Patient Spotlight: I Promise to Love Myself For the Long Haul
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As I reflect on my 9-month journey with COVID-19, I am overcome by how much I have changed. When I stare at myself in the mirror, a different person stares back at me. My body is different. My soul is different. Truthfully, I have changed so much that I don’t even know where to begin.
I keep thinking about a poem that I wrote a few years ago about the impact of trauma:
I am not who I once was.
That is painful.
-And-
That is beautiful.
I am not who I was before COVID-19. That is painful. There are times when I miss the old version of myself. I miss the person who went to bed at night without worrying about whether or not she would be breathing in the morning. I miss the person who took boxing classes and was about to start dancing again. I miss the person who ran workshops about trauma treatment in crowded rooms. I am afraid that person is gone forever.
-And-
In place of who I once was, someone new has emerged.
Before COVID-19, I was a very private person. I had always wanted to write, but I came up with many reasons not to tell the truth about my life. When I got sick at the end of March, everything changed. I began writing from my bed when I was too sick to speak. My desire to remain private was replaced by a soul-calling to be honest about this complicated illness. I wrote because I saw countless media outlets getting it wrong. So many of them left out the experiences of COVID long haulers. I didn’t want anyone else to feel like an enigma if they were sick for more than a few weeks. So I shed my identity as a private person and became a formerly private person, for all of the right reasons.
Long COVID pushed me to actively save my own life. And it was visceral. In the spring, I spent countless nights pacing alone in my apartment (without toilet paper) navigating my way through every major treatment decision. It was up to me to decide if I was going to the emergency room. It was up to me to decide if I wanted to try a new medication. And remarkably, I found my way through it all. I have emerged with a newfound confidence; I know I can trust myself with my life. The former version of myself wasn’t so sure.
Long COVID gave me access to a new community: the Body Politic Support Group. I recently discovered that this group was founded on my birthday, which feels like an obvious synchronicity. I became a member of the Body Politic support group in early April and it changed my entire outlook. Prior to joining, I was completely alone in my experience of COVID-19. I didn’t know anyone else who had contracted the illness, let alone anyone else who was going through the complicated labyrinth of healing from it. When I think back to the early days, I see myself in bed and on Slack. The two images are inextricably linked in my mind. While it was horrifying to be so sick, this group helped me prevail. Now, I fantasize about going to a Body Politic reunion. We are all wearing our COVID long hauler shirts with name tags that have our Slack screen names printed on them. There is laughter. There are tearful embraces. And we know that we are bound together forever. Trauma does that too.
Clearly, I am not who I once was. My face is thinner now. I have lost most of the muscle in my arms. My lungs have undergone a complete metamorphosis. Yet, amongst all of these physical changes, there is a glow in the center of my eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s the glow of a woman who saved her own life and is telling the world about it. That is painful, and that is beautiful.
I know this will not be the last time that trauma rips through the fabric of my life and alters it forever. So, I want to make a promise to myself here and now. I promise to continue shedding all outdated versions of my body and soul. I promise to greet each new version of myself with curiosity and openness. I promise to love myself for the long haul.
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Lauren Chava Rose is a psychotherapist and writer. She is dedicated to telling the truth about her life and to helping others do the same. You can follow her journey here.
