Chronic illness and autoimmune bloggers have been gently pointing out for months now the double standard in how healthy people have recently been expected to respond to the social isolation, physical and mental stress and economic devastation of a virus most of them don’t even have, versus what is and has always been expected of the chronically ill in dealing with illnesses we do have. Healthy people are supposed to be loving and patient with themselves, to get to know and respect their own limitations, to successfully perform self-care, and ask for what they need, and they are entitled to have their limitations and needs honored, no less, whereas people who are actually sick are supposed to disappear, basically, and when that doesn’t work, there is always suicide.
I recently read an article on HuffPo which summed up the standard for healthy people navigating the fallout of the global COVID19 pandemic, as well as the natural disasters playing out concurrently, and it gave me a moment’s peace, actually, to imagine myself in their shoes. To imagine that I could “be assertive” in asking for things, and then expect them to be easily given to me, to fantasize about the following things applying to me:
“Be kind to yourself. […]When we accept that situational factors are draining our batteries, we’re less likely to criticize ourselves for reductions in work quality and productivity.”
“Because the wildfire conditions are fluid, plans may need to be changed or canceled abruptly. […]The more clearly, calmly and matter-of-factly one communicates these parameters, the less stressful it will be when abrupt changes need to be made.”
Obviously, in my case, the “situational factor” I’ve been dealing with — which would tend to destroy, not just drain, my batteries — is a dangerous, painful and debilitating disease that has demonstrably wrecked my life and stolen my future, in addition to whatever else the normies are dealing with including natural disasters. I have written here before about how I was a climate refugee, having lost my home in Hurricane Sandy, before I was a cannabis refugee, attempting to treat the pain and symptoms of disease with medical cannabis. And the states of my health and ability are precarious, fluid, if you will, necessitating that I cancel or change plans abruptly, changes and cancellations which will be accepted gracefully and for which I will not, must not, be shamed or punished. Obviously. Or, these limitations would or at least should be accepted gracefully by anyone who wasn’t an egregious asshole if I were otherwise well, and had a bright (or any) future to look forward to. If I were human, that is how I could expect to be treated, I guess, and if I were treated poorly it would not be a reflection on me, but on other people’s ability to be human themselves.Continue reading “Welcome To The Party, Pal. I’m Ded. On Radical Acceptance.”