November & me

TW: body image discussion/chronic pain

I have written and re-written my blog post for November a couple times. I think because I didn’t know what to say because my instinct is to write what I’m feeling or experiencing, and what I was feeling and experiencing was just a lot of chronic pain and body image issues that I wasn’t sure anyone cared to hear about. But I set out to write 12 blog posts for 2022, and I would like to at least finish what I started. (Something that I’m not always great at when there are no stakes or deadlines)

November 2022 was a month of dull pain that didn’t have a true cause, but influenced everything I did all month. Every movement, thought, action was made through the filter of trying to avoid pain or lessen it or figure out why I was having it. I went to the doctor, I did the things I was prescribed, the pain eventually subsided, but there still wasn’t a definite answer for its origins. 

Pain on its own is exhausting. Pain that no one can explain is crippling. 

It’s like a cruel game of roulette–which food or movement will make it better or worse? Is it all in my head? Am I the cause of the physical pain? Or is there something that needs to be done to fix it? I’m no stranger to chronic pain. I’ve been (somewhat) managing Interstitial cystitis for much of my life, along with hyper-mobility issues. I know the mental and emotional games you have to play with yourself to move through the day or just make it through the day/hour/minute while you are in pain. 

This all sounds very dramatic as I type it out, and whether it is or not, it’s just the reality. Pain is part of life, but it’s also hard. I say all of this mainly as a reminder that you don’t know what people are quietly working through in their bodies and minds when you encounter them.

And all of this to say: I’m also okay. But having any type of health thing really puts things into perspective. We can’t do anything without our body’s cooperation. 

A combination of injuries, medication, age and healthier habits have led my body in a new direction. It’s not bad, it’s just different. In fact it’s likely better. I know it didn’t change overnight, but it felt like it did. How did I miss this change that was happening directly to me? Or maybe, for me? 

This body has gotten me through every step of my life. This version of it is probably the strongest it’s ever been. Just because I was comfortable with my body before, doesn’t mean that version of me would serve this part of my life now. I’m certainly not the same person I was in my 20s, so why should my body be? And just because it’s unfamiliar to me, doesn’t mean it’s not good, it’s just new. Evolving isn’t always comfortable. In fact, I’d say it’s not supposed to be comfortable. 

The catalyst for evolution in plants, animals, any living being are the obstacles and challenges that they face over time–they evolve to meet the next level of their life. And so am I.

There is a deep part of me that has been mourning the loss of the body I knew for a formative period of my life. I think that’s normal. November offered me a moment to be with my body and instead of grieving the loss of familiarity, I had to focus on just being in my body and keeping the physical pain at bay. It reminded me that my body endures so much for me. 

In an effort to hold my gratitude and my grief at the same time. I can acknowledge the body that got me here, and greet the new form it has taken with gratitude, empathy and gentleness. And I also went through my whole wardrobe and tossed any pants that weren’t 100% comfortable. If I’ve learned anything in my 31 years it’s that comfortable pants are a must.

When I’m in chronic pain, when my belly is aching and bloated, I try to greet it with a gentle pat. A cup of tea. A cozy blanket and pants to make the day a little easier. Sometimes I whisper “you’re doing a good job” to my body. Sometimes I also change outfits four times before leaving the house. We can hold both things at the same time. 

I’m trying to treat my body like it’s my best friend. Cheer it on, nourish it, give it treats and make sure it knows that I love it, and when it’s in pain I’ll sit with it and listen and do what I can to help.

I’m slowly eliminating clothes from my wardrobe that I have had for half my life, or at least since college. It’s funny how clothes become part of our identity, and how letting go of them doesn’t mean anything about who we are, but it still feels like we are letting go of a piece of us. 

So I do the Marie Kondo thing, I thank my clothes, I give them a good squeeze and put them in the donation pile. I think about the next person they get to bring joy to. I make a little wish for the next person that they feel their best in this piece of fabric that helped me feel my best. 

And then I ask myself, without those clothes that I felt so “me” in, who do I feel like now? And what type of clothes does this “me” feel like? 

I’m not sure, but it sounds like a fun next adventure.