I'm NOT Alone, And Neither Are You

Today I took a huge step in my journey for healing. 

I asked for help.

Sounds simple, right? 

Well this wasn't simple for me. 

It took mountains of courage, more than I knew that I had.

I gave up some independence, 

admitted that I have a problem, 

and asked for help. 

My request was very specific, 

there was no room for misunderstanding.

I admitted what has been denied for so long, years actually. 

I admitted that I can't be trusted. 

I can't be trusted to take prescribed medication, one pill daily that my rational mind knows is needed.  My heart knows that the medication helps. 

My body has felt the effects time and time again. 

And yet. 

For some ridiculous reason, the problem continues.

For years now I've been non-compliant.

Procrastinating, making excuses, telling myself there's always tomorrow. 

So many times I promised myself and others that I'd do better, try harder.

So many times I failed. 

They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. So why would I keep doing the same thing over and over? 

Why would I promise that I'd do better, when that hadn't worked in the past?  

WHY?!

Because admitting defeat is a really hard thing to do.

Because giving up your independence, asking to be treated like a child, shook me to the very core.

It contradicted everything that I wanted for myself. 

I wanted to be strong, to be independent, to be trustworthy. 

I wanted to be disciplined, smart, and rational, not like those characters in the movies that walk alone in the woods while the scary music plays, oblivious to the danger that's so obvious to everyone else. 

I wanted to be the exception to the rule.

Well, we don't always get what we want.

It took a huge amount of courage to admit that I have a problem. 

I have a problem taking my prescribed medication. 

One stupid pill each day, not even a big one, that can and does change the course of my life. 

They say that the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. 

Today, I took that first step. 

I admitted to myself that I'm living in denial. 

I've been living there for a long time, and it's not helping me or anyone around me.

It's time to make a change.

I don't want to have this diagnosis, this curse, this life sentence.

IT'S NOT FAIR. 

Maybe I don't deserve this.

Maybe I've done nothing wrong.

But maybe, just maybe, it's not all about me.

Maybe I AM strong enough to survive, brave enough to share my story, determined enough to make a change on a larger scale.

Maybe it's all part of the grand design, the big picture, fate.

Maybe this curse isn't a curse after all, but a blessing in disguise.

Maybe it's not me that is being blessed, but me that is being used to bless others.

I'm no martyr.

I'm not arrogant enough to think that I'm some messiah, some angel, some savior. 

I'm really not. 

But maybe my experience, my story, can give someone else one tiny glimmer of hope.

A tiny little spark can ignite a massive explosion.

An ember left uncovered can start a forest fire, destroying everything in it's path.

An idea, a fleeting moment of inspiration, can change the course of history.

One tiny glimmer of hope, 

one itty bitty light at the end of a long dark tunnel, 

is sometimes all it takes.

So here I am, baring my soul.

Admitting for all the world to read that I have a problem.

I don't take my medication as prescribed, 

sometimes I "forget" so often that it's not even in my system anymore, and I have to start from scratch.

Here I am, admitting that I'm in denial. 

This diagnosis doesn't define me... but it does affect me. 

Like it or not it's part of my life, and it's here to stay.

So I asked a loved one to treat me like a child. 

I asked for help with this one jumbo shrimp of a problem. 

Something so small, so insignificant, and yet at the same time so massively important.

Medication can mean the difference between life and death.

My brain knows that, 

my heart knows that, 

my body knows that.

And yet.

It still sucks that I couldn't do it alone. 

It really freaking stinks.

And that's okay.

It's okay to ask for help.

As someone very wise in my life recently said... 

"Don't believe the lie that you have to face your problems alone".

I'm not alone, 

and neither are you.

I don't know your story, your diagnosis, your struggle, and that's okay.

It's okay be anonymous, to be vague, to keep it secret.

It's okay to ask for help, a hug, a meal, a babysitter.

IT'S OKAY

TO NOT BE OKAY.

XoXo

MrsGali

Potatoes Gonna Potate

You've probably heard the term "haters gonna hate" but maybe haven't heard the follow up "potaters gonna potate". I chose that title for this post because it's silly, and has some truth it. Potatoes have no choice but to be true to themselves. They cannot make a wish on a star and become carrots!

So be true to yourself, be confident, and let the haters do what haters do. Maybe they're jealous, and maybe they're genuinely concerned that you're making a mistake, but whatever the motivation, negativity is a vicious cycle.

SO, don't judge me, and if you really feel the need to tell me how to live my life, try phrasing it with some compassion.

That's my 2 cents, and you can take that to the bank!

P.S. Please support Bank of Annabelle. She will charge you 3 nickels for each nickel that you borrow. 🤣

Invisible

Sometimes I feel invisible. Not just my illness, but myself. I could spend hours doing dishes and laundry and picking up toys, and 30 minutes later the toddler tornado has me back at square one.

I'll admit, I have a bad habit of putting things down wherever I am, and not where they belong, and this contributes to the mess. I'm working on that.

I'm aware that the problem exists, and that's the first step down the path to a solution.

This week is Crohns and Colitis Awareness Week, and I've been sharing my personal IBD story on Facebook and Instagram. It takes courage to #EscapeTheStall and talk about my symptoms (mostly diarrhea and urgency), and I'm practicing being brave, standing up and speaking out, with each day that passes.

It took me a long time to get diagnosed. My mom advocated for me, and even at age 15, when I'd much rather have buried my nose in books, I advocated for myself. I had no choice. The pediatrician couldn't figure it out, my mom's family doctor couldn't either, and when I AGAIN insisted that I did NOT have an eating disorder, I went to a GI specialist and they said Crohn's Disease almost immediately. Most people my age haven't even thought about a colonoscopy, but I'm already a pro.

 (Pro Tips: Chill it, and Don't drink water in advance so that when its time to start you're REALLY thirsty)

How can a medicine that's used to treat diarrhea have the side effect of diarrhea?! All jokes aside, I've been on all kinds of meds over the past 15 years, and have my fingers crossed that more options are found before I need them. 

Surgery was really scary, but the pain relief made it 10,000% worth it.

Even in "remission" I have symptoms. Lucky for me, I'm so used to them that I've nearly forgotten what it feels like to be healthy. 

My journey isn't over, but that doesn't mean that I can't share my story. 

#IBDVISIBLE