Figure in the fog.
Darkness and shadows surround.
Thoughts of solitude.
I wrote this haiku at the age of 12, during my crucible of the atavistically brutal hellscape, most commonly known as middle school. In 1980, bullying as a term, was not in the societal parlance, nor did it occur to me to seek help from a teacher or any other adult, but it was my daily experience for two grades in a row, and for better or worse, it would shape me as a person. After innocently disclosing to classmates that the large bandage on my right cheek was due to a herpes simplex 1 virus, I found myself the recipient of intense, humiliating, and ongoing taunts from a group of boys. At the time, oral medication to halt the spread was not yet available, and my parents feared that the blistering would affect my eye. It was painful, miserable, and left scars that took years to fade. The cruelty of bullying was it’s own source of suffering, and those emotional wounds proved to run far deeper than my epidermis. Although content with the few friends I had, and not yet interested in boys, the relentless ridicule led me to find solace in the safety of solitude. Books were more accepting than peers, and more reliable than adults. The hidden benefit of social ostracism, was the cultivation of intimacy with myself. What began as an imposition of isolation, transformed itself into a happy hermitism of my own choosing. Solitude proved to be a sanctuary, and therein, I found tranquility. Although the school environment may have been more “Lord of The Flies” than Walden Pond, there were bright spots as well, one of which was the time our class was treated to a one woman production featuring Emily Dickinson. It’s hard to say who captivated me more, the actress playing her, or the iconic figure of the “lady in white”, reclusive, poetess. Little did I know at the time, that this burgeoning isolophilia would come in handy throughout my life, and would later re emerge as a boon, during my mindbody journey out of chronic pain.
“Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “Its’ a little lonely in the desert…” “ It is lonely when you’re among people too”, said the snake. (The Little Prince)
As excruciating as the symptoms and sensations of the CRPS label were, they paled in comparison to the suffering engendered by my sense of loneliness, separation, and feelings of entrapment. This state of disconnect from the rest of humanity, fuels the brain’s perception of danger and perpetuates the chronicity of neuroplastic pain. Greater than the fear of symptoms, was my terror of losing self sufficiency, agency, and independence. According to Dr. Sarno it’s not the physical sensations, so much as the threat of limitations, that breeds fear and rends the sufferer’s soul. This begs the question: how can we reclaim our experience from a labeled victim to total recovery of the self? By transforming the emptiness of solitariness into the fullness of solitude, we can actually harness the wisdom of the ages and the power of our own beliefs. If that sounds preposterously lofty, let me assure you, it is indeed doable!
“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.” Aristotle
Just as the philosophies of the taoists, the stoics, the eremitic desert monks, the 17th and 18th century British and American Romantics, and the modern Western ethos of the individual, espoused, Aristotle recognized the power of aloneness. When I was in the throes of symptoms, I felt acutely “apart” from others, but what I quickly learned, was that this was an illusion created by my own mind. Not only are we never truly alone, due to our shared humanity, but those tough moments provided me with an opportunity to forge a deeper connection with myself, and they granted me the space to introspect. As Aristotle noted, ‘It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” My symptoms proved to be a siren call to confront my fears and doubts so that I could finally pave my own path and pursue what I wanted in life. In our hyper connected, hyper social, linked in, networked, spread thin, modern lives, the idea of solitude can seem like an anathema. Rather than viewing the isolation of symptom recovery as a burden, we can use it as a golden opportunity to cultivate our sense of agency, and to find the courage to trust our own judgment. We can finally step outside of the constraints of distressing societal expectations and damaging influences. We can stage an inner rebellion against the incessant din and cacophony of the masses and the social media that seek to overpower our inner voice. One of my favorite literary heroines Jane Eyre said it best, “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.” As I shed the voices of my past bullies and unshackled myself from the need for validation and approval, I also stopped engaging in harsh self judgment as well as the judgment of others. My newfound independence proved to be the antidote to shame. It was my way of teaching my brain that I truly could trust myself, as well as telling my symptoms “I’ve got this”. My journey from solitude to certitude was hard won, but what I can promise is, “you’ve got this!”
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