To Be Honest

A lot of what we post on social media is the best parts of our lives. Photos of fun and happy times scroll across our screens, especially on holidays. When going through a particularly tough Thanksgiving day, I got to thinking about how an honest portrayal of my Thanksgiving would go over on social media.

To be honest, I spent a good deal of Thanksgiving day in tears and/or in bed. The previous thirty-six hours, including a nearly eight hour overnight drive from Connecticut to Pennsylvania, was hectic. By Thursday morning, the unpacking and getting settled in, catching up with family, sorting out sleeping arrangements and setting up airbed, taking trip to the store, and providing three meals and snacks for eight people the previous day on no sleep was taking its toll. Wracked with pain, I couldn't move without experiencing such pain that it brought tears to my eyes. Exaustion and out-of-whack hormones exacerbated everything. I barely made it through Thanksgiving dinner before I could no longer even attempt to act as if everything was fine. I couldn't think straight. I could barely keep my eyes open. The pain was unbearable.

Not wanting to make a scene or disrupt others' Thanksgiving experiences ... and simply because I just needed to lay down immediately ...I called my husband into the bedroom in which we were staying to ask if he could sort out a change in sleeping arrangements that was confusing me and to let him know that I just couldn't pretend to be a functional person anymore and needed to rest. All this said through sobs, as I struggled immensely with the pain that enveloped me.

As often happens to people trying to cope with chronic pain, my isolation and tears were taken as me being upset or angry with someone at best, or me being overemotional and throwing a fit at worst. My wonderful husband did his best to explain that I was simply overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion and needed rest. And that I can't simply take pain medication to feel better because I can't take pain medication, and even if I could, the amount needed to actually relieve my pain would be unhealthy. That someone can actually be in so much pain that they can't think, can't cope with everyday situations, can't function.

I got some rest. I regained my ability to deal with the pain. And I went on to have a fantastic time in the days that followed. We explored caves and cavers, saw a Christmas light display, did a bit of shopping, watched Christmas movies, played games, and had great conversations. And I was in pain the entire time - the kind of pain that lands most people in the emergency department. 

To be honest, people don't want to hear the honesty. The don't or won't or can't believe it. It's difficult to accept that someone you care about has to go through life in so much pain, every single day. It's not pleasant to think about, and we'd all rather ignore that fact and go on with our lives.

But here's the thing. When I don't live every day honest about my pain, people around me assume I'm ok, or feeling better, or not in so much pain. When I am honest about my pain, people treat me differently, wary of including or inviting, as if I'm too fragile to participate in life ... or they doubt or dismiss my pain as insignificant, in the process accusing me of exaggerating or making excuses.

To be honest, I don't care what others think anymore. I just want to be belived about my pain, and not looked on negatively when I decide to share the reality of my life with others. Just because I live life in pain, doesn't mean my life is miserable. It is prehaps because of life's difficulties that I'm able to experience such great joy in life.