Remembering

As I seek to find the peace within myself, I encounter many obstacles.  One of the most persistent is that it doesn't seem like I am really "doing" anything.   I suppose that what that I really mean is that I'm not earning any money, or being otherwise visibly productive, this being the outcome of two bouts of breast cancer with complications, and then a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis.

I don't really have an answer, anymore, to the question "what do you do?".  I  have a hard enough time with ""how are you?".

For many years, the rhythm of my life took place around my work as a bodyworker. I had the good fortune  of doing something that I loved, I was the master of my time,, and my life felt more congruent than ever before.  Even though I worked from home, work involved people, so  I never felt isolated.

I had always longed for work that would benefit others, as well as pay my bills, so, for many years, while my body was strong, I derived deep satisfaction from this part of my life.

When my health made this no longer possible, the loss was many faceted.  My work was satisfying, it gave me independence, and I never stopped being amazed at the healing power of touch.  But something else had became obvious to me - I was a wounded healer - I took care of the bodies of others, often, at the expense of my own.

When this manifested as actual illnesses, it felt as if my emotional wounds had become visible.  After I had my mastectomies "for real" (when the implants had to come out because of multiple infections), this felt literally to be true.

I don't mean to not say that touching others caused my exhaustion (or my illnesses), but I can see now that it is possible to be more discerning about where, and how, we share this energy with each other. I didn't get it then, that, with my longing to be adored by others, I was giving away the store of my body.

Today, I still have gifts.  The loss of my body's strength, at first, felt like the worst thing I could imagine.  But, I can still thank the Universe, God, the Force, whatever, for my ability to express myself with words, and I can cultivate that ability, knowing how I have been healed by the words of others many times.  But first, I have to remember.  As I re-read this paragraph I realize how constant the act of remembering must be.

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