Hashimoto's disease is a condition in which your immune system attacks your thyroid, a small gland at the base of your neck below your Adam's apple. The thyroid gland is part of your endocrine system, which produces hormones that coordinate many of your body's activities.
What makes it incredibly hard to give it my best shot is that because the thyroid gland is essential to producing so many other hormones that regulate my body functions and moods, when I am having a flare up, it can feel as if I'm completely losing control of my mind and body. Dealing with this disease is the hardest thing I have ever done. Harder than a 34 hour natural labor. Harder than saying good-bye to friends and family who pass on. Harder than running to the top of a steep hill 10 times fast with no break. You get the point. It's difficult. Honestly, I don't want to do it anymore. I know it is an endless battle.
Imagine having all the symptoms of a major mental illness such as manic depression, paranoid schizophrenia, psychotic depression, or even a bipolar disorder. One day you wake up with overflowing physical energy, even feeling severely anxious, with a rapid heartbeat, profuse sweating, trembling hands, and diarrhea, and you can’t stop losing weight. Then soon enough, without warning, your energy plummets. You feel like a slug, are constipated, your hair starts falling out, you gain weight no matter how little you eat, and you are severely depressed. You may have difficulty swallowing, sound hoarse, and feel like you have swallowed something that wont go down. And then, suddenly, your old symptoms return, and you feel anxious, sweaty, trembling, and panicky. This cycle can repeat itself again and again.
The thing is, I have to fight. I have things to do. This disease is something that I've been given, it is part of who I am, and who I will become. It doesn't have to be all bad. Sure, I just outed myself as someone who might display signs of mental illness. Is that the smartest thing in the world? I'm not ashamed. Many of us live with illnesses, mental or otherwise, that to folks we encounter everyday are invisible. We seem fine. We are hard workers. We get things done. We are driven. We seem in touch. The fact is, that we may be all of these things because everyday is a new struggle and we know that if we don't do it, we won't. There's no in between.
I don't think any of us who share about a chronic invisible illness are expecting condolences or accolades. It doesn't mean we are heroes for going on with life. It doesn't mean we need sympathy because our lives are over and we'll never see our dreams come alive. No, we share because we inspire one another to reach just a little higher. We help each other gather the information we need to take charge of our health. And, we want everyone to know that if we can do it, so can you. All we have is now. If we can make changes that will help us live our lives more fully and experience our bodies in a greater sense of freedom, why wait? No matter how challenging it is to change, why wait? Now, is the time when we can work. One step at a time.
This week I have driven my friends batty with my looping thoughts and stress. I left my beloved yoga mat at the front desk of the recreation center right within my eyesight. I forgot to grab my phone on a day when it was really important that I stay connected. Yesterday, I went about the day without taking my supplements, my heart medication, or my anxiety medication. I didn't realize it until I was overtaken by heart palpitations and feelings like I was surrounded by a strange glass box. When I'm having a flare up of the disease, it is like all my thoughts are in a fog. I get stuck on a topic with worry and I cannot shake it. It's as if I'm in a never-ending state of multitasking. This doesn't even begin to address the physical symptoms. It all can be embarrassing sometimes.
I will never use Hashimoto's as an excuse for my behavior or my physical issues. Yes, sometimes I may choose to share with someone that Hashimoto's is why I do certain things, or sometimes don't seem myself. It's not an excuse though. It's a reason. It's a reason to take better care of myself. It's a reason to deepen my spiritual connection. A reason to listen more to my body. A reason to be okay with a little comfortable discomfort in order to grow as a person and in strength. This is my body. It belongs to me. There's no disease stronger than me. The disease is just another teacher among many.
The man golfing above is my Papaw Hansel. He passed away earlier this year of bone cancer. My Uncle James is holding him up so he can take a swing and not fall. This is the blood from which I come. We don't lay in the bed until we have to. We grab the bull by the horns as they say. My last moment with my Papaw was my dad and I lifting him to adjust him in his bed. He looked at me with those sly eyes and looked at my dad. Dad said, "She's a brute ain't she, Papaw?" He smiled. He was proud of the strength in me. I have always been one to want to please my elders. Giving up isn't an option.
Yet, on days like today, when the sun is shining and the trees are calling, I just want to rest. I want someone to hold me, tell me its okay, tell me I'm doing a good job, I'm a good person, and I can rest. I want to breathe and feel. I want to cry and laugh. I want to be with those who accept me as I am and like me that way. Today, I'm again alone. Today, I'm going to my yoga mat with Warrior Workout and see what I can become for it's all I know to do.
Kelli B. Haywood is the mother of three daughters living in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky. She is a writer, spiritual explorer, and avid yogini. Haywood is the Public Affairs Director for WMMT-Real People Radio in Whitesburg, Kentucky. Connect with her on Facebook @ Confluence Mama.
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