Sitting on my kitchen floor vacuuming dry oatmeal, I hit a wall.

I need to lie down.

As I’m humbled by the very real limitations of my body I’m also struck by the realization of my own judgement.

I KNOW The severity of my illness. I KNOW just how real and ever present. All encompassing. Debilitating it’s presence. And yet I feel like I should be able to do this. Like I should be able to do anything and everything that a healthy person is able to do. And not out of some feeling of guilt for the slack that others must pick up in my stead( although that is there as well) but because of a mostly unconscious feeling that I must be making it up. I’m just lazy.

You see, gaslighting, most often by well meaning people (doctors, therapists, friends and family members), is so prevalent in the life of someone living with chronic illness that it can become impossible to believe in your own sense of reality. Couple that with the inevitable guilt and….

Here I sit. Barely able to hold a vacuum hose up a few inches off the ground for a less then five minutes. Chastising myself for my apparent laziness.