Empathy and Struggle

Deep thoughts today.

Someone once told me that empathy, which is “The ability to understand and share the feelings of another,” was technically not possible, and they are correct. We honestly cannot climb into the mind/body of another and share what they truly feel.

However, we do understand similar experiences, and we share their feeling through our own lens of feelings and experiences. Even when we lack a similar experience, we can feel similar grief and pain for them, amidst the onslaught of life changing events, because maybe we have experienced grief and pain of a different type before, with grief and pain being the common denominator. We do not have to exactly feel what they feel to have empathy, because we understand it and feel it through our own experiences and feelings on their behalf.

It can be important to make the distinction, however, between someone else’s feelings and our own, when it comes to negativity directed at us. We do NOT have to exactly feel what they feel, but we can understand it and feel it based our own experience on their behalf, thanks to what they have directed at us. But this is not sharing feelings in a good way, if their feelings are negative. When someone has lashed out and criticized us, we may be left feeling every sharp word directed at us, taking on what we assume are their feelings about us, and believing them, for hours or even days afterwards.

(But if you can, take a moment to reflect that you do not have to take on the burden of how they feel about you. First of all, maybe they are mistaken. Maybe what they said about you was actually more about them, not about you at all, even though it feels otherwise).

But I have not been good at NOT taking on those emotional burdens. I cannot seem to make myself “grow thick skin” or “just stop caring.” It feels as though I am just wired for this sensitivity, no matter how much I try to “grow out of it.” And people in my life not supporting me in this “extra” sensitivity I have, basically invalidating my experiences at times, seem to have made it worse!

In fact, I recently had an excellent discussion with my sister-in-law, as she watches her daughter struggling with “something the girls said at school” about her. Lordy, I remember those days! Girls, mean girls, pre-teen and teen years, school, high school, wow, I sure would NOT want to relive any of that. And yet 55-year-old me can still struggle with letting things people say bother me intensely.

I write this out NOT because I have been recently criticized, or anything like that, but because I have been self-criticizing lately, and it has gotten worse this last week. I am in a tug of war with myself, emotional me versus rational me. And I keep giving myself shit for having this type of battle in the first place! But I recognize constantly berating myself for my own perceived flaws or weaknesses (can I just grow some thicker skin already!) is really damaging to my self esteem.

And because of this bad habit of directing criticism inward, and invalidating myself, I really connected with this:

And I know my niece, also experiences this RSD, because she is being exposed to some of the same people that I grew up with (same family of origin, of course), who tend to be outwardly critical of others. In fact, when my sister-in-law tells me about certain interactions, I tend to feel validated, “Hey, that sounds just like when I was growing up, so I guess I am remembering my childhood correctly after all…”

But I ended up making this very important distinction for myself:

The rejection sensitivity I have is mostly with people who have a history of criticizing me, (or I have perceived their words as criticism, constructive or not), which has created a foundation of insecurity in that particular relationship.

The overall structural foundation of specific relationships is very key in my rejection sensitivity problem. I do not have it with everyone, just with select people based on the foundation of my relationship with them, or at other times with other people when I feel especially vulnerable.

I have been feeling extremely vulnerable in the last few months, but I am hoping “this too shall pass” and I will soon start to feel better and stronger emotionally. All I can do is keep working on it (and blogging about it helps) and continue to NOT turn to food to stuff these feelings down.

Two Different People

I always thought that I would “magically” be a different person if I lost weight. And yes, there is the before picture—that person who inhabited that body—and the after picture—that person inhabiting a body that now looks different.

Spoiler alert, it’s the same person.

Same person with the same brain, same thoughts, same insecurities. If you let it be.

We went out for Valentine’s Day, and I wore a new dress I had purchased (after our unexpected trip to Kelowna in January to drop off our truck for insurance repair following the sheet of ice smashing up our frontend while passing a commercial truck on the highway). I have always loved dresses with a Chinese-style and neckline, even though I never wore them out in public. In fact, I had finally donated my last two Chinese-style dresses during a closet purge about a year ago, knowing I would never wear them. Then I saw this dress at a thrift store, which had the Chinese-style neckline, but beyond that was more of a cultural mash up with its cut and fabric. I could not resist buying it.

But I keep looking at the pictures because I still don’t recognize myself. You know, part of me has never recognized myself. Growing up, my mom actually told me she thought I was vain, because I spent so much time looking in the mirror. I even remember taking my grade 12 provincial examination for English, and choosing the topic “Face in the Mirror” as my narrative essay. I don’t remember what I wrote in that essay, but it was something to do with not recognizing the other “self” that I always saw there.

