yesterday i wrote about my recent experience with severe anxiety and some practical things i did to make it through. today i want to acknowledge the other side to that healing journey: the unseen elements of flat out grace and the privilege of this life i am living.
privilege first.
most of the things that worked for me, that allowed me to shake off the debilitating panic and fear, that helped me calm the explosion of rogue chemicals cursing through my body, were things that i was able to access mostly due to my privilege.
i have lived a life with access to healthy food, clean air, safe relationships, health insurance. i am allowed and know how to question authority without repercussion. i do not have to think about the possibility of discrimination based on my skin color or sexual identity. i have friends and loved ones who are doctors and therapists and yoga teachers and natural healers and grace-filled poets and good strong trustworthy people. i have access to information. i have financial means to pay for those things my insurance does not cover. i can take time off work.
these things did not go without notice and gratitude during my experience. many days i considered how much more difficult, if not impossible, healing would have been without them.
i want to note that during my six emergency room visits, it was wonderful to observe that the doctors and nurses treated everyone with kindness. we were quite the mishmash of humanity up in there in the middle of the night and each of us was met with tenderness and quality care.
i also want to note that even though i have health insurance, our current system does not recognize the value of alternative care. i paid $3.00 out of pocket for a one month supply of drugs that almost killed me, but my insurance won't cover the nutritional supplements or the acupuncture and those were the things that seemed to make the most difference for me.
now for the grace.
grace is when you are pacing the house at 2am and the only thing that can soothe your soul is softly singing that song you sang around the campfire at hume lake when you were 11.
grace is when your prayer starts with, "i'm sorry, i can't think of anything to be thankful for right now, but i need help." and then you immediately recall all the goodness in your life.
grace is a loving husband who can work through his own fear of what the hell is wrong with her? and lovingly drive you around for hours every night so you can get to sleep, as one would do for an infant.
grace is the morning when your eyes open and it has lifted away. you can breathe again. you can live again.
