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A little over nine years ago I began attending mutual support meetings for what turned out to be a pretty severe case of codependence. People pleasing, denying my feelings, trying to control outcomes, obsessive worry, "saving the day," conflict avoidance, and I could go on and on about the patterns of behavior that made my gut wrench and my life unmanageable. Then I discovered recovery. Life in recovery is good. I'm more authentic, I sleep better, and though I still have plenty of codependent slips, I'm much more in touch with my own values and live them as fully as I can, even if other people are angry or upset. Unlike being in recovery from substance use, it can be difficult to tell when I've "relapsed," but all in all, my life is amazing now, and I'm so grateful for the gifts I've received throughout my journey. Now more than ever I'm glad to be in recovery. Not only do I apply it to my codependent behaviors, but I also apply it to all aspects of my life. Including this damnable coronavirus.
It's been over 17 weeks since I started experiencing COVID-19 symptoms. 17 weeks. Instead of writing a post about being recovered or cured or well, I am writing about being in recovery. I am a person in recovery from COIVD-19. A couple of weeks ago I learned that I have antibodies. So technically, I should be over the virus, and I should be immune, at least for a time. But we don't really know about immunity with a novel virus, so it's possible I could get it again. So much is still unknown. I've joined a Facebook support group for those of us with #LongCovid. There are SO MANY PEOPLE experiencing this extended play version, many of them with far worse symptoms than I have.
What I'm experiencing now seems to be post-viral symptoms. I continue to have fatigue and some shortness of breath, which is, unfortunately, exacerbated by wearing a mask (I am completely committed to wearing one even so.) I still can't concentrate or remember as well as before (though it's hard to tell where C19 and aging diverge!) I've had as many as two full weeks when I felt almost normal, but then the setback comes. Fortunately it's never as bad as before, and the general trend is toward improvement. But I still haven't been able to increase my walking beyond a 16 minute slow walk. Fatigue means that I can be in the middle of a meeting and need to lie down. Or get out of the shower and be exhausted and breathing hard. It means it's hard for me to sit upright at a computer for very long or to cope with much stress. I make mistakes in my work and can even get a little off balance moving around.
Sometimes I push to get through things that I really want/need to do. Sometimes I feel good enough to do them without pushing. Sometimes I use my vitamin energy drinks or caffeine to help. I still don't know if pushing causes relapses or if I need to make the most of my "good" time when I have energy, so I fall somewhere in the middle, trying to get things done if I'm up to it and resting when I'm not. The advice I hear most about post-viral fatigue is rest, rest, rest, and you will get better. So, I do. It's amazing how much I can do lying down with my computer in my lap.
In some ways it's comforting to be in recovery - it's familiar. I don't expect that I'll ever be cured of codependence, but living in recovery makes life quite good. I don't yet know whether I will be permanently changed in some way by the virus, but even if I am, I know how to live in recovery. One day at a time.
This is what recovery looks like for me:
Learning to live WITH something.
Doing my best each day to make healthy choices. Forgiving myself when I don't.
Some days/weeks there may be relapses.
Celebrating the good days while not getting seduced into thinking that all days will be good days.
Setting boundaries - and this one is very hard for me, especially when it comes to work.
Attending mutual support groups, educating myself about the disease, and working with a support team.
Listening to my body.
Being gentle with myself and others.
Turning everything over to God.
Living in recovery does not mean that I get it right all the time. When I don't, I say I'm sorry. I look at my part, and I make needed amends, and I work to do things differently.
Life is changed, I am changed, and I have choices about how I continue my journey.
I continue to choose recovery.