Some would say “mirror checking” is a common symptom of having eating disorder-related body dysmorphia, (and/or appearance-related ritualistic or repetitive behavior). And I acknowledge that could be some of my problem.

The other part is just consistently feeling “out of body.” Disconnected. Too in my head/mind, moving through life going through all the motions of daily living, documenting events (like my husband taking my picture on Valentine’s Day when I left the table for the rest room). But then stepping outside myself and later looking at the pictures and events as thought I am watching someone else’s story unfold, and wondering who was that—there—in that moment.

Who knows what has brought on such a weird series of thoughts this morning! I was going to do our personal taxes, but then I found out the online filing date with the government does not open until February 23, resulting in a “Now what do I do…maybe I will blog.”

Maybe it’s that I am turning 55-years old in 2 weeks and I am still trying to figure out “Who am I?”

Maybe I just have too much time on my hands.

I am Sensitive, Too Sensitive

I have been enjoying skating again, very much. I fell yesterday, “Toe pick!” but if you ever watched the film “The Cutting Edge,” you know that sure, falling is never fun, but if you are already in motion, you end up sliding on the ice after you go down, which actually disperses some of the impact. So, I didn’t break anything, just a bruise or 2. #worththeriskevenwithosteoporosis.

Having hEDS means my skin is highly sensitive. “This increased sensitivity is a recognized, though not always emphasized, symptom that can manifest as pain, discomfort, or an exaggerated reaction to light, touch, or textures.” —Google. I used to think my sensitivity was one of my slightly neurodivergent traits, but it is nice to know it’s not just “all in my head.” Honestly, it almost always takes me more than one try to put on a pair of shoes, because if I don’t get the seam of my sock just right, then it will bug me to distraction.

Also, I do not have very thick skin, literally and figuratively. Literally, my skin is quite thin and translucent in certain areas, back of the hands, top of my feet, inside of my arms, so that all my veins are highly visible. Figuratively, because I am very sensitive to criticism and feeling as though I may not be believed, especially when it comes to whether something “hurts” or not. Pain is very individual and subjective, but sadly, not being believed by doctors does happen to a certain amount of patients. And my mom, who has a very high pain tolerance and forgoes freezing at the dentist for a filling, is fond of saying, “It doesn’t hurt, you only think it does.” I have to remind her she is the exception, not the rule, and I was NOT gifted with that particular high tolerance gene.

Interestingly, having a public blog actually opens me up to criticism, but I love this narrative space despite the risk. I try to be a nice person, word my posts in a manner to reflect my true nature as someone who is open to all sides of an argument, and not one to be judgmental. I am more interested in learning new things, not in trying to change anyone’s mind. But regardless, not everyone is going to like me, or what I have to say. I’ve often thought it is only a matter of time until someone out in cyberspace calls me a drama queen, especially now that I have been complaining (but actually intending to simply validate myself, not necessarily complain) about recently diagnoses and “issues with my tissues.” BUT! Thankfully, in the 15 years I’ve had this small little blog, (started in 2011 first for my creative writing, then expanded in 2019 to include my dieting health journey), I have never received a negative comment. Personally, I really love the WordPress community, and I am grateful for people who post regularly, and even those that don’t. I love people who share their stories.

I cover all this personal back story because I found myself yesterday, on February 9, taking a picture of the remaining pink circle on my chest. Sunday night, I felt a faint burning sensation in 2 of the spots that started as hives 3 weeks ago, but nothing was visible to the naked eye. Then yesterday morning, the burning sensation was gone, but the other 3 spots were still itchy. One of them was pink, so I took a picture. I am still experiencing on and off digestive discomfort as well. Ug! Talk about sensitive! 3 weeks later, and I still need to take allergy medication. After the spots faded significantly in the first week, I discontinued the prescription steroid cream. I only use that stuff sparingly, as it is quite strong, especially considering my sensitivity. I am just taking the Allegra, when I experience a symptom.

But then I asked myself, why are you taking a picture of that 1 barely visible spot?? Because unless I have “proof,” I fear I won’t be believed that I am STILL having this reaction.

I second guess myself, and this recent reaction (with a 6-week gap between exposure and slight reaction, and then my huge reaction which erupted January 20) is so bizarre, it has really triggered my feelings of “I may not be believed.” I am not taking a picture to convince anyone else. Nope, the picture is just for me.

