Chronically Catherine: Metamorphosing at my own pace with breaks and snacks

I wish I could tell you I’ve metamorphosed out of my cocoon and blossomed into a beautiful, chronically ill butterfly since the start of the semester; that I am successfully living on my own for the first time, totally balancing my mental and physical health and tackling my first semester back on campus like a mighty fucking monarch.

Yeah, that’s a nice wish.

Instead of celebrating the fact that I’ve even made it to this moment, I’ve felt paralyzed by this massive change of going from living with family at home to living on my own for the first time as a disabled person. 

In short, the adjustment has been like drinking from a firehose — I’m trying to swallow, accept and welcome this new challenge, while simultaneously gagging and drowning from how overwhelming it’s all been. 

Most of all, it puts an unwelcome spotlight on all the simple things my chronically ill body prevents me from doing – things I used to do with ease. By things I used to do with ease, I literally mean cooking for myself, cleaning, laundry and grocery shopping. You know, just the stuff you need to do to be remotely independent. 

Ever since the start of the semester, I’ve had to live in constant recovery mode for my body — lying down, icing, starting infusions, stopping infusions, napping, taking pills, lying down again — all so I can make it to class (barely) and then come home to start recovering again. The physical demands of being a student — traveling to and from class, walking to meetings, walking literally everywhere — are like, lowkey, so much that it all drains my reserves, fast. 

And all of this has resurfaced internal battles I thought I’d long since fought and won.

My mind feels capable of doing so much more than my chronically ill body will allow. It makes me want to scream in frustration (Wait, can butterflies scream?).

And here’s what has been the hardest to grapple with: It’s four weeks into school, and my body already can’t keep up with my mind.

In these moments specifically, it’s so hard not to fall victim to anger, frustration and self-pity toward my disabled body. It can be so easy to fall into the “Woe is me” trap, and trust me, I’ve trapped myself plenty of times. 

Last week, once the negative and anxious thoughts started, I knew things weren’t aligned. In the past, when I was newly diagnosed and coming to terms with the limitations of my disabled body, I would push through to my goal, no matter the amount of physical pain I was in. I was going to accomplish whatever I’d set my mind to, and nothing would stop me.

That wasn’t a cute look — I mean, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. In my case, I was holding myself, my body, to the same physical expectations I had when I was younger and more able-bodied.

However, if there’s anything becoming chronically ill has taught me, it’s that maintaining my mental health requires not pushing through when I’m feeling burnt out. I’ve learned time and time again that forcing “mind over matter” never ends well. 

This time around, I finally put all those years of therapy to practice. I was able to recognize the signs and symptoms of my worsening mental and physical health — and that was something to be proud of.

This past week, I realized I needed to step back. Pause. Breathe. Slow down, and remember who I am. More importantly, I needed to remember the things that help me feel like I can be my best self. 

I am someone who does great with a lot of sleep. I am someone who performs well when I have enough breaks. I am someone who needs regular snacks and hydration, like a butterfly needs its nectar, to make it through the day. I am someone who needs exercise, who needs to feel connected to their body, in order to be my best self. I am someone who shows up for the people they love. I am someone who is determined to get my education without compromising my mental and physical health.

It’s clear to me now I haven’t given myself enough credit for recognizing that I’m still in transition, that things still feel clunky, uncertain and that my body is adjusting on its own time. However, there are things I can do to help it adjust, and in that sense, maybe I can forgive myself for the fact that I’m still metamorphosing. 

So, repeat after me: I am a mighty fucking monarch who is patient, loving and does things at a pace that respects my body, and going slower or taking an unconventional route doesn’t make me any less mighty than other monarchs — it makes me the mightiest. 

Writer’s note: Feel free to reach out to Chronically Catherine if you’re also a student of different abilities working to coexist with daily adversity without losing sight of your fabulosity – [email protected] or @itschronicallycatherine on Instagram.

Catherine Ames is a junior writing about life as a young person coexisting with chronic illness. Her column, “Chronically Catherine,” runs every other Thursday.