31 days of a new normal {day 21} just bust a move

This post is part of a month-long series.  You can read the rest here.

Q:  How do you know when to take a cookie to the doctor?

A:  When it’s feeling crumby.

(Thanks to my 6 year old for putting me on to that one.)

A few weeks ago, I joined a Facebook group for people with chronic illnesses.  It’s pretty neat, because the women in the group really do a great job encouraging each other. I think they need each other, because each of us need to know that someone really, truly gets it.

I haven’t “introduced” myself to the group yet, though.  There I sit in a folding chair under the ceiling-suspended basketball goal, trying to decide if I’m going to get up for a fourth glass of punch.  It’s not that I don’t like the people.  I’m just not sure if I belong.

I’m glad I committed to write this series, because it’s making me deal with what’s happening.  I finally understood tonight that I’m really uncomfortable with being labeled with a chronic illness, but I don’t even know why yet.

Writing this post is kind of like not wanting to walk out onto the dance floor and instead choosing to bust a move on the stage.  That sounds like me.

English: Peanut butter cookie with a chocolate...

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