I know this is routed in childhood experiences, and medical trauma when real pain and fear of injury is not believed, (for example, an impacted wisdom tooth to which local anesthetic had not yet fully taken hold, the fact of which was initially dismissed by the oral surgeon I was trusting to extract it). As I typed this, I felt the urge to declare, “I have the x-ray of the impacted wisdom tooth if you don’t believe me,” and post a picture! Except, no one is saying they don’t believe me, except me. I am the only one here, in this space, saying that. But second guessing myself like this constantly, always seeking to provide “proof,” it is particularly bad for my own self esteem.

Sigh. I am recognizing this behavior, and I am working on being kinder to myself.

The “Systemic Trigger” Continues

I am documenting this for my own records, not to complain, but to allow for my real lived experience.

I wish I knew what would “work.” The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t feel as though I know my body at all. It has become a stranger to me. Too many changes, too many diagnoses, too many symptoms, too many “issues with my tissues.”

I have spent months conducting “science experiments” on my body, when it comes to what Chat GTP called “refractory constipation.” I have tried pickles with my meals, tried kimchi, tried PEG solution, tried magnesium, tried high fiber, tried low fiber…

Sometimes one thing works…

The next time, the very same thing does NOT work.

Writing about it helps. Looking at pictures helps. 😊 Because I have a habit of giving myself self-gaslighting pep talks, with things like, “This immune response is only as bad as you think it is, or only as bad as you LET it be.” But I am not letting this happen. In fact, no one is consulting me and allowing me a say in the matter, and that is the problem.

It just is what it is, until my body is done doing what it wants to do.

I still do not know what was the systemic trigger that caused the reaction resulting in immune memory-driven recall dermatitis.

But it’s not done yet.

My skin reaction lasted all week. Friday, January 23, the activated spots made my chest feel sunburned all day.

They thankfully faded to pink over the weekend. But I have been wearing a FitBit for 26 months, then all of a sudden?:

This welt cleared up quickly with steroid cream and has not reoccurred.

And I definitely have been still feeling stiff joints, sore tendons, occasional dizziness (more than usual), and my mucosal tissues are also inflamed.

But then yesterday…

I just had a little cold diluted juice about an hour after breakfast (which I drink everyday, I have a small glass when I am thirsty, for crying out loud) and boom. First, some pain. Then within an hour my whole abdomen expanded.

I woke up this morning, and it was a bit better.

But then…

I took a shower and maybe it was the change in temperature, but my lower abdomen distended again, and currently it even hurts more than last night. Very painful to remain standing up straight. Feels better laying down, with my knees to the left.

Positive self talk is excellent, at times, but sometimes I need to just keep it real. Sometimes pain is NOT “discomfort.” Sometimes pain means standing upright is difficult, because it pulls on all the tissues that are painfully swollen. Sometimes curling on my left side into the fetal position will lessen that pain. Sometimes making a blog entry like this makes me feel better, because it just brings the experience out into the open as a fact, and not just a story I am narrating to myself in my head.

I Only Know What is Normal For Me

Funny story, that “muscle guarding” of joints I mentioned here, yeah, it’s pretty hard to guard while sleeping. So Sunday morning, I woke up with my knee, (the one that can easily slip out of place, both knees can, but my left is the chronic offender), completely and painfully slipped out of place. This is not the first time (and I dare say not the last) that I have woken up from simply sleeping with an injury. Luckily, bracing it for a few days helps it heal, (sort of).

The interesting thing is how it feels to walk around with a brace on. It is such a contrast to how I usually feel, because my knee feels practically indestructible with this brace on. The same thing occurs when I have an issue with my wrist, and put my wrist brace on. As a kid, I was an expert at using tensor bandages of various sizes for all my “weak” spots, but now I have a cupboard full of various braces from my local drug store from which I can select. A few days of “resting” [insert offending body part here] with a brace on, the pain is mostly gone and I feel safe leaving it, once again, unprotected.

But the whole time with the brace on, my knee or wrist feels practically bionic! I just loved The Six Million Dollar Man (and The Bionic Woman) TV shows when I was a kid. I thought the whole concept of having ordinary human powers increased by the aid of bionic devices (real or fictional) was amazing! And yet, with a brace on, I feel like I am getting a taste of what it would truly be like to be bionic.

And then it hit me, maybe people without hEDS never feel so “weak” in the first place? Maybe what is normal for other people is to feel “bionic” (in comparison) all the time? Wow, what a thought.

