jesus came to take care of that.

Meanwhile, I scrape today together and hope tomorrow won’t feature a crash. I ignore the fact that between my own resilience and God’s blessing, I’ve been successful with the Fibro for the past few years.

I also ignore the fact that if I really dove into faith, it would be easier not to worry. And I’d have less to be concerned about with the Fibro.

But I want to do better. I hope that leads to improvement down the road.

What, me worry? Unfortunately, yes.

Sunday afternoon crankiness is no stranger to me. The weekend is already almost over and work dawns tomorrow. The crankiness is born of anxiety and it’s a leftover from the time when my head was up my butt when it came to work.

A lot has changed since those days, the result of some wonderful mentoring and a bit of work on my part. I’m not that guy anymore, and yet the Sunday jitters still remain, though not as forceful as they used to be. When it happens, it’s latent crankiness and magnification of what might go wrong (but hasn’t and probably won’t).

Since I profess to be a Christian, that’s a faith issue as much as it’s a head-up-my-butt issue. If I trust that an all-loving God is truly in charge of everything, faith in his omnipotence is supposed to take the pressure off. I’m taking a test I’ve already passed. Condemnation has been mathematically eliminated. I literally have nothing to be anxious about.

And yet, there I was, thinking about tomorrow morning as a low-level fog of dread started to roll in. (And I checked my Garmin–again–to make sure my pace was acceptable.)

It’s an irrational set of feelings. I’m really good at what I do. I have the trust and support of the people I work for and the majority of my internal customers. People whose job is to put events on trust me to get the best possible situation for their event technology. That’s not a tiny thing.

I haven’t had a brutal meeting or phone call in months. There’s literally no reason for me to be anxious.

More than that, with the Fibro, anxiety increases the chances of a flare or even a crash. There’s enough that can cause problems without my baseless fears putting their finger on the scale. In a way, my lack of emotional discipline is self-sabotage.

So now I have some homework. I need to pray and think and practice changing my point of view. If I can remove that layer of garbage from the person God made, I’ll be better for myself and for others.

And that’s where you live a mark in life. Being comfortable with yourself so you can be present for others.

Doing hard things in hard times isn’t futile. It’s the key to resilience.

When the pain is bad, it makes me feel bad about myself. I wind up concentrating on what I can’t do. I feel frail and worry that I’m not contributing. And considering I’ve gone into some fairly deep emotional valleys, I also worry that I’m more toxic sometimes than I want to be.

Most mornings I wake up somewhere between 4 and 4:30. When I’m running, that’s useful. Much of the year, you don’t want to run in Florida after the sun comes up. Since the beginning of the year, I’ve exercised in some way every day. On tough mornings, it’s stretching. Considering you don’t become more flexible with age, stretching is actually good for me. I’ve written a blog post every day since the beginning of the year. I write in two journals. I do Bible devotionals every day. And I’ve lost around 20 pounds since Christmas (maybe more). I’m in revisions on two novels that are the best things I’ve written.

All of that stuff can be pain in the ass to do. Some days, I do it just to keep the streak alive. If I miss a day, it’s easier to miss a second day, then a third day. Then everything goes to hell.

Those things are important. They’re daily proof that I can do useful things. Although I’m not running six or seven miles a day, I’m improving my body. The rest of the stuff’s important, too. When I struggling, it’s proof that I am doing valuable things. I’m not getting lapped by the rest of the world.

Yesterday, I wrote on Twitter that I’m a better person because of the Fibro. I have more empathy for other people’s burdens. And I’m still getting better. This morning’s Daily Stoic journal entry was about how we’re all learning. When someone spars with me and hits me too hard or takes a cheap shot, it’s all practice and they’re learning, too.

I never considered that mindset. Looking at things that way makes it a lot easier to forgive seventy times seven times (or more). If I can put aside my ego, I’ll be able to see that better.

If not for the Fibro, I’d have never considered stoicism. I’d have never seen that journal entry. I’d have missed a wonderful opportunity to become a better person.

It’s hard work when life wears you down. As with everything, we get to choose how we respond. That’s the most important super power in the world.

The work I’ve been doing–the stuff that feels like a burden some mornings–makes it easier for me to respond in a useful way.

Nobody told me (there’d be days like these)

A week and a half ago, I tripped while I was running and did something to my left side. It still hurts and it’s not getting better. That’s on top of the other minor injuries I’ve blundered into. And that’s on top of the Fibro pain.

It hurts. All the time. And I’m kind of tired of it.

While it’s important to maintain a positive attitude, it’s also important to allow yourself some grace when things are difficult. Being in pain is no fun. It makes everything harder.

Whatever the cross you’re carrying, you’ll have days when you’re just over the entire experience. You get to do that. You get to periodically retreat, recognize the weight of your cross, and acknowledge that the hard things you’re doing can grind you down.

