Ill Fitting

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Gentle Reader,

I went to sleep at 9:30 p.m. on Monday night and woke up at 2:00 p.m. Tuesday afternoon.

I went to sleep at 6:30 p.m. Tuesday evening and woke up at 10:30 a.m. Wednesday morning.

That comes out to 32.5 hours of sleep.

It’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around that, let alone try and explain such a happening to someone else. Chronic Fatigue is hard. I do everything I know to do to manage the symptoms, but there are times when nothing helps. Alarms make no impression. There’s no such thing as Circadian Rhythm. I don’t – can’t – even think about getting out of bed. There is nothing but sleep.

Non-restful, painful sleep.

In a culture that glorifies busyness…no, scratch that. In a church culture that honors the busy, overly-involved woman, how does one such as I find her place? I can’t be on the committees. I can’t be at all the events. Shoot, I can barely commit to something that’s going to happen in the next hour, let alone the next day or week. I simply don’t know how I’m going to feel.

There are some who say to “push through.” I wish I could. I wish I could tell my body that it needs to wake up. I wish I could bounce out of bed with vigor, ready to tackle a new day. I wish I didn’t have the constant desire to curl up and drift away.

32.5 hours of sleep is lonely. I miss time with my husband. I miss going to work. I miss out on friendships.

I miss out on doing something valuable. Of being part of something.

This post must sound incredibly whiny, but I promise that I’m not indulging in a public play for sympathy. I am searching for a purpose in the midst of all this. I’m looking for a place where I know I fit. Where I can contribute. When your body forces you from being a Martha and bypasses Mary completely, going instead for something that looks like a sloth, you feel useless. You want to do so much more than you can. You want to know that your life matters.

I suppose that there are no immediate answers to deep questions of direction, save that God says, quite simply, that I do matter. I haven’t won the Pulitzer. Don’t even have a book deal. I’m not a world-renowned teacher. I’ve never been on a missions trip. I don’t have much money or influence. But, somehow, I matter. Even though I don’t fit neatly into any role or relationship. Even though I can sleep for days.

Sometimes, you just have to agree with God and wait for the rest to pan out.

So much easier said than done.