We’ve been struggling with health problems at my house. One thing that’s struck me as we’ve dealt with the pain and the doctors visits and everything else that goes with the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to is how much harder it is to b gentle with ourselves than with others, human or non. We’ve been cranky and impatient, wishing our bodies would hurry up and get over it already.
We would be so much kinder and more patient if the pain were in someone else’s body—a friend, perhaps, or a beloved animal companion. Or if it were the body of Earth Itself. Isn’t that what environmental activism is, at heart: our deep love of the planet collides with ecological catastrophe, spurring us to action. We would never tell another to hurry up and heal themselves. Why is having compassion for our own bodies so much harder?
I don’t have answers. But I do have stories. “Loving the Broken” at No Unsacred Place is the latest.