Self-Compassion

Compassion is to “suffer with” someone; showing kindness, empathy and understanding. Self-Compassion is when we extend that same kindness & empathy to ourselves when we are suffering. It is acknowledging that “this is really hard right now” and giving yourself permission to feel & seek comfort.

One way that I practice self-compassion in the midst of illness & suffering is to take some slow, deep breaths and say to myself,

“May I know peace,

May I know love,

May I know joy,

May I know grace,

May I know forgiveness,

May I know acceptance.”

All these mercies, God lavishes upon us through the love of Jesus. So, when showing kindness to myself seems impossible, I can remember how God looks at me and my suffering. I accept His compassion and extend it to myself. As a result, it can lower distress and increase my emotional well-being.

Why don’t you give it a go today?

Spoonie Tales: Enough

You know you live with chronic illness when you spend the evening convincing yourself that having a shower and washing the dishes today was enough.

It wasn’t a wasted day.
I’m not a waste of space.
I’m not lazy.
I did my best.
I’m not worthless.
It’s okay to rest.
Be kind to myself.
My worth is not based on what I do or do not do.
Today was enough.
I am enough.

Do I believe it yet?

Bad Mental Health Day

Some days are better than others. Some days feel like an impossibility to get through – you’re sapped of energy, of purpose, of initiative, of drive and of hope. You don’t know if tomorrow will be harder or easier, so you do your best to look after yourself as time slowly passes by. That’s depression.

Self Compassion Henry

Henry has learnt how to be an expert at self compassion; choosing to ignoring the internal and external critics and instead, showing himself kindness, grace and acceptance.

We are constantly being compared and comparing ourselves to others. We see our sufferings as weakness. We see mistakes as failures and our illnesses as brokenness. We are constantly believing we are not good enough. I call bull-crap. They’re LIES! All lies.

To endure suffering is strength, to feel emotions makes us human, to persevere makes us strong and to measure ourselves up to no one but ourselves is freedom. The reality is that crap that is out of our control happens all the time. We all have bad, hard, painful and unbearable seasons in life. So instead of beating yourself up (or allowing others to do it for you), remind yourself; you’re doing the best you can, emotions are okay, you’re not perfect (and that’s not only alright, but what makes you human) and that you’re pretty, freaking amazing.

Begin practicing self compassion by putting your hand over your heart and saying to yourself, “may I know kindness. May I know grace. May I know happiness. May I be at peace. May I be at rest. May I know love. May I know empathy. May I show myself compassion.” Or “I am suffering. I am being kind to myself and giving myself permission to feel whatever emotions I am experiencing.

Be like Henry, learn the skill of self compassion. Be kind to yourself and stop beating yourself up! Self-compassion has been a life changing skill for Henry as he manages depression and FND.


Spiritual reflection

For those who believe in God, remember he is a compassionate God, who continually shows compassion to his people.

Is. 49:3 – Shout for joy, you heavens; rejoice, you earth; burst into song, you mountains! For the LORD comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.

Jesus is the perfect example of this… oh, and we are also made in His image and are called to imitate His character.

Col. 3:12 – Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

So, let’s follow God and show compassion to everyone, including ourselves.


Some more information/resources on the concept of self-compassion:

You’re alive. You’ve survived. You got this.”

While I was looking at the 5kgs I put on during my 5 week hospital stay and thinking about the fact I had been in a mental hospital for 5 weeks, I was beating myself up… but then that small, kind compassionate voice reminded me, “you’re alive. You’ve survived. You got this.”

If you’re in recovery be kind to and nurture yourself. Remember; you’re alive. You’ve survived. You can do this.

‘Am I OK?’ today? Well, Life’s Slowed Down.

It is “R U OK? Day” today.

Am I okay? Yes. I think so. I will be.

Am I sad, overwhelmed, exhausted and ‘bleh’ with blood-shot eyes? Yes.

My Opa passed away today. It’s sad and I’m grieving. But I’m okay. The doctor assured us that his death was painless and peaceful.

He had a heart attack on Sunday (ironically, Fathers Day), which revealed he also had pneumonia and kidney failure. Opa could have had a few long, drawn out weeks where his body slowly shut down – but God was merciful. All his grandkids and children were able to see him the day before he passed. Then after only a couple of days in hospital, he fell asleep early this morning and never woke up. It wasn’t a sudden-shock, but was quick. In his words, yes, ‘he kicked the bucket’ (and one day we all will), but it was painless, peaceful, he knew he was loved and even got to have a beer on his last night. This is just the surface of how things seemed to ‘worked out for the best’ and I have witnessed and experienced God’s goodness, mercy and grace in a whole new way.

