Although I daily remind myself and others of the gift of “dis ease,” occasionally (well! Perhaps more often!) I have to remind myself that it is important to listen to my body and be grateful that it always lets me know when something is not quite right. Like all systems, I know that it cannot always be repaired. Eventually the body quits working. For some this is in a relatively short time. For others, it is comparatively a long time.
This seems like a pretty simple truth. I know from my engineering background that if one uses inferior materials or ignores the basic laws of the material and the structure that the structure or object will not work for long if at all. Recently I saw an exhibit of the works of M.S. Escher, the now deceased Dutch graphic designer/artist. I personally love some of his drawings of buildings which initially look as if they would be much fun to build. Closer examination reveals that they are not structurally possible. The concept is great fun but a delusion.
Sometimes I look into the mirror or workout at the gym and it seems as if I can safely ignore parts of my health care. I am very spoiled and even with a history of two serious illnesses, I am healthier than most my age and able to stay active and productive most of the time. Thus, I know that it is relatively easy for me to convince myself that I can push myself beyond what I would recommend for anyone else. Yet, eventually my body will just refuse to function any longer. In some respects, my warning system is either not very loud or I am able to override the signals for a significant period of time. There are exceptions. If, for example, I drink more than one small glass of wine I immediately. My body quickly lets me know that this particular body is not designed to tolerate much alcohol. The adult, healthy part of me is now very grateful that I cannot drink more than is healthy for me. As a very young man, I thought my body was very wimpy and was embarrassed that I could not drink like other “MEN.”
I was also aware from a very early age that I am a very emotional person. Yet, as is true for many of we men, I learned from my parents and others that “men did not cry,” show too much affection, or admit to other signs of emotional weakness. I can recall at a very early age deciding I would not cry, especially in front of anyone else and preferably not even in private. I did not cry for many years until the death of my father when I was 26. Even then, I was chided and ushered off to a private room so no one would observe me crying. The clear messages were, “Be a man. Don’t make a scene.” I also learned not to talk about my emotions although I did learn that expressing anger was more okay and a “good” way to keep people from pressing me about what I was feeling or from trying to get too close emotionally or physically.
By the time I was a teenager, I was anxious much of the time. Although I tried to be always there for friends and family, I did not allow others “too close” to me because I knew that I could not keep my emotions buried and allow folks close.
Still, being the spoiled person I was, I was able to get through school, serve in the military, attend the U. S. Naval Academy, and otherwise appear to function well. I was even able to get married although my lack of willingness to share emotionally eventually took its toll on the marriage.
My body repeatedly attempted to get my attention with feelings of anxiety, an upset intestinal system, and other nuisance physical and emotional symptoms of “dis ease.”
Even though I appeared to continue to function well in most areas of my life, my body never or seldom felt good for long. I was able to ignore the messages of my body. I am sure that the fact that I ate fairly well did not drink much alcohol or caffeine, and exercised all helped me ignore the voice of my body for a long time.
There came a time when I could no longer ignore the fact that my body was unhealthy and yet, other than anxiety or a general sense of disease, there was no illness which the doctor could diagnose.
I finally had to admit to myself and then to a therapist that the sense of “dis ease” was because I was trying to be someone I was not. For whatever reason, I am a very emotional person meaning I experience love, joy, beauty, and other sensations very intensely. When I do not own and do not share those emotions my body is at war with itself. This was why I was so anxious.
Getting rid of the symptom took a lot of work and included the following steps:
· Admitting to myself and then to others that I am an emotional person.
· On an intellectual level at first, intentionally accepting that the emotional part of me is something to be honored and celebrated.
· Reinforcing the new messages with writing, speaking a new truth, and relaxing my “dance.”
· Hiring a coach/therapist to guide me through this process. I needed someone who did not let me intellectualize the process. I was great at learning to talk about my emotions. Sharing them was something quite different.
· Selecting a support system with whom I could learn to be comfortably myself – people whose did not expect me to “suck it up like a man.”
· Redefining strength as the willingness to have the courage to be who I am no matter what others thought or did not think.
Written September 1, 2015
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