Magical Acceptance

or is it just that I’ve recovered from my trip to Puerto Vallarta?

A few days ago, my struggle with acceptance hit a brick wall; I was there. I’ve suffered with fibromyalgia for a few decades now with severely deteriorating health over the past five years, increasingly debilitating and isolating to the point of being stuck at home mostly. I accept that now. Yeah, I seriously could not grasp acceptance for all these years. Fibro always seemed a foreigner, something I carried around but kept at arm’s length.

I had a painful breakthrough a few days ago, realizing I was sitting in it, the mess of medication-resistant depression with anxiety lurking over my shoulder and the myriad symptoms I experience with fibro. There’s nothing to accept, only to deal with reality, as lousy as it is.

When I shared the outcome of my catharsis with my husband in the stunted speech that sets in under stress, he listened, mostly. I was still crying as I repeated out loud, “This is it. This. is. it.” Wolf couldn’t resist offering, “But there still might be some natural thing…”

Abruptly, and loudly, I interrupted, “NO. No, no, no,” shaking my head back and forth. “I’ve tried EVERYTHING! From supplements, to going vegan, acupuncture… THIS IS IT!”

Wolf persisted, “Maybe something…”

“Let me know when you find it. You do the research.”

And there it is. I can rest. My sister always tells me I’m too hard on myself. As long as I’ve had fibro, 40+ years, I’ve been seeking. What, though, have I been searching for? I denied to myself I would be dealing with all the shit for as long as I live, maybe 25 more years based on family history. 25 more fucking years of this.

You see, inside I’m still me. The Sara from my sunny California 20’s, chasing little boys around 30’s, saying yes too much in my 40’s, and a lovely beginning to my 50’s. Although I knew I had fibro and experienced odd symptoms frequently, I was able to carry on life-ing. That’s me. Not this person who was determined to be disabled due to cognitive fucking difficulties. I used to be smart. The brain drain has been the hardest to own.

Denying it was me being affected rather than some shadow person I couldn’t shake, I was able to hold on to my self. My self wouldn’t have trouble spelling, uncomfortable pauses in my speech while searching for words, or awkward social interactions. These things had been easy. From life of the party to public speaker to director of a crisis nursery, now Social Security determined there is no work I could do. Not, as I’d anticipated, finding my physical limitations alone disqualified me. The emphasis in the administrative law judge’s conclusion was most definitely on my mental shortcomings.

March 13, 2024 began with the death of my mother and included a phone call from my attorney sharing the good news of an SSI finding in my favor. Losing my mom came after a sharp turn in our relationship onto a rocky road. I still feel a bit queasy, thinking of that day 10 months ago now.

The unintended consequence of our travel to Puerto Vallarta was the epiphany that all this shit is with me 24/7/365/for-fucking-ever. While in Mexico, I experienced that wonderful lightness that come with unplugging and having no responsibilities for some glorious days, which I find hilarious because at home I’m not terribly plugged in and my only responsibilities are in the self-care category – making appointments, refilling prescriptions, and whatever attention I pay to my physical and hygienic needs. Still, it was a relief to be away from all of that.

Since I nearly drown in acceptance earlier this week, I feel like a weight’s off. The lightness of spirit I experienced on vacation has returned. It’s not my responsibility to cure my illnesses or turn them back anymore than I’d expect that of someone with chronic kidney failure or diabetes. Yep, this is it. Enough. And I’m feeling better physically, mentally and emotionally. Although, to be sure, it might be a return to baseline after a brutal three-week flare. Either way, I’m enjoying.