Hope is in the liminal space between regretting the past and fearing the future. Hope is alive in what is still good. It is knowing that our trials, while difficult and sometimes heartbreaking, aren’t the sum of everything. Envisioning our pain in the context of the long arc of time and realizing that it's seated next to joy gives us hope, even if our wishes don’t come true. Living with reverence for the now allows the future to unfold rather than loom on the horizon and the past to reveal what matters most to us.

Art can be the magic door through which we enter as separate selves and emerge as whole beings, neither denying nor focusing on single aspects of ourselves. Through art, we inch closer to being sure about what we know to be true while maintaining the uncertainty necessary for future growth. It brings us to a place where willpower and intellect aren’t enough.

Was Albert Schweitzer right? Does every patient carry his or her own doctor inside? Patients and doctors need to develop a level of trust between them that honors the roles that each plays in the healing process. They can work together if they remember that medicine is a practice that uses the best science available, but the uniqueness of each person’s body makes even the best plan a good guess. There are doctors out there willing to develop this relationship with their patients, but this takes time, something that is in short supply.

Stories about us repeated in family lore are a window into how others see us. The earliest accounts of our lives come from our families. These anecdotes whisper clues about how the past shaped us. Often, the stories unintentionally label us as easy-going, stubborn, well-behaved, happy, outgoing, shy, anxious, etc.

Suffering is a prism that exposes the colors that make up the white light that is us. All experiences make us who we are. Each of our lives is filled with contradictions, and it is in those contradictions that we learn resilience and acceptance.

Who doesn’t want to be free from disease, attain the perfect weight, have the energy of a three-year-old on a sugar high, age at a glacial pace, and remain peaceful and calm no matter what? You just have to follow the prescription laid out by Wellness experts, and your new life is there for the taking. Those of us with chronic illnesses can be particularly vulnerable to claims of you’ll be well if you . . .

“You look great!” or “You don’t look sick!” are at the top of most lists of what not to say to someone with chronic illness. I have to admit that I sometimes cringe a little when someone says it to me, even though I’ve vowed to live well even when I’m not.

Chronic illness changes our relationships – especially with a spouse or partner. Both people experience grief and loss. Both can feel denial, anger, helplessness, sadness, loneliness, and fear. The coping mechanisms we build over our lifetimes have a lot to do with how caregivers and those with chronic illness work together.

The holidays can be particularly tricky for people with chronic pain and illness. I’m a social person by nature, and I love getting together with family and friends. It just kills me to turn down a party invitation. I draw energy from interacting with others, but if I exceed my limit, I can’t do much.

When you’re diagnosed with a chronic illness or if you live with chronic pain, doctors often tell you what to expect physically, but they don’t address the myriad of feelings and emotional upheaval that come with the new life you will live.

I was sick a lot when I was a kid, much more often than my friends or siblings, but I didn’t really look sick. I did the things that most kids do, except when I got knocked down by an infection of one kind or another, usually bronchitis or pneumonia.

After much hesitation and thought, I decided to share my story. We as humans, have a fundamental need to be seen and heard. So even if the acknowledgement of pain comes only from ourselves, it somehow allows us to move forward.

Usually, my pain and other symptoms are like static on a car radio when you’re too far from the station. I still listen to the music of my life until the static overtakes it and is too loud to keep dancing. This is what I call hitting the wall. Feelings of anger and/or sadness block my ability to feel joy.

I’ve had lots of alone time because of my illness. During that time, I’ve mined my life for the things that hold me back from being my authentic self, the person beyond the circumstances of my life. When you have a chronic illness, you often have no choice but to find that person, even if you do it kicking and screaming.

At the risk of sounding shallow, I have to admit that shoes are among the things in life that make me happy – wedges, sandals, loafers, mules, pumps – I love them all. For the past year and a half, I have been unable to wear most of the shoes in my closet because the arthritis in my feet has made that nearly impossible.

When you settle into your new normal after being diagnosed with a chronic illness, you begin to think, Okay, I can do this, until a setback or flare accentuates the fact that you have little control over your own body. I sometimes cope with this by trying to control something or someone else, usually my husband.

You can’t go back to your old body or your old life before you were diagnosed. Wishing for that life is self-delusion. It’s like gluing a shattered piece of pottery together and expecting it to be the same as it was before it was broken. This way of thinking can only end in disappointment.

Chronic illness can make us feel as if we have lost our power, that indescribable propelling force that makes us who we are. We feel helpless to change our circumstances as our bodies don’t behave as we want them to, or we are overwhelmed by fatigue and pain.

Intense focus on single aspects of our diseases can enable specialists to effectively treat symptoms and avoid disaster, but it can give us the distorted sense that we are the sum of our parts instead of synergistic beings. This can crystalize for us a vision that focuses only on our physical selves and abilities.