Photo by Adrien King on Unsplash
When we are dealing with physical and mental symptoms, it’s not just a personal issue; it is a relational one. However, before we even realize the relational impact, we are dealing with something deeply personal: signs that our bodies are no longer trusted allies.
“My body was no longer a trusted ally.”
Before I had proximal muscle weakness—weakness in my upper arms and thighs—and tremors, I had energy that could conquer the world and motivation to do so. However, in my early 30s, I realized that washing my hair was hard, and I came home deeply exhausted, with never enough rest. This was my time of moving with my health conditions unconsciously and silently.
You see, each time symptoms come to our bodies, we place them in the categories of what we know and what makes sense.
I had just become a mom with my own group therapy practice. Being at capacity seemed part of that phase of life. I had always been more sleepy than my sisters. However, this was beyond that. I was fighting for my ability to rest. No rest was enough.
“Things felt off, but everything was ‘fine.’”
I went to doctors. Everything was fine, they said. So I kept going with my story: things felt off, but everything was “fine.”
“I was fighting for my ability to rest.”
During this time, I became more confrontational, fighting for my need to rest. My husband was confused. He moved into a defensive position. He worked more, stayed away more. So I fought more, craving my ally, my partner.
“I fought more, craving my ally.”
Eventually, my more withdrawn love saw no other option but to join me in confronting my fighting stance.
We saw couples therapists, who made minor dents. Because, in the end, what was happening inside me wasn’t just emotional or new-parent sleep deprivation. My body was being affected by something we did not yet understand. My psyche, my energy, my emotions, and my capacity were all being shaped by what was happening at a hormonal and physical level.
It wasn’t until nearly a decade later, as my symptoms worsened and my emotions became more and more dysregulated, that I found a mass in my neck. It turns out I had thyroid cancer and chronic thyroiditis, commonly called Hashimoto’s.
While our thyroid affects our emotions, it can also impact our ability to become pregnant, our heart and muscles, neurological symptoms, brain fog, fatigue, and more.
“I had celebrated the divorce with my thyroid.”
Once I had my full thyroidectomy, I started to feel like I had my body back. I had celebrated the divorce with my thyroid. I was so grateful it was gone.
But a year later, my body started throwing me for new loops. Proximal muscle weakness became worse. I moved into more grief. The thyroidectomy had helped me in profound ways, but it did not end the whole story of what my body was carrying. I continued to be highly symptomatic.
However, after cancer, my love and I gained a rhythm: I could name what I needed, and he didn’t bat an eye. I used to blame and complain. Now I name and request—one of the winning strategies we use in Relational Life Therapy.
“We are grieving, but the world cannot hear or see.”
My story isn’t unique. It mirrors countless individuals whose bodies have symptoms but may lack a diagnosis. We are grieving, but the world cannot hear or see. Our symptoms may be invisible or inconsistent. Still, they affect us and our loved ones.
You see, when our bodies stop behaving normally, we are filled with grief. Our bodies are telling us a story, one where we face our mortality and recognize that we might have a lifetime where our body does inconvenient things.
A story I often face is the worry that I’m going to age with this, and my children will be affected.
With all these stories in our heads and more, we are grieving. We can become angry, deny, blame, withdraw, become depressed, stress eat, sleep less, and the list goes on.
Now, here is the relational impact.
Guess what happens when we reach these places? Our loved ones might fight for attention. Sometimes they retreat, judge, or offer unsolicited advice. They may fight back defensively if we become aggressive. All the while, we are at capacity and can’t push our bodies anymore, but guilt makes us keep trying. And our cycle continues.
“They see the complaint. They see the blame.”
Often, our loved ones are not responding to our grief lying underneath, but the behavior they can see:
- complaint
- blame
- withdrawal
- irritation
- unbridled self-expression
- control
But underneath, we are individuals who may be scared, depleted, grieving, and trying to manage a body that will not cooperate.
I learned to use these moments of grief to recognize what my psyche is asking for. If I want to protect my children and my love, I choose to protect my mind and body as long as I can. This means dedication to nourishing food, strength training, and tenderness toward my capacity.
“Sometimes agency is not pushing harder.”
This is where agency matters.
Not the kind of agency that asks us to push harder, neglect ourselves, or participate in performative wellness. A smaller kind of agency.
Sometimes agency is not pushing harder.
Agency is also us saying:
- I am at capacity.
- I am grieving again.
- I need to rest.
- I need someone to listen, not advise.
- I need rest without guilt.
“When complaint becomes request…”
This is where relational agency matters too.
The ability to move our complaints into requests.
We get to name that we are at capacity. Today is a rough day. We cannot push ourselves. We need to rest. We need softness. We need help. We need to just relax and cuddle.
And in that brief moment, when complaint becomes request, we may find the relationship again.