When someone becomes chronically ill, aside from the obvious changes to their life, there are sometimes other impacts that may not be quite so obvious. They may creep up on them, those around may not quite realise the severity or assume the change is an obvious consequence to their health.
The change I’m referring to today is their ability to feel joy. And not just feel it, but to accept it, embrace it and want it. That last one may seem a bit strange, but bear with me on this because it really is coming from a place of experience.
I’ve mentioned before that last year I had a therapy session, in fact I had many, that were focused on joy and fun. My sorrow at feeling like I’ve missed out on so much fun, that when I am better will I have missed it entirely? Will those around me, whose lives have continued, still want to repeat the fun with me when I am better able? We of course deep dived as we always do and got down to the root of the issue. This particular session started with ‘I don’t know how to feel joy anymore’. Later after much tapping my therapist asked ‘what stopping you from feeling joy?’ And without consideration my response was ‘I don’t think I deserve to’. A terribly sad statement, wouldn’t you say?
Of course, I know I deserve to feel joy and have fun. At least, I do now. But in that moment, and for many before, I didn’t believe I deserved joy. How could I possibly accept any joy into a life that is so surrounded by suffering? How could I allow my suffering and darkness the opportunity to taint the joy? How could I enjoy fun knowing the consequences it would have? So I subconsciously decided that joy didn’t have a place at my table. That’s what I mean when I said about not wanting to feel joy.
For those who have never felt this it may be incredibly hard to understand. I expect many who suffer depression might have an idea of what I’m talking about. Those who don’t know may assume their loved one is a bit down about their health and may not be in the mood to laugh. But how long can that excuse remain valid? I mean of course it is valid, but I mean at what point does it become a greater concern?
My goal, and it’s a very simple one, is to ensure that each day I get a dose of joy or fun. It can be as simple as sharing a meme, laughing when I see friends (truly laughing!) or playing with the babies, children and dogs in my life. All these things I can get my recommended 10cc of daily joy. I currently accept that fun has to be tailored to my health, and I continue to process the grief of that. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t bake with friends, do messy science experiments in the garden with god goddaughter, arts and crafts with friends or a zoom session with members of UKCVFamily. Dark humour brings me joy, and it is often in the most inappropriate times. But I don’t care, because if anyone deserves to make a sick joke at bad timing, especially if it’s about my health, then it’s me and anyone else who’s suffering.
I can feel my suffering and the grief and remorse that comes with that. I can feel my sadness and sit it. I can do some tapping and tell myself ‘I’m ok, I’m safe, and I love and accept myself exactly how I am’. It’s hard, it’s really fucking hard. Some days more than others. But I can now accept joy too. My loved ones are all willing to share joy with me and have fun at a level that I can manage.
I just want to say that this path is not easy. I’ve had health issues since I was a young teenager, but this situation that floored me happened 32 months ago and I’m still learning. I’m literally talking about a healing process that has only led me to accept joy in the last few months. Joy is new to me all over again, like the first time your kids laugh at a fart. I’m 30 and I’m suddenly that kid again, laughing at all the farts. (Not that farts ever stopped being funny to me!)
I’m incredibly lucky to have the support I do and to feel so much love. I know not everyone is quite so lucky so I hope my writing and sharing these battles helps others. Not just others suffering, but to give a voice to those suffering that can perhaps give their loved ones an insight to the internal battle they’re having. The greatest advice I could give is to give space for all your feelings, each one is valid, but remember that everyone is deserving of joy. Laugh at the fart. And maybe if you’re reading this and thinking of a loved one then perhaps arrange a little fun that is manageable for them. Help them remember that they can still have fun, it just looks and feels a little different now.
A friend shared a quote with me this morning that really resonated and explains why I write all this babble and share it so openly. Thank you Tracy.
I recover out loud so those that suffer in silence can see the threads of hope woven among those of pain.
JD Lynn