a body mythology: i am not my diagnoses

living in this body means…

as someone with chronic illness, i often fall into the trap of over-identifying with my ailments. my therapist pointed out that i trapped myself in a state of helplessness. i used this as an excuse to avoid uncomfortable situations. (in fact, i still share a proclivity for ducking out during challenging times.) my first instinct is to cut and run, walk around the discomfort instead of through. but i am learning what it means to pause, build boundaries and go with the flow.

in eva meijer’s the limits of my language, anorexia is a difficult disorder to manage because patients form such a strong attachment to their diagnosis. it encapsulates the wholeness of an anorexic, rather than it being present in their lives. meijer proposes the reasoning: anorexia usually springs up during puberty, a formative period in identity shaping. so, the natural conclusion is to wrap one’s whole self into the shape of this illness. while not anorexic, i can relate to this sentiment with my own conditions. my medical team and family (including a parent who is a physician) taught me that these ailments made up my being— and without tending to them, it was my fault.

guessing the pathology of my learned helplessness seems silly. but talking (or at least writing) about it aids in my understanding. part of it also forces me to advocate for myself more. people who do not have as many medical issues don’t understand that being alive takes a lot more effort. there are limitations to my body that i’m trying to honour when i make a conscious decision to not do something. , i am privileged with the amount of resources i am afforded, and choose to delegate some of those chores to others in my life. there are some things i could do for myself, given pressure, but i choose not to do them because i’m enjoying the comfort of care.

i am aware that i have a sense of learned helplessness. it all stems from my roots and it continues to permeate every part of my growth, because it’s within my DNA. it’s embedded there. chronic illness passes down between generations. i inherited my parents' metabolic diseases. it was only a matter of time before they showed up in myself.

but like physical ailments, humans also pass down their traumas. alhassen et. al (2021) discussed potential biological effects of intergenerational trauma transmission and their repercussions. it made me consider: i’m not my diagnoses, but there has to be something else that explains a lot of the pain and flightiness that that isn't pathologised through the medical industrial complex’s trial and errors.

…coming to terms with trauma

i have a tendency to read many books at once. it takes me time to digest the fullness of each individual work. i try to be as mindful as i can. i absorb everything and i’m learning that a close reading means that it takes time to digest. i first noticed this about myself when i started reading cathy park hong’s minor feelings. addressing intergenerational trauma and what it is like to live out the model minority myth in america shook me to my core. i started reading it during the beginning of the pandemic in 2020, and while i devoured the beginning of it, hungry for more— i noticed how tense i was as i continued on. my mind fought my body for control over reading this book. i needed to take a break and explore why my figure was so shaky, why i tensed up with rage and anger whenever i could go forth.

i don’t know whether or not to call myself a first or second generation filipine-american anymore. i am the product of two immigrant parents who came to hawaii to provide their offspring a better future: but what does that even mean in this post-capitalist hellscape? my parents came to the states for this promise of more, of better, of this life that was promised to them if they just picked up and moved to this western dream. was it even fucking worth it?

part of the reason i needed to sit and digest was because never before had i read such an accurate representation of my existence as the child of immigrants who belonged to a so called ‘model minority.’ i’ve been afforded many creature comforts and privilege because my family fit into the mold of the American Dream, and never let me forget it. but it also bore the reality that this so called dream was not meant for them either.

healing isn’t linear or finite

in what my bones know, stephanie foo grapples with her diagnosis of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (c-PTSD,) which technically isn’t in the DSM-V, so therefore isn’t exactly something that can be thrust onto someone as a formal diagnosis in most situations. as i was doing a closer reading of this book, the pieces clicked: i hold a lot of relational trauma within my bones, it is embedded into my DNA. my parents avoid talking about hard situations with me and therefore, it causes a visceral response within me— no wonder i always feel like fleeing when something is uncomfortable: it’s a friggin learned response!

what is it about a diagnosis that causes us to feel more empowered? maybe it’s because those (especially belonging to marginalised communities— you don’t see cishet white men with the same issues) with illness and trauma have been gaslit into believing that their pain, their experiences are not real or valid. but they are. sometimes slapping on a label haphazardly can do more harm than good, but for the most part: i’ve only seen the cis white people in my life ever complain about having to adhere to a label. it’s not that the label is all encompassing, but it does provide a quick identifier that helps steer those who suffer towards self-regulation and management. it becomes an issue only when we rely on it too heavily to get out of uncomfortable situations.

healing is not linear, nor is it finite. foo, in her quest for dealing with her c-PTSD, mentions how she tried to numb her negative emotions— but it also causes the contrasting positive emotions to disappear. in her words, “being healed isn’t about feeling nothing. being healed is about feeling the appropriate emotions at the appropriate times and still being able to come back to yourself. that’s just life.” it is a long, arduous process to embark on, and challenging to realise that it’s about self-regulation. it’s about returning to the self, because as adults, what feels more like home than your self?

advocating for myself (period)

currently, i’m going through the stages of letting go of a connection i really treasured because it wasn’t a good fit. even though i held a lot of love for this human and the emotions we shared, the timing isn’t right, and neither are we, as we are both in flux in different ways. we are two ships passing in the night, and that’s okay. the more I age, the more resilient I become. the eclipse made me understand a lot of the roots of my relational trauma. gathering more information is good for me to fully understand the depths of what is going on.

i’m too old and too busy to not have people match or reciprocate my energy. it’s okay for me to give a shit about someone but need to do it from a respectable distance because it’s easier for my own mental health and nervous system. the older i get, the more i crave people who can reciprocate the intensity of my loyalty and feelings. of course, the thing about being in relation with anyone is the delicate balance and push and pull— sometimes its an uneven relationship at times, but both parties have to agree to it. most of the time, i like meeting people where they’re at and seeing what flourishes in the long run. however, sometimes meeting someone where they’re at means that you’re giving parts of yourself up in the process.

i’m holding sadness within me to mourn what’s gone, but it feels so good to finally be able to breathe in clean air.

i’m returning back to my home, to my self.

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