Moments of Trust

These last few months, my body has been begging me for a change. Since the summer, I've been falling into flare-ups constantly, two weeks in, two weeks out. Just when I think I'm out, just when I gear up to go back to aerial, I find myself back in a flare. 

It has been very upsetting. And as I find myself rendered more and more inactive, I am increasingly becoming angry at my body and dissatisfied with the cards I drew in the game of life.

Here's the thing. I struggled with an eating disorder in the past. I have overcome the harmful behaviors, but you never really overcome the painful thoughts. As many times as I look in a mirror and find part of me that I like, as many times as my friends make clear how much they appreciate me, and my husband tells me he loves me, as many "likes" as I get on the glorified photos I post on social media, I still find myself full of hatred toward my body and, by extension, toward myself. It is trickling into my daily thoughts and rattling my interactions with people. It makes me doubt myself and at times makes me want to avoid social situations.

The cycle of constant flare-ups is impacting much more than just my physical body. So I realized I need to make changes and find solutions to reduce the frequency and intensity of my flare ups. After a two-month break from physical therapy, I returned to my PT to try to build strength to support my unstable joints. I've stopped eating any processed or added sugars, in hopes of reducing overall inflammation and countering the inevitable weight gain when my body does not receive constant, high-level exercise. My rheumatologist and I came up with a plan including increasing my naproxen dose, using a topical anti-inflammatory cream, introducing a medication to reduce centralized pain, and trialling CBD products (thank you, California). I will schedule an appointment with yet another gastroenterologist to see if there are any options to reduce my digestive struggles and massive bloating. Most importantly, after truly coming to terms with the fact that my body is unable to handle the physical demands of my job, I am working with my boss on strategies to change the nature of some of my work hours to be less of a physical strain on my body.

Having a plan to move forward is important. But the true problem, the deep, inner source of this hatred toward my body, is that I do not trust it. I live in it every day, I see it in every mirror, every downward glance, I use it constantly. But I do not trust my body. 

I do not trust that it will respond correctly to the medications. I do not trust it to slim down and drop weight from eating even more healthily than my already mostly-healthy habits. I do not trust my legs to support me through a day of walking around a zoo. I do not trust my autonomic nervous system to regulate my temperature and blood pressure. I do not trust my joints to stay in place through exercise or even walking across a room. I do not trust my brain to stay alert and clear of brain fog as I go through my day. I do not trust my digestive system to function properly or predictably. I do not trust my body to work as it should. And walking around with this mistrust is eating away at me.

Sometimes, my body is able to do amazing things, and I appreciate those days and activities greatly. Today, my friends invited me to the beach for a workout and hanging out. I initially said no - when I woke up, my back hurt, my ankles hurt, my wrist hurt, and I just felt like spending hours in bed. But then after some rest and some encouragement from my husband, we went to join our friends at the beach. I played around on the Lyra at the beach, practiced my ankle and pelvis stability exercises in the sand, and did some shoulder and core strengthening on the rings. I even brought my old gymnastics wrist guards and tried a few handstands. I could not do everything that I sometimes can, with my wrist aching a few handstands in and my shoulder protesting some skills on the Lyra, but I did plenty. I felt good. When I tweaked my ankle coming down from a balance beam, I was annoyed but I did not feel shattered.

I still do not trust my body. But in those moments that I use it actively, especially when I fly, I forget for a minute what I can't do. The result is not always so great once the adrenaline is gone. But to keep myself sane, happy, and hopeful, it is worth it. I need those minutes of freedom from my limitations, when my body can do what I like to do. And maybe, through the good days, and through the moments that my body does what I ask it to do, I can learn to trust it again.