Segment 2 of 6 in our Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill series.

By Shaler Wright

Health Story Collaborative · How to Build a Holiday Toolkit in the Dark

Introduction

I’d like to thank Health Story Collaborative for working with me to bring you “Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill.” This monthly audio series offers a soulful perspective on how to navigate the unique challenges of living with ongoing health conditions.

My name is Shaler McClure Wright and I live with Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome.

Story

We’re hip-deep in holiday season as I make this recording. Daylight is giving way to darkness, while we’re wading through a sea of festivity.

Holidays can be tough for those of us with chronic illness. Rushing around, overextending ourselves can cause flare-ups in our symptoms. That’s no way to celebrate! So how can we protect ourselves, yet still participate?

We need to build a holiday toolkit.

Let’s begin with an empty box and see what happens. We know that nature abhors a vacuum, so if at first we do nothing, what do you think will fill it?

American poet Mary Oliver envisioned her answer in this short poem that came to her in her sleep: “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” (Mary Oliver, The Uses of Sorrow)

The gift of darkness takes time to understand because it takes us a while to get past our simplistic, fearful conception of the dark. Once we put that aside, we can see that the gift of darkness is also an invitation—to slow down and feel more deeply. Yes, darkness is an invitation to spend time with soul. By soul I mean the part of us that embraces ancient wisdom and acknowledges the value of intuition.

Connecting with soul takes us outside of ourselves and opens us to the spiritual and natural worlds. For me, walking in the forest is a soulful activity. I wonder what feels soulful to you?

The energy of darkness is soulful. Mystical, magical, creative energy.  Ann Ulanoff, author and Jungian analyst, writes about the healing power of the imagination. She explains darkness like this: “Darkness… characterizes the world of the unseen, and the mysterious processes of the unconscious where creative activity starts.”  (Ann Ulanov, The Feminine in Jungian Psychology and in Christian Theology, 1971, pp. 170-71).

Darkness offers a fertile space for exploring possibilities for our actions and reactions. Darkness is a great incubator. And darkness is restorative, as it facilitates healing through stillness and rest. Without it, our physical resilience suffers.

So why do we go to extremes to resist the soulful invitation of darkness?

It’s too different from the energy of everyday life. The soulful energy of darkness emerges from a place of quiet contemplation, and this goes against our carefully cultivated habits of busyness and productivity. So we resist, even though we need to replenish the energy we’ve spent throughout the year.

Think about it, the most festive holidays fall in the darkest time of year. We cling to an extended cycle of celebration in defiance of natural order. We can feel nature pull us toward quiet, but we ignore her. Even at our own peril. Mother Nature wants us to slow down, like the animals do, but instead, we crank up the volume of daily life and try our hardest to keep busy. In America, we cling to mega-sized holiday traditions.

But excess doesn’t feed our soul. Simplicity does.

Perhaps we can learn a lesson from the Littlest Angel. The Littlest Angel is a children’s story written in 1946 by Charles Tazewell. It follows heaven’s youngest—and clumsiest—angel, who was allowed to keep one thing from his childhood on Earth to help him adjust. He chose a small,  dingy box holding ‘a butterfly with golden wings, a sky-blue egg from a robin’s nest, two white stones from a muddy river bank, and a tooth-marked leather strap, once worn as a collar by his mongrel dog.” Objects that elicit memories. Objects that serve as symbols of the life he loved. Without knowing it, the Littlest Angel had assembled a box that would give him the resilience he needed to adapt to life after death.

Wouldn’t you like to assemble a box like that? A box of resilience?

Right now our holiday toolkit is filled with darkness, soul and energy. But what if that’s not enough? What else might we add to give us the resilience we need? Perhaps if we choose as carefully as the Littlest Angel chose, we will find out. Perhaps we can transform our box of darkness into a box of resilience by adding symbols of strength from our life. Let’s imagine what those might be…

●      A joyful memory can give us strength. I’ll add the blue booties my child was wearing when he took his first steps. How about you?

●      An unexpected act of kindness can give us strength. I’ll add the four leaf clover my mother found for me when I was feeling very, very unlucky.

●      A personal ritual can give us strength. I’ll add the matches I use to light a candle when I meditate.

●      And finally, a free pass (to do less) can give us strength (to do what’s important). I’ll give myself permission to upack five bins of holiday decorations instead of nine.

