I recently spent almost two weeks being sick. It was a novelty for me because I don’t usually fall victim to any of the bugs and viruses that are passed around from person to person. I never even came down with Covid in all of the months when it seemed to be attacking almost everyone. My latest bout started one evening with pain whenever I tried to swallow. Many days later I was hacking and coughing and blowing my nose constantly. My voice was weak and squeaky even though I tried to save it by not speaking for most of the day. My energy was sapped and I finally gave in and took to my bed in the hopes that full rest would do the trick of getting me back to normal. 

I don’t like being sidelined by illness. I don’t think anybody does. I knew that I would eventually recover but I was nonetheless impatient and eager to hurry along my recovery. I have many responsibilities not the least of which is taking care of my family. I teach math to a number of children who are homeschooled and I kept having to cancel my time with them. The world itself seemed to be on fire making me feel even more helpless. I tried willing myself to be tough even as my body was telling me that it was time to let go if only for enough time to heal and regain my energy. 

I suppose that because there has been so much in my life that I was not able to control I had developed iron fisted routines that made me believe that I at least had some command over my destiny. Losing that for even a short time felt uncomfortable, disorienting. I realized that I had indeed built a kind of armor around myself that made me believe that only I had the answers that I needed. 

My mother often urged me to relax, to quit trying to be in charge. My daughters had often echoed her admonitions. I did not want to admit that they were right but there was so much evidence that I was unwilling to accept. I have always been uncomfortable whenever I am not in charge. 

I recall a time in my twenties when I came down with hepatitis. I was about as sick as anyone might be but I kept pushing myself until my next door neighbor saw me at a grocery store and insisted that I contact my doctor immediately. She noticed the yellow tinge in what should have been the whites of my eyes. She saw my orange skin. She was wise enough to understand that for my own safety and that of others I should not be shopping in a crowded store. She told me that if I did not contact my doctor that she would do so. 

I got my neighbor’s message and soon had a diagnosis and marching orders to stay in bed or end up in the hospital. Since my children were still quite young I did not want to leave them alone so I agreed to let go of my compulsion to be the master of my household. I had to turn over my duties to my husband and my sweet mother-in-law who temporarily moved in with us so that she might look after my girls and cook for the family. 

I admittedly did not like being the weak link. Nobody was doing anything the way I would have wanted it done. It felt as though my home was in a state of upheaval. If it were not for the fact that I actually got worse before I got better I would have demanded that everyone stay out of my way so that I might put things back in order. Instead I found myself becoming so frail that I wondered if I was even going to make it. I had to surrender. 

I am fully aware of the psychology of my obsessive need for order in my life. I have little doubt that it came with the death of my father. I did not want to ever again feel as helpless as I did in that moment. I drew on my inner strength to become the captain of my destiny. In the process I built a kind of fence around myself that allowed me to believe the fantasy that I was a superwoman who would be able to swoop in to help anyone in need. What I did not allow was taking help whenever I needed it. 

During my latest illness I had time for a great deal of personal introspection. I thought about the pridefulness that I had so often relied upon. I realized that I needed to take my own advice. I had always insisted that it is important to consider differing ways of believing and doing things but somehow I had not heard the message myself. I saw the hardheadedness of my thinking and suddenly knew that I needed to heal not just my body but my soul as well. 

It is difficult to admit to our flaws. We all have them but we are more likely to see those of others than the ones that we possess. I’m working on trust. I am trying to practice my own preaching by relaxing my iron fist and letting go. I am listening more to my children and grandchildren and actually hearing what they have to say. I’m admitting that my insistence on my personal view of order and design is not the only way. I am looking toward the future with an eye to believing in others and not just myself. Perhaps if we all tried to do this we would find ourselves in a much more beautiful and inclusive world. The natural world is diverse and so should we be.