Now up at You Don’t Look Sick, Ang: “From ‘I Don’t Work’ to ‘I Can’t Work’” an essay which resonated because it has my life written all over it.
The variation in our case is that I’d planned, at this point in my life, to be homeschooling my hypothetical youngest children — which children don’t exist because nineteen years ago the first in a long string of weird-and-disabling health problems started popping up in my life, and though each resolved in turn, just when we’d think the coast was clear something new and even more disabling would emerge.
Meanwhile, financially we followed the pre-existing plan, relying on the spouse’s career to make it possible for me to be home doing family stuff, except that instead of homeschooling my job oscillates between okayish-housewife and less-useful-than-the-cat.
We’ve given serious thought to my getting a job anyway, but the opportunity cost would be too high: I’d be using my limited energy and attention at the office, instead of focusing on being present to my family and on stewarding my health as much as possible.
Major recipe for imposter syndrome. This was me, reading the “From ‘I don’t work’” essay and the comments on it this morning:
That is so me!
Well actually is it me? Those people are really sick! Am I really sick? What about yesterday?
Where are the industrial ear muffs? I need to grind coffee because I desperately need stronger caffeine after doing two whole things yesterday and then sleeping for ten hours, but I can’t work the espresso machine in the presence of loud noise right now because I am too tired for that, my brain is not that advanced.
They were right where I keep them, because hello this is not a new problem. Coffee acquired, writing commenced, albeit laying on my back because sitting up is not where we’re at.
Also, I’m currently watching the weather to see if I can make good on the single physical task I’ve pledged to do this afternoon, floating in my sister’s neighborhood pool, because if it’s below ninety the “cold” will suck up way too much energy. I am in menopause and won’t even feel it, my body is quite good at generating heat, but the marginal amount of energy I have on offer to fund that process will cause me to lose at least a day or two, maybe more, recovering from the energy-expenditure.
Regular people, I’ve heard, can just go to the pool for an hour without carefully calculating how many days they will need to bounce back from that effort.
The confusion is that my good is really good.
At the annual neurologist appointment next week I’ll ask if my very infrequent incidents of randomly falling over when my ankle spontaneously declines to operate is a just one of those things or actually a problem; I preemptively got evaluated by a local PT to rule out orthopedic stuff, and yep, said ankle is just fine. I went back for an exercise session just to be double-sure, and it was entertaining because they have all the fun toys there, but I was not able to have difficulty doing any of the balance or strength activities.
It is like this because instead of working what would have to be a necessarily mindless-and-sedentary office job and then never ever going to float in the pool, I prioritize strength training, including balance stuff, as much as I can.
=> I pretty much live like a fitness bro tweaking every single marginal gain I can possibly extract from this derelict body of mine, except that I am extracting it from a body that cannot actually go to the gym three days a week; my to-do lists are my most vividly unhinged works of fiction ever.
Other people my age are not doing this. They are working their full-time jobs, and then some of them are staying fit and healthy with all the extra energy and focus they still have left over for evenings and weekends. Others are falling apart rapidly, either from diseases different from mine or from chosen neglect.
The people who are sicker, or differently-sicker, than me generate imposter syndrome because of course I am less-sick. For which I’m grateful!
Meanwhile, the number of people in their fifties who just don’t practice getting up off the floor, even though they genuinely could, and therefore are losing the ability, lead to the, “You’re healthier than I am! I couldn’t even get up from that chair!” And I mean, yes, I guess maybe I am. I probably have better numbers on all kinds of measures of health.
And then many of these people will decide to get back in shape after some kind of serious health scare, and just like that they will be off doing crazy exploits like going to the gym three days a week, and I will be very happy for them but no amount of my resolving to emulate them will make me able to do so at will.
I could get a remission that lets me do that. It’s happened before, hopefully it will happen again. Yet more imposter-fueling. But I can’t just decide to do it and thus make it happen.
And yet we’ll know it’s a good remission because one day I’ll do a thing, as now I do things. Except the next day I will be fine and do another thing, and it will just steadily go on like that better and better and better, and I’ll be pretty darn normal until it all just grinds to a halt again, sorry, done.
These days I don’t have a whole lot of opinions about this situation.
I flounder, though, with the “what do you?” question and its variations. The baby’s in college, so I’m not a stay-at-home-mom anymore. I’m a terrible housewife, so even if that were a socially acceptable answer it wouldn’t really hold up. Usually I mumble something about doing a little writing.
“I’m really sick except yes I’m physically more capable than many of my peers I just get tired faster and catch infections more easily and sometimes I watch really, really weaksauce movies and that’s how I gage my cognitive function, by what level of insipid I find entertaining?”
If I’m out in public doing things, it’s because I feel good. I am an optimistic person. I literally forget the low points when I’m doing fine. If it’s not in front of my face, it doesn’t exist.
So it’s like double-imposter syndrome. I’m confused about why I can’t seem to accomplish much because how bad can this situation really be, but actually I won the disease lottery and therefore I’m just really good at faking normal.
Welcome to new subscribers. FYI there are several quite different subsections to One Soul at a Time now, so in your settings if you want the chronic illness chat, that’s the “How’s It Going, Jen?” section. All content is free to read; combox is a perk for sponsors. Feel free to ping me on Notes, though, I’m not avoiding people, just avoiding moderating a combox. Because I don’t have that kind of energy.
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