Therapy Taught Me to Grieve Things While I'm Still Alive (And it's a Great Thing)

Softness Isn't a Survival Skill

Why Healing isn't Linear, and Comfort Doesn't have to be Earned.

There's a quiet kind of grief that lives in the body when you're chronically ill. It's not loud, like mourning. It's not public, like a funeral. It's the grief of waching yourself change in ways that you didn't choose to.

You grieve the energy you used to have. The way clothes used to fit. The way you used to be able to walk through a store or take a shower without an issue. The foods your body can't handle anymore. Life's biggest spontaneity, the independence, and you're just expected to be resilient. "Push Through!" "Stay Positive!" "Do the work and you'll feel better!" "Have you tried Magnesium or a nap?"

But if you want to know the truth? It's that: Sometimes, Survival looks like Softness.

Healing Doesn't Always Look Like Therapy Appointments and Journaling Prompts:

I am the first to admit that I see an amazing therapist once a week. I do my therapy homework, I journal, I take anti-anxiety medication, trust me, I know that therapy works. and I know that therapy can handle the things that are sometimes WAY larger than we can handle. And that's okay! Therapy is a wonderful resource, and it's incredible for people to have. It is life changing. However, it's not the only path to healing, and it may not be accessible (or right) for everyone. Not everyone is a therapy person, and that's okay!!

Sometimes, the most powerful form of self care is lying under a weighted blanket and letting yourself feel sad without needing to explain it to anyone else in your life. Maybe it's reading the same page of a book or crocheting the same stitch for hours. Maybe it's taking a long, hot shower because it's the only thing that will keep your joints from screaming, even if you have to sit down in the shower. Healing can look like sitting in silence with someone who doesn't need you to perform. Healing can look like crying in the front seat of your best friends car, talking about everything that you can together. Healing can look like walking away and taking time to heal from a situation. Not all care is clinical. Some of it is warm, quiet, and deeply personal.

Living in an Ever-Changing Body is it Own Kind of Grief

There's a kind of grief that doesn't come from death, but from the loss of yourself. And that grief is very real. And that grief is very hard to deal with.

When you're chronically ill, your body often stops becoming predictable. You may wake up in the morning and feel like you have all the energy in the world, only to take a shower and have none of it anymore. You could have an easy day, having very little to no pain at all, and then you eat dinner and suddenly your body feels like it's a million pounds, that weird stomach pain you don't have an explanation for is back, and you're dizzy. So, so, dizzy. But that grief doesn't mean you're failing, it simply means that you're human. Congratulations, you got to love something enough to grieve it when it changed.

Softness gives you room to grieve without rushing to fix it. You can rest without needing to "earn it", did you know that? You can exist in the body that you have, without punishing it for what it can't or won't do today.

Sometimes, Softness Looks Like Letting Go

There are people who don't understand this version of you. The tired version. The slower version. The one who has to set boundaries. The one who has to cancel plans a lot. The version of you that is new and still just as real as the old version of you, some people cannot comprehend that change. That is not your fault.

You don't have to explain your grief to the people who demand that you have to get over it or get better. A lot of people simply don't understand that the "Chronic" in "Chronic Illness" means that things are constantly changing, they're constantly evolving, they're always new and they're always different. When you get diagnosed with a chronic illness, you will more than likely hear very common phrases like: "Have you tried (fill in the blank here with a new detox of sorts)?" "There's ALWAYS something new that's wrong with you!" (Yes... that's what CHRONIC ILLNESS MEANS, JANE) "Something new bothers you every day" (Well, I constantly have all of these symptoms at once, I can just feel this one a little more than the others today, so I'm going to be a little vocal about it. Trust me, I'm annoyed too). I have so many, I could go on for hours. But a lot of people don't recognize that we're trying our best too. We're just as annoyed with ourselves as you are with us, we promise.

Either way, you don't owe access to anyone who treats your softness like a flaw. Sometimes healing means not going back, even if part of you still wishes you could. And sometimes, that kind of distance is the kindest thing you can offer yourself.

You Deserve Care Right Now, Not After You're "Better"

You don't have to wait until you're high functioning or optimistic to treat yourself with gentleness. And you don't have to be in therapy to be growing. But most importantly, you don't have to be done grieving to be worth showing up for.

Softness isn't a weakness, it's a form of resistance. It's a way of saying: "I'm still here. I still matter. Even like this." And that, in itself, is enough.

Peace, Love, and All the Above,

Ella Marie <3