It’s been normal to me for my whole life that I do not feel all that strong. I figured I was just one of “those” kids, the ones that play the piano and read a lot of books, the ones that just did not develop the strength that they could have. I felt different than the rest of the kids, but I did not think I was made differently. I just thought I hadn’t done the things I needed to do, like climb more trees, etc., to be like them. Even at a young age I knew that I could easily injure myself, simply because I had and did easily injure myself many times. I remember the first time I tried to play volleyball, one hit of the ball hurt so much! After all the fingers I had broken and sprained, (and no, it was NOT to get out of having to practice the piano), and maybe from watching The Bionic Woman, I came to gym class the next day armed with tensor bandages around each wrist, and wow, that made such a difference! Bionic!

I definitely look back at some of these childhood memories through a new lens. I am just put together a little looser than average, and that means yes, I can hurt myself in my sleep.

My Own Worst Critic

I came across a Facebook post that said:

“The next time you find yourself blaming or shaming someone, because they deserve it for how they wronged you, take a pause and a breath and ask yourself: What is it in me that needs attention here? Shift your energy. Take responsibility for your own life and embody the energy that you want to attract.”

Lately, I have been stuck in a rut of cycling into feeling sorry for myself for every time I have ever felt gaslit about my health, by doctors, and yes, even at times by my spouse. But truthfully? I was my own worst critic. I felt unheard and abandoned by myself. In fact, I experienced a lot of self-loathing, because feeling unwell usually resulted in bad food choices that made my feelings/symptoms worse. Those times my body was sending me a message saying hey, something does not feel right, I ended up feeling (rightly or not) that the narrative was: it’s all in your head, just stuff it down, and I regularly told myself exactly that. Instead of believing the signals coming from my body, instead I asked myself: what are you getting from “not feeling right?” What are you getting to avoid? Something feels “off” because you must WANT something to feel “off,” so then you won’t have to show up for your life in some way. Just stop it.

Ultimately, I was really hard on myself, and I have been grieving, in a way, that I treated myself like that.

I feel very bad for my former self that I put down and punished for “misbehaving.” I wouldn’t EVER treat anyone else that badly. Yet I blamed and shamed myself.

But now that I am no longer gaslighting myself, I need to ask: What is it in me that needs attention here?

I cannot change the past, but I can change my future. I need to quit dancing on the edge of that cliff. I need to take care of myself. I need to treat myself with kindness. I need to love myself (my body) just like I would my best friend.

The Journey Does Not Get Easier

Someone said something brilliant the other day: The journey does not get easier, you just get stronger.

I have been blogging a little more lately, especially with my recent health diagnoses of hEDS, (which causes pain in my hands, joints, and which has been impairing my digestive tract for years), mitral valve heart disease, (which, quite frankly, could someday be life limiting), and osteoporosis, (t-score of -3.3). Did I mention I also have MCAS? Here is a set of pictures, (day 2, then day 3), of an allergic reaction I had to an insect bite, which is typically an “over” reaction for me, due to mast cell activation.

Yikes! Written all down like that, I sound worse off at 54 years old, than my 80-year-old mother who is a breast cancer survivor!

Anyhow, I love blogging. I love getting my words out of my head. I love sharing my experiences.

What I do not like is “stuffing” myself down.

I grew up in a household where it was easier to stuff myself down, make myself “small” because I was “too much.” And food was an easily accessible tool, compounding by 80’s diet culture that was practiced in my home telling me that as a girl I should not eat any extras, but my brother could eat whatever he wanted because he was a boy, and naturally skinny on top of it all.

And even though I grew up and moved away from home, the turning to food to stuff-myself-or-my-feelings-down habit stuck. The habit of stuffing down discomfort instead of feeling it.

Blogging is the opposite of stuffing it down. I feel heard, even when it’s only myself that reads these words. I am actually a bit shy in real life, so it almost seems counterintuitive to find such immense comfort in putting my words, any of my words on a variety of subjects, out into the public space. It’s not exactly about connection, although some connection with others has been a very happy byproduct. It’s mostly about talking to myself, outside of my own head, and feeling heard in ways I did not consistently (if ever, but I am willing to allow that my memories are not perfect in this regard) feel that I was heard growing up in the household dynamics in which I was raised.

Here’s to another weekend of NOT stuffing it down. I am fortifying myself with this blog entry to have a far better weekend than 2 weeks ago. We are going to a Halloween experience tonight, and I may even wear a make-shift costume (and then post a picture) if I don’t get too shy to actually do it.