As a teenager, I watched a close family friend pass away and had a church brother pass away after a motorbike accident – but this is the first time I’ve experienced the death of a family member and it’s surreal. It has shocked me that as his world stopped, mine (and my family’s) slowed down while the world continues on, as it was yesterday and as it will tomorrow.

As my family I sat down with a cuppa (just after we said our final good-bye) and we were mincing our words – a fly on the wall would think we were talking jibberish. We kept dropping things and walking down the hallway, forgetting that we just needed to use the bathroom. Then mum and I finished our evening with a quick trip to coles to pick up some (much needed) cheese and milk. We came home with $30 worth of groceries, some cider, 2 parcels from the pharmacy, no cheese and the wrong kind of milk. Grief distracts you, tires you and takes up so much of your brain. Time feels like it’s gone so quickly and dragged on at the same time.

Mr Google told me that approximately 151,600 people have their world just ‘stop’ every day. If you estimate each individual has 4 people who love them, 606, 400 people have their lives slow down every single day – and grief can be overwhelming for days, weeks and months. At least 4.24 million people a week have their lives slow down because (approx.) 1 million lives stop. That’s a lot of grieving people, walking through the day, a little bit slower than the rest of the world, very distracted with a blend of apathy and sorrow.

And death isn’t the only cause of grief – people lose jobs, pets, marriages, their health and loved ones in other ways, every day. People can have their lives turn over and slowed down due to ill health, mental illness, medications, infertility, waiting for test results or simply receiving some bad, life changing news.

You never know what someone is feeling, experiencing, processing and suffering with as you encounter them. You don’t know what is going on for the ‘rude person’ who hardly notices knocking you off your feet in the street, for the friend who didn’t reply to your text, for the shop attendant who gives you the wrong change, or the driver who cuts you off on the highway.

Can I encourage you to show compassion, empathy and understanding to those you encounter? Give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe, their world has just slowed down. You just don’t know and the only way you will is if you ask.

So, you know how I am going today. What about you? R U OK?

A Letter To The GP’s Who Never Let Me Give Up

Yesterday during my GP appointment, my (female) doctor said, “Alex! I saw you in the coffee shop earlier, and I noticed you’re looking very pretty today. Have you done something with your hair?” It’s safe to say she made my day!

I have many people who have supported me as I’ve learnt to adjust to life with chronic illness – family, friends and health professionals. I’ve seen multiple GP’s in my life and three have stood out for me, one from each of the cities I’ve lived in since I left high school. Their non-stop encouragement, compassion, and validation have helped me survive a series of unfortunate events.

Dear Dr. Sydney, Dr. Lismore and Dr. Brisbane,

Thank you for validating me when I felt stuck in your revolving office door. There have been periods where I’ve seen you monthly, fortnightly and weekly and you never made me felt guilty for taking your time or like a burden. You probably have no idea the impact you’ve had on my journey through chronic illness, but these are a few of the things I thank you for as you validated me as a person and my experience as your patient.

Thank you for acknowledging your limits as a General Practitioner and referring me to health professionals who have more training and expertise. You were never offended when I sought other opinions, and your humility meant I was able to get accurate diagnoses and try new treatments. You showed me that an effective support network had many people and was multi-disciplinary. [Dr. Sydney,] I was stunned when you wrote a thank you letter to my naturopath for her insight and test requests that led to my PCOS diagnosis.

Thank you for listening to me. I may have left your office feeling hopeless (due to the nature of the chronic illness) and in tears many times, but I never left feeling unheard, ignored, uncared for or let down.

Thank you for respecting my dignity as an adult who can make her own decisions. Thank you for not pushing me to attempt risky treatments I was not prepared to try and acknowledging the research I had done on my own. Many times I came into your office, not as Ailment Alex, but as Advocate Alex, requesting a specific referral, treatment or test. Sometimes I was way off, but your encouragement empowered me to continue as an advocate and to keep opening new doors.

Thank you for not treating me like a drug addict or another ‘fat person.’ You never hid your shock when I shared horror stories with other health professionals. You also exercised great wisdom and respect as we managed my medication increases and decreases.