But I’ve been doing this long enough now that I know it’ll pass. And if the pain doesn’t pass, my current emotional rut will pass. It’s part of the deal.

I realize that other people have it much worse. I realize that I don’t get a say in when the pain comes and when it goes. I understand that while I’d much rather collapse into bed for the day, other people would love the chance to be well enough to struggle through a work day.

Today, right now, I don’t care. For the moment, it’s hard and I’m worn down, and that’s okay. Denying that won’t make it go away. Accepting it as part of the experience and passing through it will.

When things are hard, take stock of what you’ve accomplished

There’s been a lot of pain recently. I’m not sure if it’s Fibro, a slew of rotten luck, or some new malady lining up to wait its turn. Right now, a lot of things hurt, and not in the normal way. The weekend was blissfully free of running around, but here we are: another Monday morning, engine revving, gas tank below a quarter full, and not a gas station in sight.

The pain is grinding on me. Right now, it feels like it takes a little away every day. Though I’ve still managed to move every day, it feels like the options available to me are shrinking. Running is out. And now with the tweak in my calf, walking’s not a great option, either. That leaves the rower, which I did yesterday, and stretching.

And yet, with work and all the extra stuff going on, it feels like I’m being ground down into smaller and smaller pieces.

It’s my choice whether to linger there or to frame things differently.

I crashed at the end of last August. Since then, I’ve been successful at work. I’m started a streak of 113 straight days in which I’ve run, walked, rowed, did the elliptical, stretched, or done yoga. I’ve journaled every day since early January. I’ve written and posted on this blog every day since late December. I’ve lost weight. And I’m working on revisions to not one, but two novels. And there’s no shortage of other things I’ve done.

I’ve come by the low gas tank rightfully.

And I’ve done all of this while fighting the pain and fatigue of Fibromyalgia.

It’s been hard, and it’s probably my future for as far as the eye can see. When you’re walking a tough stretch, don’t sugarcoat it. It really is difficult.

But keep your accomplishments in mind, too. Recognize them and be grateful for them. And remember they’re as much of the story as your struggle.

The hard stuff is real, but so are the blessings

This morning, I got up from my comfortable bed, walked into the spare bedroom and jumped on the rower for 45 minutes. Then I took a heated shower, shaved, dried off, and dressed in decent-looking clothes that fit me well. All in a lovely, climate-controlled house two-tenths of a mile away from a supermarket that has everything I need in it.

After I write this and have some coffee, I’ll drive fifteen minutes to church and worship there without worrying that anyone will assault me, take away what I own, jail me, or kill me because of my faith.

No matter what else happens today, I’ve already been blessed real good.

When things go poorly, it’s human nature to concentrate on the difficult parts. While the last couple months have had thrills, they’ve also had stress and unplanned difficulties. Work’s been a little harrowing. We had an accident that totaled one of the cars (no one was hurt). There have been unplanned trips to doctors. And I’ve had a couple really difficult Fibro days. All of those things are real and take attention.

They aren’t the only things. They must always be seen in a bigger context and overall blessings I’ve been given. Even if I had half the comforts I currently enjoy, by historical standards, I’m incredibly blessed.

In this life, I will know trouble, but I’ll know more blessing than I can ever measure.

That’s worth remembering.

When you can’t do what you want, do what you can and call it a win

The Fibro crash from the other day has mostly passed. But there’s still the healing cut on my wrist from where I fell sprinting into the garage out of the rain a week ago Wednesday. And then there’s what seems to be a pulled muscle in my side from when I tripped running last weekend. And I have a cut or something on my ankle that’s taking its time healing. And I sprained my thumb a week or so ago.

I’m just kind of broken all over the place right now.

The Bible verse of the day this morning was “Always be joyful.” That’s a tall order when the Fibro has to take a number to inflict its pain on me.

Given my age, it’s becoming clear that I don’t control my own body. The aches and pains seem to be mounting up and there’s not a lot I can do about it except give myself time to heal.

That leaves my reaction to all this. Always be joyful is a stretch for me right now. Pain makes that difficult. But it’s something to shoot for.

Beyond that, I have the power to do what I can. When I’m not in position to run, I stretch. And since I’ve have some back problems, I’ve added holding a plank to the stretching. This morning I held a plank four times for 90 seconds and once for a minute. It’s not a massive accomplishment, but it’s what I can do right now. Whatever back problems I take forward, a stronger core will make them easier to bare. And if I ever stay healthy and Fibro free for longer than a week or two, the stretching will pay off, too.

So maybe there is cause for joy, in that I’m not allowing this to victimize me. As they say in the Marines, improvise, adapt, overcome. I’m doing what I can, so when the storm clears, I have a chance to pick up where I left off.

There’s great power in that.