recovery comes in waves

I’m turning 24 in seven days, and I’m so grateful that a year has gone by.

I’m not sure if this sounds odd or not…

It’s a comfort to me this year to have that definitive marker that some time has passed, and that I’m farther away from where my life stood not that long ago.

I’m doing really, really well. The focus of my thoughts has shifted from neuro rehab, specifically, to recovery and moving forward because...well, that’s where my own life has been. I don’t want to say that I’m 100% better because with Tourette Syndrome and all that goes with it, and even a remitted case of FND, there are always going to be things that I struggle with. But I do not see any of these as things that are inherently disabling or life-ruining, as opposed to how I had felt about the worst of my symptoms as I was going through them.

No, I’m okay now.

But where I find myself these days is still a strange new place that I’m not always sure how to deal with.

We’ve all heard of the stages of grief. What I’ve been realizing is that there are stages to recovery, too.

Even when you’re miraculously delivered from a trial, it doesn’t erase that the hardship ever happened. Even when it’s over there are emotions and experiences that one has to sort through. I think that some of these don’t even have space to really come to the surface to be addressed until the experience they stem from has ended. This is why, I think, despite my being in such a different place in life than I was last year and doing so well, there are still days when I experience difficult emotions. And I still have a lot of anxieties...I’m better, but sometimes I don’t believe it. It’s like, sometimes I think part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course I try not to give too much credence to these thoughts. I think they’re natural and I don’t want to beat myself up for having them, but they’re not exactly helpful. But knowing that doesn’t get a thing out of my head, either. I’ll admit, there are days when I still have bad anxiety over my own level of reclaimed competence, as well as the lingering possibility of a relapse.

The other side of this is the elation at realizing what I’ve overcome. I wrote an article about a piece of this experience before (you can find that here).

I find that even as I settle into my routines and get used to being well, there are moments when I still become completely overwhelmed by how far I’ve come. “I did the impossible!”, a voice shouts across my mind. And this is true, in a sense. I was existing for a while at the precipice of a horrible depression, brought on by an even worse illness that threatened to steal everything I had ever held dear. It took my legs, my voice, my music, my confidence, and even my mind. Sometimes it felt like it took my very essence over and replaced it with a shell of who I once had been. And THAT - not just an illness, but THAT - is what I beat. For over a year I battled against the voice telling me to give up when it seemed hopeless, and then I grasped the first shred of hope I saw and fought tooth and nail to get better. And I did it. When I think about it, the gravity of it all - and the gratitude I feel for my life, and where it is now as opposed to then - brings tears to my eyes. Very real, literal tears. It happens at funny times. Sometimes, obviously, I might be telling someone my story. But sometimes I’m just walking down the street, and I think “wow, it’s really nice to be able to walk on my own”. Sometimes I’m singing in church and it hits me that that’s something I couldn’t do before. Once it hit me when I was cooking for myself, and another time when I was just driving down the road.

For a while I thought that the wonder of recovery might fade, but now I don’t think it will. I think I might get more used to it...but something tells me that sometime thirty years from now I might be driving down the road and remember suddenly what it felt like to be behind the wheel for the very first time after getting well. I think I’ll probably cry then, too, even so far from now.

This part of recovery isn’t something that I expected. Why would being well be so overwhelming?

I’m not sure. But, I’m ok with it.

Going through something like I went through leaves its mark on people. It’s natural to need to process that.

And I do believe that humans’ capacity to feel pain, as ugly and horrible as it can be, is mirrored by our ability to feel immense joy.

Both are meant to point us towards something greater - life is about so much more than dealing with each challenge as it occurs, or moving on as quickly as we can once it’s passed. Anything I experience - good or bad - points to the majesty of a Creator who in his divinity saw fit to make me a person capable of having that depth of experience, and of feeling the magnitude of both the highs and lows that I’ve been through. And it points to the coming of something greater. My pain is a reminder that this world is not as it ought to be - it is broken, as my body was broken, and as Christ’s body was also broken. My joy is but a small foretaste of the immense peace that is coming. No matter if they are cured in this lifetime or not, no pains or troubles will last forever. Someday I will know perfect joy that comes not in waves that incapacitate, but as a state of perfection that cannot be marred by the brokenness we know all too well here.

So, I do not begrudge myself these feelings. And I do not, generally, hold onto anger about the experiences that brought them on.

But...I am also ready to go back to normal - however “normal” looks for me, now. I’m not sure about that yet but I’m figuring it out. I appreciate the journey that I’ve been on but I’m ready for the next chapter. I’m optimistic, and I’m grateful - so very grateful - but I’m tired. It’s been a long road.

So, I’m looking forward to turning 24. Celebrating this birthday - really celebrating, unlike last year where it was such a painful thing to acknowledge the passing time at all - seems a fitting way to put a final stamp of completion on this phase of my life.

Of course, I’m still the same person, and I’m going to have continued struggles. I’m sure that these things will still affect me. But I’ll be figuring that out in the next chapter. And I’m so very ready to turn that page.