MY BODIES REBELLION: A CATALYST FOR RADICAL SELF LOVE

"Sometimes it'll never be the right time, but I am choosing

living over dying."

MY BODIES REBELLION: A CATALYST FOR RADICAL SELF LOVE

These words, penned in the Florida heat of July 2024, mark a pivotal point in my life. A moment where the carefully constructed facade of a thriving existence began to crumble, revealing the internal storm raging within. 

Here I am coming into June, remembering May -which happens to be Lupus awareness month. What’s this have to do with my story?

Everything…

From the outside, life looked vibrant. My partner and I were settling into a new home, my Reiki practice was blossoming, my curated products were finding their purpose, my role as a Dispensary Manager was fulfilling, and I poured my energy into my closest relationships, hoping to mend the unseen cracks. I mean I worked hard to be here dammit, the seen and unseen. However, boy oh boy, I ain't seen nothing yet! Internally, I was fading. Inflammation was my constant companion, ignorance shielded me from my truth, and my energy was rapidly depleting. The weight of the past few years, particularly the last decade, was finally catching up.

I had become addicted to showing up, to the validation it offered, while simultaneously craving the isolation that hinted at my spirit's longing. (Genes play a HUGE factor in this behavior- which I'll share about later) My ancestors were calling me home, their arms outstretched in an embrace I wasn't yet ready to fully receive.

Florida, under the relentless July sun, became the crucible. The heat that once felt life-giving now amplified the internal burning. The ocean, a symbol of feminine power and love, felt distant, unable to penetrate the anxiety and rage that consumed me. It was there, amidst the warmth and the waves, that the call came – the confirmation from my new Rheumatologist: treatment needed to begin immediately.

Treatment? The word echoed in my mind. I knew something was wrong, knew the relentless cortisol had to peak, knew the deep-seeded stress was manifesting physically. But the diagnosis – Lupus, MCTD, the tangled web of autoimmune disorders – felt like a betrayal, a failure of my own body.

The anger and helplessness were overwhelming, yet they fueled a desperate search for answers. 

The answers were fragmented, overshadowed by a multitude of questions. Just a few years removed from endometriosis surgery, the path of potential motherhood felt fragile. In the face of this new reality, I sought solace in the ocean's embrace, a surrender I hadn't yet fully grasped. The sand, the heat, the water – there was no escape from the truth that was surfacing. I had come to Florida seeking connection to the land's history, but instead, I was thrust into the raw beginnings of my own being, down to the very root. The remainder of the trip was marked by a restless yearning to reclaim the freedom I had unknowingly relinquished. 

Returning home to Pennsylvania, my focus intensified, bordering on obsession. Lupus, MCTD, autoimmune connections, hormones, genetics, diet, lifestyle, fertility – I devoured information, my heightened intuition guiding me to practitioners who offered genuine support. Functional medicine doctors, holistic healers, Western specialists, the unwavering support of family, and the whispers of my spirit team became my anchors.

I had intellectually embraced the idea of "more peace, less money," but the reality of the financial strain brought me to my darkest moments. No amount of prayer or solitary dance could heal the cellular level. The root of this journey lay within my cells, my blood, my brain, my womb – and that's where the healing had to begin.

My life was undergoing a seismic shift, whether I was ready or not. The train had left the station, and I was welded to the engine, desperately trying to keep pace. I became consumed with understanding my lab results, delving into the physical, spiritual, and mental manifestations of tissue disease. The dismissal and lack of validation from previous doctors had been a profound wound.

The next challenge was retraining my body and mind to slow down, to cease the relentless pace that was silently destroying me.

That fall, the shift accelerated. The numbness in my hands, the struggle to hold objects, the arduous task of climbing stairs or folding laundry, the strained joy of cooking – my body was forcing me to acknowledge its limits. My senses became hyper-attuned, noises grating on my nerves, sleep becoming a desperate necessity punctuated by pain. I had to release the anger and guilt.

The weight of my commitments – the connections, the clients, the new position, my deepest relationships, my career aspirations – all felt overwhelming.

The "me" I had become was the foundation for my "unbecoming."

As fall transitioned into a stark winter, the cold seemed to amplify my vulnerability. Every passing germ found its way to me, my body growing weaker. I couldn't meet with clients, my routines crumbled, and my cherished hobbies lay abandoned, each loss a fresh wave of grief. Yet, the ingrained habit of showing up persisted.

Until my body finally intervened. The depths of winter demanded rest, and I surrendered to weeks of deep sleep, my mind and gut finally beginning to quiet. This wasn't my first encounter with burnout, a badge I had worn with misguided pride for a long time now.  My incredible partner lovingly moved my studio, a symbol of my former haven, into the quiet sanctuary of our new home's basement – a space I was only now beginning to tentatively inhabit. The feeling of failure, like a noose, tightened around me (the hanged man archetype). Yet, I was still here, still showing up, but now, finally, for myself.

It felt foreign, this focus on my own needs. Comparison was slowly being replaced by compassion. Health panels revealed the extent of the inflammation, and the costly journey of supplements, medication, acupuncture, movement, and functional medicine began. Slowly, tentatively, I felt a shift. The connection between my mind, body, and womb was strengthening. But the lingering "pep" in my step still signaled underlying inflammation. This is a lifelong journey, one that demands deep love and unwavering reverence.

This is my chance to utilize every tool I've gathered, to infuse trust and love into the connections that remain. But the questions linger: How do I do this without sacrifice? How can I afford this new, health-conscious life while minimizing stress? Why does it feel like I have to wage a war to reclaim my well-being, after already navigating so much? To tell you the truth, I am still figuring it out today. Finding ways to budget, barter and trust.

Perhaps that is the medicine. Feeling the contractions of the self, emerging from the ashes of a life lived on autopilot. The burden of self-sacrifice and neglect, imprinted in my very DNA, is now being transmuted. This is what I am learning: how to truly live for myself, how to love deeply, how to cultivate harmony by simply embodying the powerful, alive, strong woman I am. Even if I do not feel strong, I must be Brave.

On the other side of this intense journey, in a space of greater reflection, I share this story with the hope that it encourages you to listen more intently to your own body, to understand and cherish its wisdom. To not give up on yourself or settle for symptoms and little relief. Every morning, I awaken to a body I now greet with more love and gratitude, and every night, I hold myself, feeling the resilient life force of a true warrior – a woman finding her way back to herself… just at a pace that suits me today. 

So why did I share this story?

To hopefully reach someone who is seeking answers to their own bodies' rebellion. 

If you are an individual struggling with understanding and navigating auto-immune conditions, symptoms and the loving journey it takes to manage them – keep tuning into this story of mine as I too navigate this path. I offer myself as an ally and friend. Sometimes we just need to know we are not alone. 

Still here, 

Autumn Brooke 

Thank you for reading