A fellow autoimmune-disease-sufferer recently described the healing process as "slowing down life to a crawl and setting boundaries." For a lifelong perfectionist and overachiever, the "slowing down life" part of autoimmunity can be wearing on the self-esteem. Mind you, I have no trouble at all with the actual slowing down of life; I can lounge and binge-watch Netflix like any good couch potato. It's the thinking related to the slowed-down life that sometimes gets me down.
I am fairly content right now with my circumstances, not because I feel like I am fulfilling my dreams and passions, but because I feel like I can breathe and wake up in the morning without wanting to die. I know that sounds melodramatic. But, I know that my autoimmunity has gotten the better of me when I struggle to get out of bed, when tears constantly seem to be seeping out of my eyes, when I stop being able to make decisions and feel like my sanity has left me. My body becomes inflamed, my thyroid swells and affects my swallowing, my joints hurt, I crave sugar and fatty foods. I can't sleep at night.
I recently made the difficult decision to leave a full-time job after only two months of employment. I had been pursuing special education for the past few years, and I applied to jobs like the one I took in an effort to maintain a cohesive resume. However, it only took about a month for me to realize that the job was killing me--really--and that I needed to seek other employment if I didn't want to end up hospitalized.
A retail position in my hometown providentially opened up right at the time I finally had the courage to give notice at my old job. I was offered a new job that has nothing at all to do with my bachelor's or master's degrees and really doesn't formally require any specified education, but it doesn't add stress to my life. In terms of the amount of mental exertion it requires and stress it causes as compared to my previous role, the position would be classified as slow--a slow job for a slow life.
It's actually been fascinating to see how my body has responded to stressful situations in the past few years. Normally I shut down completely and have the urge to flee. I am thankful that my body takes care of itself even when my conscious mind tries to push me beyond reasonable (for me) limits. I dropped out of graduate programs, moved across the country and back, changed majors, changed jobs. It may seem reckless and confused to an onlooker, but really the back-and-forth nature of some of my decisions and life activities has been nothing more than a battle between my body protecting itself from breaking down and my mind telling me that I need to live up to my own unrealistic expectations.
It is humbling working in a retail position with a master's degree in hand. I am not making very much money (not even enough to meet my basic monthly expenses). I live with my parents. Sometimes I feel as though my intellect is atrophying. But I'm breathing. And I'm alive. And I'm not just surviving. I am still inflamed and my thyroid is still swollen and my joints still hurt and I'm still 30 pounds heavier than I normally am. But I have hope. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
The same person that described healing as a slowing down of life also said that it is how we recover from autoimmune burnout that is most critical. I can think about how I'm not using my graduate degree; or, I can think about how amazing it is that I was able to earn a master's degree despite the mass of obstacles I've endured in the past couple of years. I can think about how I don't have a career and haven't met my earning potential; or, I can think about the ways in which my current job suits me and allows me the freedom and flexibility to sleep in and see doctors during the week because of my nontraditional schedule.
My fellow autoimmune-disease-suffer said that as our lives slow, we not only heal from years of exhausting our adrenals, but we discover our purpose. And, according to him, it is after that simultaneous healing and finding purpose that we can thrive. When my life is slower, my mind gets quieter. And when my mind is quieter, I stop pushing myself. And I listen to my heart. And I let my body lead. When my life is slow, the first threat of stress immediately gets pushed away. That's how I know I'm not ready. And somehow it's easier to listen to my heart when I know I'm in a season of waiting. The perfectionist, over-achieving tendencies get shelved because I know there is nowhere to push myself. I'm waiting. I'm not ready.
And I think that when I am ready, it won't be my conscious mind pushing me anymore, but my heart guiding me into the happiest, healthiest places where my body knows it will thrive.
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