Daring to do

I think it’s brave to ‘dare to Do’ when you live with this illness.

To dare to give something a go when your symptoms allow; knowing that there will likely be unsavoury consequences, but always hoping that maybe this time they won’t be so bad.

I didn’t necessarily make the wrong choice today. I just made the choice that would definitely come with consequences.

But I just want to remind anyone who, like me, tells themselves they shouldn’t do anything at all, ever, because they’ll be asking for trouble if they do; we are allowed to dare to do things now and again.

We are allowed to see if we’re now able to read a chapter of the book we started in 2020. We’re allowed to make a phone call to catch-up with a friend, to break the isolation, even though the cognitive exertion comes at a cost. We’re allowed to get dressed into the clothes that made up so much of our identity before pyjamas became our new uniform, even if the only place we’re going to is the living room.

And we don’t have to berate ourselves when the consequences come, even if we did something that we know comes with consequences.

I often have to remind myself that I feel dreadful anyway, so sometimes I might as well do something that will definitely make me feel dreadful because I already feel dreadful… You’ll know what I mean.

Sometimes we’re allowed to try and live a little. I mean don’t go mad now; no cartwheels down the middle of the street or anything. And be realistic! But we can opt for joy over sensibleness now and then, whatever that may look like for us.

For me that was plodding down the garden path. To sit in the winter sun for a little while. And endeavouring not to regret it when my legs decide to stop doing as legs should, as a result, in the next few days.

IMAGE: Anna in pink robin print pyjamas and deer slippers sat on a step. A guinea pig mug is next to her feet.