Day 48: Grace

This past weekend, we made a decision as a family (I'll keep the details vague for now) that turned out not to be a good decision.  A very large part of the reason why it turned out not to be a good decision had to do with the fact that, while I was very clear about the commitment of time and energy that came along with our decision, I hadn't factored in my (new, not-so-improved) stamina levels.  It was one of those situations where a limit that I didn't know I had came and smacked me right in the face. 

It sucked.

I spent quite a bit of time telling myself that I could gut it out.  When the sane voice in my head says, "I can't do this", that voice usually replies, "Of course you can!", which is technically true.  But this time, that small, sane voice in my head agreed that yes, I could, but then asked: what would I have to give up in order to do that?  Because I would.  My energy levels are not inexhaustible.  I mean, they never were, but the limit used to be a lot further out, and it also used to be the case that I could run on reserves for a while and then catch up later.  I don't have the same level of reserves, it turns out.

So we reversed our decision.  And that also sucked.

In all of that, while I did give myself permission and grace to cry uncle rather than gutting it out, I have also done a whole lot of self-denigrating blame.  I haven't given myself much grace.  Other people have stepped in and offered me the grace that I'm struggling with, and in so doing have also offered me a template for what it looks like to think about this through that lens. 

In this sense, I think that this autoimmune diagnosis offers me a chance to (read: insists that I) come to grips with something that I have largely preferred to deny: that life is messy, I make mistakes, I am not in control of everything that happens.

Which also sucks.  But it turns out that living as if those things weren't true comes with its own very particular sort of misery.  The freedom of looking back at this last weekend, and, instead of thinking "man, am I an idiot", getting this tiny glimpse of, "well, life is messy and I didn't see that coming" - it's a very spacious sort of feeling.  (Before my critical voice jumps up and down and insists that I damned well ought to have seen it coming!)  Spacious is good.  Spacious does not suck.

Grace.