'M.E. myself and I' by Anna Redshaw

It’s a long one, sorry.

In the chronic illness community you’ll likely see posts talking about pushing through, and how the after effects of doing so can be terrible.

I can’t deny that; I’ve been there. But the messaging sometimes troubles me a bit; the implication of choice, even if the choice comes at an unfair and devastating cost.

I think it’s important that people know that there isn’t always the possibility to push through; the option doesn’t always/even exist.

Years ago, we were on holiday and I was able to walk to the nearest cafe. I was confident that I had the capacity, that day, to do so. I planned to rest my legs with a coffee, and walk back. It wasn’t far by non-chronic illness standards.

I was able to walk to the cafe. I was probably chuffed to have been able to do so; part internalised ableism at leaving my mobility aid behind, but also part elation that my once ‘bedbound’ body was doing something that had once seemed silly to even fantasise about.

But the ability to get back from the cafe suddenly evaporated into thin air. The option to grit my teeth and push through to get back was not available.

I was suddenly spent. Completely. Not just a loss of ability to put one foot in front of the other, but a ‘collapse’ of my skeleton, and a loss of speech.

When people talk about how they had no choice but to push through to X Y or Z, or how they wanted to do A B or C so much that you pushed to do so, I think of that day on holiday. And the countless others since.

With the option of pushing through removed, Mr Tree Surgeon had to go back to our accommodation, collect my wheelchair, and come back to get me. We could have waited all day for me to regain some function and I still wouldn’t have been able to do it, trying and pushing with all of my might.

It’s traumatic when your body does this to you, often with no or little notice. I left the holiday accommodation full of confidence that I could manage that walk, and if I couldn’t I was confident that I’d be able to dig deep and push through even if my function/energy/capacity dwindled.

Other everyday examples apply, like performing personal care or preparing meals (hooray for toast am I right!?). Some days, poorlier days when I cannot meet my ‘baseline’, I absolutely do push through to brush my teeth for example, but some days there just isn’t that option and the task remains incomplete.

Some people living with M.E. who are parents are unable to prepare food their children, unable to collect them from school, bath them, or read them a bedtime story. With all the will and might and desire in the world, these things are not possible. No matter how dire financial straits, many people with M.E. cannot “push through” to keep their jobs, even though bills need to be paid. That is not to say that life is fine and dandy for those who do have the choice to ask their body to give that bit more. It’s just important to know that there’s no ‘one size fits all’.