I’m home again after nearly two weeks in the Utah desert. I went to tell you what it was like—want you to sink into the serenity of slickrock, arches, juniper, and pinyon pines. But words are inadequate to the task. Maybe there’s a place that stirs you in that beyond-language sort of way? Imagine being there with people you love. And then imagine being in that place and with those people and finding your body healthier and more energetic than it’s been in twenty or so months. That’s how these past weeks have been for me. I really don’t have words to describe how grateful I feel.
Some of you are also reaching new milestones in your healing. And some of you are undoubtedly wondering if your body is making any progress at all. That’s where I was, too, just a few months back. In the summer, I was still fairly convinced that I would be unable to work for a long time to come—years, perhaps—due to brain fog and fatigue. I was still carefully pacing my activities and enduring crashes when I didn’t. And now? I haven’t taken a nap in weeks. I haven’t needed one. I swam a mile today, rock climbed yesterday, and took my kids for a hike the day before. I’ve been waking up early, working on my novel for a few hours at the start of each day. Amazingly, I sometimes come back to it again in the evening, my neurons still firing.
I wish I could divulge the secret to this exponential acceleration of healing. Maybe I owe my thanks to the stack of supplements and pills I take to treat MCAS? Maybe the Brazil nuts I eat each morning are just as magical as my nutritionist claims? Maybe my body just needed more time? Most likely, all of these factors play a part—as well as the support of loved ones, rest, pacing, my POTS protocol, an anti-inflammatory diet, and ungodly amounts of patience and self-compassion.
I can’t know, of course, if this will last. A handful of mild symptoms are still hanging on. Maybe they will flare again. Maybe all the old stuff will come back. Maybe.
But health was always temporary, wasn’t it? Whether this body bliss lasts for a week or a year or for several decades, I intend to live gratefully and wholeheartedly into whatever time I have.
When I dive into this inner space of wholeheartedness and connect with my deepest desires, I know exactly what I want—what I need—to do right now. I am writing a novel. It’s a story about a feisty and imaginative young woman who is coming of age in an extremely conservative (and moderately dysfunctional) Mormon household. In case you’re wondering, it is not based on my own life story, though the main character’s dad may or may not wear spandex just like the ones my father used to sport. With each hour that I sit at my computer working, the cast of characters becomes more and more real to me. This is the work I want and need to do right now.
I’m telling you this in part because many of you have been with me on this journey for over 16 months now. You’ve become my friends, and so I want you to know where I’m at and what I’m up to. I’m also telling you this, though, because my dedication to my novel signals the end of something that you may have come to rely on. I won’t be sending weekly Corona Café emails anymore. The full archive of past emails will remain available to you, and I do expect that you’ll continue to hear from me from time to time—just not on a regular or predictable schedule.
This choice feels bittersweet to me. It’s an expression of health and forward momentum, but it’s also an ending of sorts. I have loved connecting with you. Writing these emails has helped me to exercise compassion for myself, maintain perspective, and connect with joy even in dark circumstances. I’ve learned from you and with you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
This may be an ending of sorts, but it doesn’t have to be the end of our connection. Stay in touch! (If you reply to this email, your reply lands straight in my inbox.) I want to know how you’re doing and how your journey is unfolding.
This is a hard email to finish. So I’m going to borrow language from my past self and end this with the words I wrote in the post entitled “How to End an Email.”
I hope your symptoms are letting up and that you feel your body healing, and if that’s the case, then yay! If that’s not what’s going on for you today, then hey, you aren’t alone. I see you. I get it. I’ve ridden the ups and downs, too. I’ve crumpled and bawled on the floor, like, a lot of times, and I’m pretty sure that’s a super normal thing to do in this situation. If you’re having a crumply, bawly, dark tunnel of a moment, I wish you gentleness, self-compassion, and flickers of light. I wish you connection with others who get it (I hope I’m one of those people). I wish you a cozy place to rest and something beautiful to look at or listen to. I wish you light at the end of your tunnel, and I wish you light right here and now.
With love,
Lisa
This is wonderful to me that you are moving on from your Corona cafe newsletter. You have turned the chapter and are now engaging in something different, something that severs you better at this time. But, from a selfish point of view, I want to thank you for writing your newsletter when you did as you and your writing brought me happiness. It’s great that we’re keeping in touch isn’t it!! Covid has and is bringing many blessings in disguise 🥸
Such a wonderful, encouraging update! How liberated you must feel. It’s been so helpful to ride along with you and find so
many similarities in our experiences. I hope to not be far behind you in recovery. Thanks for all you have shared. Best of luck with the novel and with continued healing, body mind and soul. ♥️