Introduction to Loving Kindness

Too often a side effect to chronic illness is the harsh way we treat ourselves. When we feel poorly, we often think and act poorly. On top of the difficulties we experience, we may feel we are somehow responsible for our illness or feel inept at coping with it. We think perhaps if we were someone else, we would be handling it better. We hear of spiritual masters who can transcend pain, why can’t we? Why do we still need medication? Why can’t we get a job done on time? Why can’t we do the simple task of washing dishes without it overwhelming us? On top of all that, we unconsciously send hateful thoughts to our afflicted body parts: “why won’t you just work?”

We may feel justified with these insidious self-accusations, or secretly believe we deserve the suffering we are enduring. We may wonder if maybe we did something in a past life that we are making up for now in the form of illness. Maybe we did something (or think we did) in this life that we feel is resulting in our present condition. We may even be doing something we know is contributing to our overall lack of health, like eating junk food, or smoking cigarettes.

The simple fact is even if some of these things have any credence, it never makes us feel any better to harangue ourselves. No one’s condition ever improved and no one has ever cured themselves from an illness by critical self-talk. Ask yourself this: would you ever treat a loved one as harshly as you treat yourself?

 

How Are You?

 

For many (say 4) nights in a row I have slept pretty good, for me.  I know if others experienced these nights, would probably have something else to say.  But I’m happy with how I feel.  Wow.  Happy.  That’s a miracle to me.  I almost feel like a “normie” – what I call an able-bodied person.  And yet.  There is also a nervousness in me like I’m looking over my shoulder wondering how long this stretch will last.  Another night?  Please?  The rest of my life?  Please?  I know the last plea is highly unlikely, but I like to hold out for a miracle.

Do you ever have good days?  What do they look like?  Do you get nervous about another shoe dropping like me?

So today I’ll have a “good” day I imagine.  I’ll be more active.  I won’t feel this pressure to act “normal” around others like I usually feel.

Which brings be to this topic: “how are you?”  I’ve come to hate that question.  It makes me feel squirmy.  And sometimes resentful.  Do people really want to know the answer.  Sometimes I bump into others at the local natural food store, people I don’t know really well, but well enough to stop my cart and say hi.  And as usual they ask, “How are you?”.  Sometimes, because I just don’t feel like getting into it, I’ll say “fine” – it’s easier that way.  Sometimes I’ll just shrug my shoulders and make a face which translates into “not so good”.  Sometimes I’ll be bold and say “shitty”.  Sometimes I’ll say, “Right now, I’m good”, which really means “I’m doing my best to stay present because I know when we do everything is pretty much ok that way.” 

But mostly, unless it’s a good friend, I won’t get into the details.  I don’t think most people really want to know the details. They don’t want to know I’ve been awake most of the night and that anxiety, dread and self-hate took over.

I have a good story about this kind of thing though.  Once I was in Safeway and saw a woman from afar, I knew (not well) who had cancer and was going through treatment.  Our eyes met and after that you can’t pretend you didn’t see each other.  So, I waved and smiled and proceeded to push my cart up to her and she shook her head vehemently and turned away.  I received her message loud and clear, that she did not want to interact whatsoever.  I didn’t take it at all personally.  I understood.  And I appreciated her honesty.  Perhaps next time someone I don’t know well asks me how I’m doing and it’s a difficult day for me, I can be just as honest and say something like, “Not well.  And I don’t want to talk about it.  And I don’t want to know how you’re doing because I’m too tired to listen to your story, whatever it is.  I can’t be polite.”  And then walk away. 

What do you think?