The Lyme Disease Battles People Don't See

We all have our battles. No one is immune. No battle is more or less than another. We all have things we have to work on, with or around each day. Whether you are dealing with stress, a mental illness, a physical illness, a chronic illness or whatever it is that you deal with, we all have something. My intent here is not to minimize anyone else’s battle nor to make it a competition, or illicit pity or sympathy. My intention here is to open the doors to awareness of the battles people may not see.

As a former health coach, I also know how for some trains of thought the mere mention of the word “battle” is preposterous. It’s like throwing toxic mercury around on an organic farm for some people. When we “battle” something, it can create a stress response. I’m well aware. I’ve done EFT. I’ve studied all the different ways we can approach our “opponents.”  I also know it’s also OK to battle something if we choose, as long as we don’t battle our own body. Our immune system battles invaders all the time, so for me, I’m perfectly OK with the whole “battle” analogy used in the right mindful context. In meditation, I’ve learned to “befriend” all that which I used to push away or judge or criticize, so maybe that’s why it’s so much easier now for me to be more open about my journey. Maybe all those years of meditation practice are finally starting to pay off? Maybe?

OK, back to the topic. If you haven’t seen my other pieces of writing, I have Lyme disease along with mold toxicity and coinfections, and it is affecting me greatly neurologically. It’s a miracle I’m even writing at this point, which by the way, is hard for me to do. I fight battles every day that people don’t see. Battles I never expected to ever have to face.

 

The first picture of me is from not too long ago one morning, about an hour before I was to speak with a colleague of mine over the phone. I was in horrendous pain, and I mean horrendous pain. I could not take it anymore. My brain and spine hurt so bad I could do nothing but wail and cry in pain. I let myself feel all the feels, and then pulled myself (mostly) together for a phone call.

The second photo, well, there was so much inflammation in my brain it hurt to just exist and I couldn’t do anything but cry in excruciating pain.

This is only a tiny fraction of what the world does not see of those of us who battle these so called “invisible” illnesses. Mine likes to show its face every now and then when I can’t walk properly, or talk properly, or feed myself properly, or when I have a seizure or when I’m having tremors or spasms, or when I can’t do regular human things I so wish I could do again right now.

It doesn’t mean this is my forever, it just means, this is my right now, and my right now isn’t always visible to others. It’s a catch 22 sharing your
story. However, I do know that when we share, it somehow teaches others in some way, and if I can teach someone something, then I have done my job.

I’m learning that suffering has become my greatest teacher in so many ways. I hope to write an article about that one next.

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