Journeys, battles, spoons, and other metaphors

"Think of yourself as a healthy person who just happens to be sick," a doctor told me.

"I've seen many patients like you. You're ambitious and a high achiever. Find some ways to deal with stress, and you'll get better," another said.

Yet another specialist told me, "Stop telling yourself the wrong stories. Keep fighting, and you'll be back to your normal life soon."

So many medical professionals suggested how I should think in those early years of chronic illness. Yet, I struggled to formulate my own words and thoughts. At times, I literally could not speak. It took immense effort to sit up, let alone haul myself to a doctor's office on the other side of campus. I was overwhelmed by full body pain, pressing fatigue, and roiling brain fog (a state of cognitive dysfunction).

A healthy person with a side of sickness? It felt like the infection that had triggered this onslaught had already devoured my body and mind, leaving me a husk of myself.

Battle talk. Normalcy. Monsters and destruction. Language is powerful. Metaphors and stories help us understand our world and circumstances, in the hopes of recognizing ourselves and getting recognition from others. The right words can encourage empathy, assuming that a glimpse of another's experience will lead to compassion.

Great, right? The more metaphors, the merrier? Well... it's complicated.

[#invisiblefight] 30 Things

As part of Invisible Illness Week, I wanted to share a relative snapshot of my illness and a bit of what the day to day is like. I can be particularly wordy (despite being a Twitter user ... those restrictive 140 characters), so it was hard to keep my responses to a minimum. But I did my best to not write a novel! (Novel writing is a task for November...)

The meme below is a II Week and Rest Ministries initiative. I tried to answer as candidly as possible, editing my responses in some places but trying to keep what first came to mind. If I were to fill this out tomorrow, I might give a different response -- all of them true. Every question is the tip of an iceburg.

I'd encourage you to fill one out for yourself and to read others' responses. They're little windows into a life that otherwise might remain, well, invisible.