Everything fell apart.
But, it really had to. They say disease, sickness, injury come to show us what we are ignoring. Or at least show us where we are in disharmony. For me, Graves made me sit down. Literally.
I sat on my couch for months because even the slightest of strain or excitement made my heart race out of my chest. Getting up to go to the bathroom for example. Getting upset at a sad movie. Climbing stairs. Dwelling on negative things in my life. All equaled chest pains and tachycardia.
It’s really the most vulnerable I have ever felt, my heart a timid bird in its cage of ribs, fluttering.
So, I sat. And sat. And my life stopped.
Up to then I had always been a busy-bee. If not busy enough then doing make-work projects that burdened me with a lot of extra stress, my fuel. I worked-out a lot. I had a small child plus nannied another. I liked drama and was often inundated with negative thoughts about people in the my life – conflicts that I shied away from only came up later in my psyche as things I never said. I was thin and never ate enough – never had the time to learn how to cook, or any interest. I was malnourished and aching for sleep, after not sleeping for the first three years of my baby’s life (some babies are just like that).
Grave’s made my hair fall out, wasted away my muscles and made my joints achy. I felt weak and exhausted all the time. My anxiety went through the roof, bordering on postpartum OCD, repetitive thoughts of carnage and gore destroying my peace of mind.
I was terrified my baby would die or be horribly injured. After three years I rarely left the house. My intimate connection with nature, severed.
The heart stuff came last, like a final blow. It said, ‘Sky we’ve all had enough of this bullshit. You must now take heed, we are breaking.’ Even my hair falling out didn’t stop me. My heart though… my poor wretched heart.
So, I began a journey two years ago to heal myself, after a lifetime of bad habits, late nights and starvation, not only of my body, but my soul, my spirit and of course my dear heart – starved for sustenance, connection, overwhelmed with grief and yes, broken.
In this blog I want to tell the story of how I have come to be healed. It’s been a journey! One I am really proud of.
Friends these days comment on how well I am looking. And people have been asking what I’ve been doing. So this is the intro to a series of posts I want to write to discuss the journey. I hope it can help some others who have Grave’s, or any autoimmune malfunction. My methods are definitely unconventional, as always :), but they have worked. I left no stone unturned in my search for the answers that would actually save my life.
Number one was my adamant denial of victimhood. That’s me on the starting line before the flags drop. I hated being ill and I refused to believe it wasn’t fixable even when doctors told me it wasn’t. I firmly believe in the resources of the body and it’s ability to fix itself, if we are able to meet it half-way.
We are a team, my body and I, for the first time. It’s a new and hesitant partnership. My heart loyally, diligently beats at the centre of it like a beacon, or like a light at the end of the tunnel.
See part two of this story here
Featured image “The Heartache” by Christian Schloe