I wrote this open letter to my body because I’ve been struggling with my relationship to my pain. My chronic pain has spread and I have wrestled with anger and continuous grief while trying to reevaluate my identity. I also wanted to honor everything my body has been through and done for me. This letter feels like the most honest thing I’ve written in a long time.
Dear Body,
I know. I know you’re hurting. I feel you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you have to hurt. I honestly feel more compassion for you than I do for myself at the moment, because you seem almost outside of me sometimes. I’m sorry that I felt no choice but to separate from you. One of my biggest fears is that my identity will always be wrapped up in you, and I am so much more than any ability I have.
I’m sorry for all the things you’ve had to go through. I know you didn’t ask for all of the painful injections, unpredictable procedures, therapy treatments, and numerous medications, and I know it’s not your fault that you needed them. I realize now that you didn’t get the help you needed, and you had to support the left leg all on your own. Considering that, it’s a miracle you could hold the pain off as long as you did, and I thank you for that.
I resented you for so long. All that you couldn’t do, the fact that you made me different. I didn’t realize how hard you had to work just so I could move with at least some vague sense of normalcy. I didn’t want to work with you because you wouldn’t cooperate with me. All that time I was fighting with you I was really hurting myself.
My frustration with you made me push to the limit at times. Looking back, I’m sorry you had to be on guard. You shouldn’t have to be on guard from me, but I was so determined to prove that you could not hold me back. I chose to push you past your breaking point instead of sacrificing my dignity.
I miss how you used to be, but I also understand that you can’t hide the effort it takes to move anymore, and you shouldn’t be expected to. I know that my chronic pain is simply an alarm you can’t turn off. You’re trying to protect me because you can’t predict what will hurt next, and you want to brace for impact.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that most things come with a price, especially in a body like mine.
The price you had to pay to protect me was pain.
And now the pain signals won’t shut off, but it’s not because we did anything wrong.
The alarm is still there because you did what you had to so I could function.
But you don’t have to protect me anymore. I am no longer the nine-year-old girl I was. I am no longer the stubborn child who resented and pushed every way I could. (Well, maybe I am a little bit.) You can let go now. I’m stronger than I was, and I’m definitely strong enough to know how to protect our physical limits.
I am so innately connected to you that I couldn’t ignore you even if I wanted to (and believe me, sometimes I really want to). I know every scar, every nerve and muscle (even if I don’t know all the names yet) of you and how you react. I am so tuned to your every impulse that it’s like I’ve lived with you for 80 years instead of just 17.
And that’s the key, I guess. I’ve lived with you. You are not my enemy and I am not yours. We’re stuck together on this journey called life, whether I like it or not.
And to be fully transparent, I don’t always like it. This body comes with terms and conditions that I did not agree to. I have lost so much because of the way you are. I have lost the ability to sleep, concentrate, sit for a long period of time, and just to be a carefree teenager. Other people’s bodies do not protect them in ways that sometimes feel more harmful than helpful. Other people do not live in severe pain every day just because of the wiring of their nervous systems. I know it’s not easy to be my body. But I need you to let me go. I need you to trust me.
It’s okay to grieve what you had to do to protect me. I’m sorry for that sacrifice. But you don’t have to hold that burden anymore.
I promise I’m trying to do what’s best for us. You’ve tried to take care of me the only way you know how, and now it’s my turn to take care of you.
I got this. I’m our biggest advocate, and I can’t afford to let you down anymore. More importantly, I am not going to let myself down.
Ainsley