Burning Beneath

The weather is nice and sunny, and that is always my favourite time to get things done. It wakes something up in me. My mind starts overflowing with ideas, projects, plans, and visions of everything I want to finish. I can already see it all done in my head before I even begin.

Lately, that has meant finishing the electrical setup in my van, which thankfully, I have done. But doing work like that always reminds me of something I cannot ignore. The pain. In every joint, every muscle, even my fingertips from screwing bolts and fastening everything into place. It is hard to cope with a body that does not feel as young as the soul living inside it.

I am 52. Or maybe I should say, my body is 52. My soul is ageless.

That is how I have always felt inside this body. I am still me. The same soul. The same energy. The same creativity. The same fears. The same wants. But so many times, my soul gets a reality check when I try to do something and my body does not respond the way I expect it to. Or maybe it responds, but only after I push it past its limit and then pay for it with two or three days of agonizing pain.

And yet, there is something strange I have come to understand about that pain. I do not love it, but I do love what sits on the other side of it. When I finally sit down after finishing something I truly wanted to do, whether it is small or big, I feel happy. Content. Proud. Deeply proud. To still be able to do what I can do, despite everything, feels bigger than the task itself.

Working on my camper van again has brought all of this to the surface. I am trying to make it ready for the trip I am hoping to take with my kids this summer. I say hoping because life is never guaranteed. Finances can change. Commitments can appear. Illness can interrupt. So I hold that dream gently. Hopefully. Carefully. But still with hope.

Pain has been part of my life for a long time now. Everything hurts, all at once, though the degree changes depending on what I moved, how I moved, and what I asked my body to do. I do not know if this is something that will go away or something that will get worse. Somewhere along the way, I think I convinced myself that this was just normal. That this constant pain everywhere was simply how life feels. Sometimes I even assume other people live the same way.

I never really think of my pain as an added stress. But both my occupational therapist and my psychotherapist keep reminding me that it is. They tell me we need to manage the pain first, because pain itself adds to stress. And they are probably right.

But for me, managing pain with more medication is not a simple answer. With cardiomyopathy, I cannot casually take painkillers without thinking about the cost to my body. I remember my doctor warning me about that when I was first diagnosed. And truthfully, I have never liked taking pills unless they are absolutely needed. I have always been someone who tolerates pain, except maybe with migraines, and even those I have learned to live around. At this age, with pills already in the morning and pills again at night, I do not want to keep adding more.

I am not saying I am happy about the pain. I am not saying I want it. I am not saying I do not wish for relief.

I am only saying this: as long as I am still able to move, still able to create, still able to build, still able to dream, I will keep meeting life with whatever strength I have. Maybe slower. Maybe hurting. Maybe needing to rest longer after. But still me.

Still here.

Still trying.

Still becoming.

The woman beneath