Still not sure?

Let’s imagine a simple scenario of how we might use the new tools in our box…

It’s Christmas Eve morning. We begin our day by quietly filling the bird feeder outside our kitchen window, as we do every day. But today there are three red cardinals perched in the closest evergreen. We’re reminded of how our grandfather taught us to always look for their mates, who might feel forgotten because they blend in with the brown bark of a tree. Holding the image of redness, we smile and remember the thick red wool socks our grandfather always wore for the holidays.

Then we receive a notification from UPS that our most important gift for our child is lost in transit. We panic and beat ourselves up for not having ordered it sooner. We get a headache and start to feel shaky and fear our symptoms will cascade. But instead of escalating our pain by quickly trying to do something to fix things, we give ourselves permission to pause and do nothing.

In that moment of stillness, we imagine a creative solution to our problem. And we write a letter to our child, describing every detail of the missing gift and explaining why we chose it, and what we hope it will mean to them. We place the letter in a colorful envelope and tie it with a red bow, smiling once again at our memory of red socks. The doorbell rings. It’s the UPS man. He has come to work early to search their pile of damaged packages and he’s found ours. The gift is unharmed.

We feel surprised, relieved and blessed. While wrapping our child’s gift we realize the letter we wrote to take its place is perhaps more important than the gift itself. And by choosing to do less—by choosing not to run out and buy something else—we have actually given ourselves the opportunity to do more. We have accepted the invitation of darkness and soul, and given expression to a meaningful gift from our heart.

Things have a way of working out. And even with all the cultural pressure to do more, it’s still our personal privilege to choose to do less. To stay healthy. To seek deeper, quieter solutions to our problems. Soulful solutions that enrich us instead of draining our energy.

So, whether we celebrate Diwali, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice or Christmas, we each deserve a holiday toolkit that can help us make better use of mother nature’s restorative gift of darkness. Because resilience is born in the dark.

Shaler McClure Wright is fascinated with the mysteries of creative process, the healing power of creativity, and the creative synthesis of method acting, intuitive learning and depth psychology. A graduate of Wesleyan University and The Actors Studio, Shaler has worked as an actor, writer and educator for more than 40 years, and lives in southeastern Connecticut with her son and husband.

www.shalermcclurewright.com

Go here for more episodes of our Soul Chronicles series.

Segment 1 of 6 in our Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill series.

by Shaler Wright

Health Story Collaborative · Soul Chronicles: Shifting the Body from Enemy to Ally; How to Recognize and Honor the Process

Audio Transcript:

My name is Shaler Wright. I’m 63 years old and I have Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome. I’ve had it for many years, but until this year, I didn’t know there was a name for it.

It’s not active all the time, so, for decades really, I’ve resented my body and felt like it was failing me when I had symptoms, But what if the truth was actually the opposite? What if, against all odds, my body had been fighting a magnificent battle, and was a strong warrior, deserving acknowledgment and celebration?

 Imagine how it might affect our healing if we were to give our bodies the admiration they deserve…

When an illness becomes debilitating, it’s a crisis. But what if we can remain open? If we can keep an open mind, then chronic iIlness can actually become cathartic, and our healing can include a reunification of our  heart, mind, body and soul.

What does it take to make that shift?

To make that shift in our attitude toward our body to get it from enemy to ally?

We need to see our symptoms through a new lens.

What if we can learn to see our symptoms as an awakening, as an opportunity? That would change everything. James Hillman is a Jungian psychologist and he had this to say about symptoms: “The right reaction to a symptom may as well be welcoming rather than laments and demands for remedies, for the symptom is the first herald of an awakening psyche that will not tolerate any more abuse.“

Wow, what a way to turn it around.

But how do we do that?

Well, I think we need to stop trying to package our symptoms in a neat little box. We need to see them as part of a bigger experience. As a clue, for parts of ourselves that need attention.

Like lost sheep, needing to be brought back into the fold.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “Why would I want to pay attention to something that hurts or is uncomfortable? Why would I want to focus on it? I just want to make it go away!”

 I totally understand that because I think that’s what all of us with chronic conditions do. We teach ourselves to distract, I  think that’s the first thing. We teach ourselves to distract ourselves from any unpleasant feeling. We just ignore it. We try to keep busy with other things, and eventually this leads to dissociation. Eventually our minds are not even connected to our bodies any more. We get really good at it. We get really good at doubting whether anything is actually real. When we feel pain we say, “Oh that’s not real. I’m just exaggerating in my head. That’s not anything.”

