Be Kind
After some really great weeks when recovery looked possible, we've had some rough weeks recently. I've gone to work with my cane (and the wheelchair in my trunk, just in case). I come home and crash on the couch. I use the chair lift, and let go of things that can be let go. In many ways, I've felt like we're living through a second cycle of whatever this is.
The difference between the first cycle and this one, though, is like the difference between night and day. It doesn't overwhelm me to have a bad day. I don't question everything about my life, or wonder whether I'll ever be able to function again. I've learned that there are bad days. But eventually, they're followed by good days. And even the bad days can be tolerable. I've learned to take care of myself. Part of the healing I need is physical, sure, but a greater part is emotional and spiritual. I pushed too hard the past several years! I knew it, but I wanted to believe I was invincible. I didn't listen to my own mind and body and spirit when it gave me reminders that I'm human. And a lot of things about me became off-balance. Several people told me, when I first started to get sick, to "be kind to myself." The words struck me as odd at first, and had they not been repeated by several people, I might not have paid attention to them. But by the fourth or fifth admonition to be kind to myself, I decided I should spend some time unpacking the idea.
When we were on our trip to eastern Canada this summer, I received an odd compliment from a stranger in a restaurant. I had ordered my food in the same way I normally do, and the man behind the counter said, "You are very kind." I shrugged my shoulders and thanked him as Micah came up next to me to pay. "Your wife is very kind. A lot of people are nice, but she is kind."
There was that word again. I spent the next few hours of the drive mulling them over. What does it mean to be kind? How is being kind different from being nice? And does it matter if I'm one rather than the other?
I think in home repair terms these days as we are making a few improvements to our home. To be nice is to be like a wood veneer. It's beautiful, admirable, sufficient. It's cost-effective and practical. It has the appearance of the real thing without the investment needed for the real thing. But it only covers the surface. It only looks like wood; beneath the initial surface, there may be something completely different. Nice is superficial. Nice is interested in looking the part, in keeping up appearances, in giving the look of taking the person into consideration.
By contrast, kind is the real deal. It's sincere, genuine, not interested in appearances alone. It's the real wood--an investment, but worth it in the long run. It won't scratch or peel or wear off after time. When its surface is nicked, it reveals the same material underneath. Kind has depth and value and truth. It doesn't pretend to be something, it is something. It doesn't pretend to be interested in the person, it is deeply invested.
I've come to realize that I've spent a lot of years being nice to myself (and to a lot of other people), but not being kind. Being nice means stopping once in a while for a brief break, but not really resting. It means wrapping selfish motives in actions that look selfless. It means pretending that I'm OK when I'm hurt and tired and scared and angry and ready for a break, and treating others the same way. It means five minute devotions before rushing on to the next activity, It means pushing through instead of taking a nap when all I need in the world is a little bit of rest. Nice doesn't cut it.
Kind is deeper. Kind says, "How would I treat someone else who was hurting?" Kind takes into account the whole person (my whole person) and leaves space for that person's humanity. Are you hurt? Are you angry? Are you tired? Kind means not filling my life so full to the brim that there's no room for being human. It means taking life slowly, lingering over conversations that are healthy and good. Savoring the sound of birds chirping. Taking a twenty minute nap so that I can be more productive later. Soaking in an epsom salt bath for a few minutes. Kind is the real deal, and it acknowledges what is real. It's not an excuse for self-indulgence; rather it stops making excuses for the things that are necessary and genuine and needed.
It has taken an incredibly difficult physical road for me to learn what it means to be kind to myself. If you are one of the friends who spoke those words, I owe you a great debt. Because it's changed how I approach myself, and how I approach others. I'm learning to leave space, allowance, for the things we need. I'm learning to take the whole person (my whole person) into account. I'm learning what it means to be real. I'm learning to be kind.
The difference between the first cycle and this one, though, is like the difference between night and day. It doesn't overwhelm me to have a bad day. I don't question everything about my life, or wonder whether I'll ever be able to function again. I've learned that there are bad days. But eventually, they're followed by good days. And even the bad days can be tolerable. I've learned to take care of myself. Part of the healing I need is physical, sure, but a greater part is emotional and spiritual. I pushed too hard the past several years! I knew it, but I wanted to believe I was invincible. I didn't listen to my own mind and body and spirit when it gave me reminders that I'm human. And a lot of things about me became off-balance. Several people told me, when I first started to get sick, to "be kind to myself." The words struck me as odd at first, and had they not been repeated by several people, I might not have paid attention to them. But by the fourth or fifth admonition to be kind to myself, I decided I should spend some time unpacking the idea.
When we were on our trip to eastern Canada this summer, I received an odd compliment from a stranger in a restaurant. I had ordered my food in the same way I normally do, and the man behind the counter said, "You are very kind." I shrugged my shoulders and thanked him as Micah came up next to me to pay. "Your wife is very kind. A lot of people are nice, but she is kind."
There was that word again. I spent the next few hours of the drive mulling them over. What does it mean to be kind? How is being kind different from being nice? And does it matter if I'm one rather than the other?
I think in home repair terms these days as we are making a few improvements to our home. To be nice is to be like a wood veneer. It's beautiful, admirable, sufficient. It's cost-effective and practical. It has the appearance of the real thing without the investment needed for the real thing. But it only covers the surface. It only looks like wood; beneath the initial surface, there may be something completely different. Nice is superficial. Nice is interested in looking the part, in keeping up appearances, in giving the look of taking the person into consideration.
By contrast, kind is the real deal. It's sincere, genuine, not interested in appearances alone. It's the real wood--an investment, but worth it in the long run. It won't scratch or peel or wear off after time. When its surface is nicked, it reveals the same material underneath. Kind has depth and value and truth. It doesn't pretend to be something, it is something. It doesn't pretend to be interested in the person, it is deeply invested.
I've come to realize that I've spent a lot of years being nice to myself (and to a lot of other people), but not being kind. Being nice means stopping once in a while for a brief break, but not really resting. It means wrapping selfish motives in actions that look selfless. It means pretending that I'm OK when I'm hurt and tired and scared and angry and ready for a break, and treating others the same way. It means five minute devotions before rushing on to the next activity, It means pushing through instead of taking a nap when all I need in the world is a little bit of rest. Nice doesn't cut it.
Kind is deeper. Kind says, "How would I treat someone else who was hurting?" Kind takes into account the whole person (my whole person) and leaves space for that person's humanity. Are you hurt? Are you angry? Are you tired? Kind means not filling my life so full to the brim that there's no room for being human. It means taking life slowly, lingering over conversations that are healthy and good. Savoring the sound of birds chirping. Taking a twenty minute nap so that I can be more productive later. Soaking in an epsom salt bath for a few minutes. Kind is the real deal, and it acknowledges what is real. It's not an excuse for self-indulgence; rather it stops making excuses for the things that are necessary and genuine and needed.
It has taken an incredibly difficult physical road for me to learn what it means to be kind to myself. If you are one of the friends who spoke those words, I owe you a great debt. Because it's changed how I approach myself, and how I approach others. I'm learning to leave space, allowance, for the things we need. I'm learning to take the whole person (my whole person) into account. I'm learning what it means to be real. I'm learning to be kind.
