Having this disease makes me feel a lot of things.  Pain, frustration, resentment, and more often than I like to admit, I feel angry.  I get pissed off and upset about the fact that I can’t do the things I want to do, that my body doesn’t allow me to maintain a regular schedule (you can’t plan for flare ups), and that I am different from my peers in a way that they don’t understand.

All this anger can be overwhelming.  I can’t do the things that I want to do.  I get mad.  I see the things I can’t do and watch others do them with ease.  And I get mad.  When I get angry, more often then not, I just feel disappointed.

But here’s where I say something radical: I’m NOT going to tell you that I take a breath and feel better.  I’m NOT going to tell you that I know everything will be alright… Be angry.  Be fucking pissed.  You’re entitled.  You’re entitled to your emotions.  In fact, you need to experience them.

We’re taught to mask our anger.  We’re taught to feel guilty about it.  We’re told again and again that nothing good comes from anger.  And yet, sometimes it’s what you have.

Embrace it.  It’ll go away faster that.

I’m tired of hearing “anger isn’t serving you.” You hear that sort of stuff a lot in the yoga community especially. It honestly sounds pretty judgmental when you’re upset or angry with yourself / body.  You have to acknowledge uncomfortable emotions without allowing yourself to be overcome by them.

Anger showcases loud and clear when things are out of balance.  Instead of getting judgey about it, which only spirals into more negative self talk, observe the emotion.  Tell yourself–the same way you would tell a small child that’s scared, hurt and upset–that everything is going to be ok.  Remind yourself that you’re safe and that you have everything you need right now.  Even if it’s not ideal.

Everything’s going to be ok.

What’s the alternative?

In yoga, we talk about creating space between breaths.  As a chronic, I’m all about creating space between flare ups.  The space between is the sweet spot.

It’s what I try to remember when I’m uncomfortable in the morning. There’s space between pain and swelling.  There’s space between the meds and relief.  There’s always a space.

Lately, I’ve been fortunate enough to have lots of space between my discomfort.  It’s interesting.  When there’s a good deal of space between the pain, you can almost forget that you’re chronic.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t go away that easily. While we can enjoy the space between, we must be prepared to live through wherever we are, whatever we’re feeling.  You can look to the space between for hope.