Thank you for being my friend. I don’t mean this in the creepy, dependent, unhealthy, unprofessional kind of way. You shared my disappointment when treatments didn’t work and celebrated the small victories, usually with more enthusiasm than I. You were often the person I spent the most time with (other than my family), and because you were holistic in your approach, you treated me like a person, not a patient.

Thank you for being practical. You understood my personal restraints, particularly transport restrictions and financial hardship. When possible, you gave me samples, helped me access the cheapest and most convenient options and always bulk-billed. Your efforts meant I could afford my healthcare, try different treatments and see new specialists that were often helpful.

Thank you for letting me cry and empathising with my pain, sorrow, grief, despair and the unfairness of my situation. I appreciate every time you agreed that my situation was unfair, saw me as a whole person, told me I didn’t deserve this and apologised when you had run out of tissues.

Finally, each of you said something to me that has stuck with me.

Dr. Sydney, when you, acknowledging we shared the same faith, asked to pray for me, then and there, you reminded me that although I felt isolated and hopeless, I wasn’t alone, and there was hope.

Dr. Lismore, when I came to you because my suicidal ideations had returned, you said, “I won’t give up until we get you better” (and you didn’t), you showed me I wasn’t alone, and there was hope.

Dr. Brisbane, when shared my insecurities that I felt like a hypochondriac because of a string of infections, you told me to “never apologise for looking after yourself. You know your body. If something feels off, never hesitate to see me.” You, again, reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and there was hope.

So, to these wonderful GP’s, thank you for acknowledging your limitations as a human, while giving me the dignity and respect I deserve as one. Thank you for using your role to bring hope and healing to a patient who needed it as they learnt to understand and manage their chronic illnesses.

Many Thanks,

Your Grateful Patient.

If you live in Sydney, Brisbane or the Northern Rivers (NSW) and looking for a good GP, feel free to message me and I’ll pass on the names.

You’re *so* lucky!

Have you ever had the ‘joy’ of experiencing a conversation similar to this on a Sunday afternoon?
“What time do you start work tomorrow?”
“Ummm, I don’t work on Mondays.”
“ahhh, you’re so lucky!”

I lost count of the number of times I’ve had similar conversations. I understand that for most people not having to work on a Monday would be a gift, a luxury. But I don’t work Mondays, nor Wednesdays, Thursdays or Saturdays. Even the days I do work are only half days. I know many people would love to work only three days a week, but not me.

Many chronic illnesses can cause chronic fatigue, pain, vertigo, nausea, migraines, weak bladder or bowel, overwhelming sadness, debilitating anxiety, low immunity and muscle weakness. On top of the symptoms there is often pharmaceutical side effects; drowsiness, memory loss, reduced cognitive ability, excessive sweating, insomnia, anxiety, nausea, trouble breathing and heart palpitations, just to name a few.

If these symptoms and side effects can impact one’s ability to complete the simplest, everyday tasks, how much more can it minimise one’s capacity to maintain employment. If you have severe, chronic back pain, both manual labor and sitting for extended periods of time are not possible. If you have muscle weakness, you lose your ability to lift and hold things. If you’re always tired, your concentration lapses and therefore, productivity reduces. If you’re symptoms are sporadic, you may feel fine at 7 am, but by the time you leave for work an hour later you simply can’t. You have to call in sick last minute.

Personally, if I work more much more than 15 hours a week, my ability to do housework, study, exercise, cook healthily, socialise and participate in leisure activities decreases dramatically. Even then, 15 hours of work does not provide the income needed to live in Australia. Imagine adding the costs of doctors visits, tests, alternate therapies and medications to an already stretched budget. I can’t begin to imagine what I’d do with a full-time income.

I can only dream of a day when I may be able to have sustainable full-time work. If you have the capacity to a maintain full-time job and have managed to be employed full-time (which isn’t easy in itself), *you* are the lucky one. My full-time job is staying healthy and looking after my body. I don’t get paid for that. There is no financial gain. Instead, my job success relies on hiring a team of people to help and support me. It’s not cheap!

So, next time you are tempted to tell someone who doesn’t work full-time that they’re lucky because they don’t have to go into the office tomorrow, reconsider. Yes, maybe they do have the best job in the world, but maybe, just maybe, they don’t feel lucky. Maybe they would do almost anything to switch bodies and jobs with you because you are the lucky one.