There are times when, in my head I’m still a healthy and active 21 year old. As I approach another anniversary of becoming ill, these thoughts and feelings are heightened. Graduation season adds to the mix, as I became ill only a couple of months after finishing my degree.
How am I 34, when I was only just 21? It’s bewildering.
Almost 13 years have passed in something of a torrent of grief & confusion. Silver linings have been clutched at wherever possible. Sometimes they come easily, other times it’s more helpful to acknowledge that there aren’t many without grasping at straws.
And yet, while at times I feel I’m still that 21 year old applying for graduate schemes, it is so clear to me that I am not who I was. Everything has changed. Everything. It is weird to feel that you’ve stagnated for over a decade, whilst knowing that in fact so much has changed.
Not all of that change has been unsavoury. ‘The Bonus Years’ with my parents, living at home with them for longer than I likely would have, was such a gift.
I was showered with love and care and support, particularly for the first few years, from friends who have now known me longer with M.E., than they did without it.
I’ve been given an opportunity to accept unconditional love, given purely because good people see me as deserving of it. That’s been a learning curve. To loose everything you thought made you loveable and still have people giving love to you.
It’s my relationship with myself that has altered the most. If nothing else, I have learnt that no-one, absolutely no-one, is still who they were when they were 21. Regardless of health or wellness, life changes. This has been a biggie for me. Change would have happened anyway. I allow myself far more grace, particularly when I make mistakes, than I imagine I ever could have had I not had this life changing experience.
Friendships shift naturally. Goals change. Tastes alter. Views and understanding of the world get updated and replaced. Things and people that were once the centre of everything suddenly aren’t.
Things are different. But different doesn’t automatically mean bad; it just means different.
'M.E. myself and I' by Anna Redshaw 