"I’ve Always Found It’s Better Not to Think" | Coping with life-altering events and chronic illness support.

I said that line on stage many years ago in a play called Vanities. My character Joanne, at the end of the second act, says something to the effect of:

“ I’ve always found it’s better not to think.”

Joanne was afraid of the world that was changing around her. She wanted the safety of the life she knew. If she didn’t think about it, maybe she wouldn’t have to face it. If she didn’t question it, maybe everything could stay the same. If she kept following the plan she’d been given, maybe she’d be safe.

I never imagined that years later, those words would come back to me with an entirely different meaning.

Thinking is what we do when we're living with chronic illness. We think constantly. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do.

We monitor. We analyze.

We think about our symptoms.

We think about what our bodies are doing.

We think about what we ate.

We think about what we did yesterday.

We think about how much energy we will have today.

We think about whether something we’re feeling is normal.

We think about whether a symptom is getting worse.

We think about whether our medication is helping—or causing something else.

We anticipate.

We think about what our bodies might do next.

We think about whether we’ll wake up feeling worse.

We think about whether tomorrow will be a good day—or a flare.

We think about whether we’ll be able to do what we’ve planned or whether we’ll have to cancel.

We calculate.

We calculate what we can do.

What we probably shouldn’t do.

How much energy something will take.

What we need to save our energy for.

Whether doing something today will mean paying for it tomorrow.

We research. We prepare.

We research our symptoms. Our medications. Side effects. Treatments.

We look for explanations.

We look for patterns.

We try to understand what our bodies are telling us.

We prepare for appointments.

We prepare questions.

We make plans and sometimes we even make backup plans for the plans. Because we’ve learned that sometimes our bodies don’t cooperate.

We think about what is happening.

What might happen.

What we can do about it.

What we can’t.

And all the things we don’t know.

Thinking, Thinking, Thinking

Thinking is how we survive the uncertainty of chronic illness.  We can’t just ignore our bodies or pretend everything is fine and we have to think about our health. I’ve had plenty of moments when thinking has helped me make a better decision or recognize something important about my health.

Thinking helps us advocate for ourselves.

Thinking helps us recognize patterns.

Thinking helps us prepare.

Thinking helps us make decisions.

But I can think so much about living that I forget to actually live.

There is a difference between thinking about my life and actually being in my life.

I can spend an entire afternoon thinking about whether I’ll have enough energy to go somewhere—and never actually enjoy the afternoon.

I can spend hours researching a medication and miss the fact that I’m sitting beside someone I love.

I can worry so much about whether tomorrow will be a bad day that I lose today.

I can analyze every sensation in my body until I can’t hear anything else.

And sometimes I think chronic illness can teach us to live in the future and meanwhile…

today is happening.

The person beside me is talking.

The sun is shining through the window.

A song is playing

Someone I love is laughing.

And I can miss it all.

I can’t think my way out of chronic illness. I can’t think my way into knowing what tomorrow will feel like. There will always be another symptom to notice. Another question to answer. Another possibility to consider. Another storm to prepare for. But there will also be moments that don’t need to be figured out. They just need to be lived.

Maybe that is what I understand differently about Joanne’s words now. “I’ve always found it’s better not to think.” I don’t think she was entirely wrong.

Maybe there are moments when thinking less isn’t about ignoring what’s happening.

Maybe it’s about giving yourself permission to stop asking how long the good moment will last. To stop wondering what tomorrow will bring. To stop trying to solve a life that is happening right now.

Think when I need to.

Plan when I need to.

Research when I need to.

Advocate when I need to.

And then…stop.

For a little while, put the questsions down. Look around.

Your life is happening.

Put the phone down.

Close the browser.

Step outside.

Listen to the song.

Call someone I love.

Watch the sunset.

Laugh.

Sing.

Be here.

The storm may still be there. But so is the life around you.

And sometimes…

we’ve thought enough.

It’s time to live.

Coping with life-altering events and chronic illness support.