As the intensive Chronic Pain Management Program came to a close, I realized that that place was my safe zone. I spent six hours a day, four days a week there for six weeks. I spent more hours speaking to the team over the telephone. The safe zone is a difference between having others people supporting you and doing it all by yourself. You can feed off the attention and encouragement of the team in the clinic much like you can from the enthusiasm of well-wishers line in the roots of a marathon. But once removed from either of those situations it gets lonely in a hurry and how much you get through the hard times depended on me. At the start of the program I had a solid support network- team Sam that was ready to help me whenever I allowed. They would jump at the chance to send a text, or a phone call to be there for me. But as the six weeks went on, and the time after this dragged on, Team Sam separated themselves, as things got harder and more adaptations came into place. I had to accept fate during these
Excepting and not surrendering is a three-step process.
First what acceptance isn’t. It isn’t giving up. It isn’t falling prey to the traps of self victimization. And it isn’t living a life of self self deprovation and misery consumed with self-pity. On the contrary acceptance calls for a life of discipline through action. Before I could do anything I had to accept my new reality. This took the first step of two steps. The first is coming to grips with no longer being able to do the things that brought me so much joy. Working in child welfare, camping, skiing, kayaking, writing and reading were gone. These things also defined me to others and to myself. I no longer knew who I was and I did not have an identity anymore. The hardest admission of all was realizing that these losses were final.
This was a hard pill to swallow as I have moved into the second step of acceptance. I still had not completed the first.
The second step with excepting those reels was my abilities that I still had however meager. I still don’t know who I was but perhaps in the rubble of my former self I might find the pieces that could point me in the right direction. To do that I had to be open to any and all opportunities. I had accept what I had lost before I could except what I had left. Both were difficult but once done it freed my mind and body to explore and create new pathways to sell itself.
The third step was not threading and was the easiest and most liberating step of all. I was free to pick up and choose activities that I thought would help me improve. What provided sigma to the community was where I appeared to be at. Whether it was attending Alpha Court, volunteering in my community, attending the Chronic Pain program or the concussion group at Neuro day or the Norwest activities. If it was going to help me, than I would try it. Before the injury, my activities changed with seasons. Although I swam through all these seasons there were some weather dependant activities I enjoyed. I enjoyed the extremes that weather had to offer. I can no longer hurry. If I'm running late I can't drop it into another gear to make up for lost time. That ability is gone. I have only one speed and it wasn’t fast. There were no longer margins of error. I had to increase my prep time and everything. Another big loss for spontaneity. The billet to go anywhere and do anything whenever I wanted. It was a painful, loss. Acceptance was so difficult and the framework I had chosen with which to move ahead before and after paradigm.
I find myself making comparisons between before the onset of the injury when I was healthy and strong and could do anything whenever and wherever I wanted and after the injury had sruck when I could do so very little. It was a natural bit dangerous comparison. It also triggered feelings of embarrassment, shame and guilt. Embarrassment or shame because I hadn't always been more than healthy. However, I was able to control my pain in a way that gave me successful quality of life. My lifestyle reflected on that. I eat well, never smoked or did recreational drugs and exercised. Most of the time it was a good life. The losses I felt guilty before. These were because I wondered if I had done something in my past for which God with settling the score. I know I had been a workaholic and a lot of the lack of healing from the injury steamed from this. At the core I was an optimist but I wasn’t able to generate any positive feelings about my struggle because I would see myself through the lenses of my losses. It was natural to feel disheartened and it fit. How could I feel otherwise. The sentiment was reinforced because I’m also a realist and just couldn’t see any improvement.
I was sabotaging myself, and the harder I tried to see anything upbeat in my situation, the worse I got. Then I'd start to feel guilty, because I didn't think I was trying hard enough to see the good. I didn't realize at the time, but I was reinforcing my own negative self-image and demoralizing the people who had to witness it. It wasn't intentional not on a conscious level, but it was there. I was making life more difficult for myself and for those closest to me. I no longer knew who I was or what I was. I had lost myself, my being. Everything that had once defined me was gone, and I had to redefine myself as an injury survivor; and I didn't know who or what that was. I didn't know if I had survived it yet, or if there was more to come.
When I was at my worst, I couldn't function. This was when I began reading positive materials to replace the self-sabotaging pattern of applying my original "before and after" paradigm. All of this was making my life better, not only for me but also for those around me. My attitude was changing. There was not physical improvement but instead a mental one. My progress instilled confidence, hope and a return of mental toughness and inspired hope. It was definitally hard to let go. I couldn't give up anything until I had exhausted myself pursuing all possible options that could lead to even the slightest improvement. My tank had to be empty. It was only then that I could accept my new reality. It was ironic that being a realist prevented me from seeing anything positive in my earlier paradigm and yet I couldn't have accepted my fate in my new paradigm without being one. It was now confirming my advances, which in turn motivated the optimist in me to work harder. The main outcome of accepting my fate as a disease survivor was the evaporation of the embarrassment, shame and guilt that I had carried. Their weight had been paralysing at times. Being human, I have been subject to mild emotional relapses, but because of my basic acceptance, I recognize them for what they are and stop them before they become threats. I remain vigilant and accept the need for self control to keep moving forward. I had come far, but I had help. Once I had accepted that I was unable to go to work, I progressed. I adopted a new approach to living- if I can't do everything I wanted, then I better do everything I can. I had my faith, as a devoted Christian. my relationship with God became strong with anger mixed in with it.
With acceptance came the openness to what I could be - an open mind curious to question, explore, and discover. I was free to explore activities and interested to see what I could do and to test the limits. More than anything acceptance freed me to challenge my fate, not surrender to it. Acceptance gave me the freedom to see that my disease, no matter what its name, was not my captor. I could discover something about myself or find enjoyment in places yet unknown. My future was up to me, and I had to make a decision to lead or to follow. it would have been easy to remain the victim because it was comfortable however I choose the unknown. We can be our best friend or our worst enemy. The choice is ours.
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