It's hard to tell people that you have a serious illness. Getting those words out the first few times is torturous. We have a primal instinct to take our wounded selves off into a cave somewhere, separating ourselves from the rest of the pack. Is it to protect ourselves in our vulnerability or to protect the pack? In the wild an animal who slows down the rest of the herd presents a serious threat, drawing predators who sense the opportunity to move in. I've watched my hens attack the weakest of their sisters, hence the phrase "pecking order." Whatever it is, it seems that the most natural thing to do is to go off and lick our wounds alone. Each morning I wake up and for one brief second all is well, then I remember the wounds and just want to stay in the dark and quiet where no one is asking questions or offering advice. In doing that we deny ourselves the comfort of those who can help us, who want so very much to take a little of the pain and worry from our shoulders.
It seems that we also have a deep seated instinct to feed people in a crisis. What is the first thing that we all think of when there is death, illness, or tragedy? Start cooking. The casseroles and chocolate cakes are comfort food that ease the burden of dealing with life on life's terms, and give the provider a sense that yes, there is something that they can do to help.
We need each other. We need to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to reach out, to let others help us carry the load. It is love and kindness, like a roaring fire, that bring light to our darkest nights.
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