This week marks 14 years of M.E. for me. It is unfathomable that I’ve been unwell for 14 years. That is such a long time. I feel quite numb about it all this year.
Every year on the anniversary of the first medical appointment I had for what we soon knew to be M.E. I mark the day. I wallow if I want to. I cry if I want to. I basque in a level of pride if I want to. I pat myself on the back if I want to. And is always eat cake. With candles. Because why on earth not hey?! No-one gives you a medal for this particular ‘endurance event’ but that doesn’t mean they aren’t deserved.
The summer of 2010 was such a happy one. I can remember feeling that at the time; it’s not just me looking back on my last healthy summer with rose-tinted glasses.
So much has happened since then, but so much is exactly the same. I’ve got married, bought a house, become an Aunty…but the main, and constant, theme of the last 14 years has been M.E. Boiling an egg by myself is still cause for celebration and is still noteworthy. I still somehow feel frozen in time; a version of myself will be that 21 year old forever.
14 years is a long time to have been ill. But it’s also a long time to have been aware of what this illness truly is; what it does to peoples lives, mine and yours and millions of others. That’s heavy. And when you’re living it yourself, there’s little escape.
It is truly incredible what you’re able to normalise.
Recently, I’ve noticed that I have been letting other peoples experiences, posts and stories undermine and invalidate my own. There’s a balance to be found between having and raising awareness of others and letting that drown out my own story.
I need to refind some balance with regards to the imposter syndrome, staying aware of my privileges, whilst not invalidating my own experience.
I made a wish along those lines for navigating this next year. Contentment. Peace. Acceptance. All far more attainable than recovery or good health.
'M.E. myself and I' by Anna Redshaw 