Knowing Your Worth
What happens when you survive the things that felt monumental just a short time ago? When you spend some time at your own rock bottom, the emergence feels like a second chance. A second chance to savor all the good moments. To love on your support system a little harder. To do all the things you wanted to do. To live in a deeper and more meaningful way.
A little over a year ago, I was recovering from my CSF leak. I was in the beginning of a serious worsening of my dysautonomia, a result of deconditioning from the bed rest during my leak. I was in the diagnostic process to find out that I had a small fiber neuropathy and a hypermobility disorder. I was exhausted, sick, and overwhelmed. I worried that there might be a time where I couldn’t work anymore. I worried that people in my circle would get tired of my health issues. I worried that I wouldn’t get to do the hobbies I loved most anymore. I worried that I would never be able to live an active lifestyle again. I worried that the person I was dating would use my illnesses as a reason to not be with me.
It was amazing and freeing, though, to realize that none of that matters at all when it comes to my mental health and my sense of self-worth. That we are inherently worthy of dignity and respect, even in the midst of the worst-case scenario. I spent so much time and energy feeling like less of a person because of my health issues. Like more of a burden with every new note on my medical chart. Even before all of that, I didn’t exactly have the strongest confidence in myself, so the string of health crises felt soul-crushing. I cried so many tears. I let other people in my life make me feel like I was a burden. I let a partner make me feel like I was a burden. The period of stabilizing health after all that chaos came with the realization that it wasn’t just my physical health that I was fighting for anymore. I needed to work on myself and my surroundings. My current lifestyle was sucking the life out of me, and I desperately needed to learn to love myself, unconditionally and unapologetically.
I started therapy. I left a long-term relationship that was not supporting or serving me. I leaned into the platonic friendships with the people who were kind and supportive and loving. I cut out the people who treated me with anything less than the dignity that I deserve. I went back to hobbies that brought a fire to my soul. I cannot put into words the way that this second chance transformed my life. I started to breathe lighter. Feel happier. Be fulfilled by the things and the people in my life. Other people who cared about me started to take notice too. They could see a new joy in me that hadn’t been there for a long time.
When I started dating again for the first time in years, I did so with the confidence that I would not accept anyone less than someone who loved everything about me, even the flaws. I did so, knowing that I could be perfectly happy on my own, and I would only allow someone into my life that added to that. I was approaching life with a level of confidence and respect for myself that I’d never known before then.
Who would have thought that hitting rock bottom with my physical health and scraping my way back to some semblance of normal would be the thing that really challenged me to be a better version of myself, in more ways than one? I think it’s natural for issues with our physical health to chip away at our self-esteem and self-love, but I also think it’s so powerful when we are able to work beyond that to see that our value as people has nothing to do with our physical well-being. To buck society’s notion that chronic illness somehow makes us “less than” or “damaged goods” or a burden. To surround ourselves with people who love us whole-heartedly for who we are. It dramatically changed my life for the better. It can be scary to take that first step to change your life, but oh my. It is so worth it down the road. If you are needing to take that step, I hope you find the courage to dive head-first into it.
Chronically yours,
Jen