 But it is. And we know it deep inside. And sometimes we even go so far as to feel shame. We feel shame that we feel that way. We feel like our body is failing us. And we alienate ourselves from ourselves. This self alienation is absolutely crippling. But I think it’s a habit almost all of us have. And habits are hard to break. Sometimes it takes an outside influence to help us make the change. For me, that influence was a new doctor.

 After I rattled off my litany of seemingly disconnected complaints, instead of looking dazed and like he didn’t believe me (like other doctors had), he took a long pause and he said, “We’re gonna figure this out.” And poof! Just like that, I had a partner. I was validated. I felt legitimate. And it felt great.

 Our journey together would take years. Two steps forward, one step back. But it was OK. It was OK. For the first time I felt like I was on a path instead of stuck in a hole. And, looking back, I think I needed that time to learn how to reconnect with the body I had abandoned. I need to learn to sit quietly, and pay attention. To visualize my pain without dismissing it.

 I learned to respect my symptoms, and to learn that they were, in fact, trying to teach me, not hurt me. It can feel very humbling to admit to ourselves that we’re not in touch with our own body. It seems like such a natural thing to be able to do, and yet so elusive for those of us who have learned to ignore our discomforts. But once we take that first step, the next ones become easier.

 My first step came with pregnancy. My illness makes it difficult to become pregnant because it messes with my hormones. So I had given up hope of ever having a child. Then at age 45, I found out I was pregnant. Not only was I pregnant, I was NINE weeks pregnant and I didn’t know it. I had lost–I had had several miscarriages–before that and just assumed that would continue to happen. But this was nine weeks. It was nine weeks, it was enough to count! I was pregnant!

 And when I got over the shock of actually being pregnant I realized that I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel my child growing inside of me. And that scared me. So I went to an energy healer for guidance. I wanted her to keep my child safe. I wanted her to reassure me that he - yes I knew it was a he - that he would be growing in safety.

 She told me that he had a very strong presence. He had a strong, warm, bright light. And that he would most likely be a peacemaker, a builder of bridges. And I thought, “What a gift. What a gift that I get to bring this child into the world!”

 And then I got sick. My symptoms started acting up and I got bronchitis. And coughing like crazy. They had to give me codeine so I wouldn’t cough so much and that’s kind of a tricky thing when you’re pregnant. I also got in a car accident and broke a rib, and I was terrified I was going to lose my child.

 My ObGyn told me that my son probably saved my life. That thanks to him, I was like a big bubble-wrapped UPS package, and I just bounced off any harm from the impact. So my unborn child and I were partners. Not only in adversity, but also partners in change. Because pregnancy is all about change, constant change. And my pregnancy taught me not to fear change.

 For the first time, I felt discomfort as progress, and I knew it would be temporary. I used to fear any changes in my body because change could be triggering. I feared an unavoidable cascade in symptoms. But you know, you know the old saying ‘the only way out is through?’ Well, that’s true for positive change as well. If you never chance for fear of losing, you’ve already lost. So change became my friend and my ally.

 I often return to a quote from Marcus Aurelius’s “Meditations.” “Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.”

 The first time I read this I thought it was distressing. “Such impermanence! Can we count on nothing?” Hmm. Yes, we can count on change. And that’s a good thing. That’s progress. And the changes needed to switch our chronic illness from a crisis to a catharsis are primarily changes in attitude. We need to trust our growing awareness of our body, and listen to it. And pause when a treatment is not working, instead of just being compliant because we’re ashamed and feel like we have no right to even be there.

 Chronic illness can be a lonely road. We need to ask for fellow travelers. We may feel odd and unknowable but others know that feeling too. And if we can let down our guard and allow ourselves to be seen, we will find out we’re not alone. We’re not odd, we’re just challenged. Our bodies are challenged. And as soon as we can stop resenting our bodies for being challenged, then we can begin to appreciate the unfathomable resilience of our bodies. And even if we never come to understand all the whys and hows of everything that happens to our bodies, we can cherish the fact that mystery, as well as change, is one of our body’s greatest gifts.

Go here for more episodes of our Soul Chronicles series.