Why I Hate Good Days

I hate good days... Okay, I know maybe that sounds a little strong-but I do find them really difficult.

When you’re chronically ill, those good days feel wonderful in the moment. Maybe you feel well enough to go out, get some things done around the house you’ve been putting off, or hang out with friends. And for a moment, it feels like things are getting back to normal-that finally, you’re becoming you again.

And in that moment, you start making plans. You don’t mean to-but you do.

Maybe I’ll be able to teach again.

Maybe I could go on a trip.

Maybe I should sign up for a Y membership...

Big plans. Little plans. Dreams of a better life. Because for a moment, it actually feels like you might be able to have that.

Well-mostly.

Because for me, those good days also make me doubt the validity of my bad days.

Maybe I should be all better.

Maybe I’m still sick because I’m not trying hard enough.

Maybe I’m not actually that sick-and if I just pushed myself a little harder, I’d get better.

But here’s the truth I keep having to relearn: Good day or bad... I’m chronically ill.

Still, it can take days-sometimes weeks-to remember that. And in the meantime, I beat myself up all over again for not being well. For not magically making more good days. I grieve, all over again, the loss of my old life-because for a moment, I felt like I could have it again.

I desperately want those good days... but I hate them, because they remind me of what life could be like. And I miss that.

I miss being able to get out of bed and shower without needing to lie down after.

I miss heading in to work with a skip in my step, ready to face the day.

I miss running around a classroom with my kindergarten students, singing songs and being silly.

I miss going out for drinks with friends after work.

I miss planning and creating and making for hours without worrying it would lead to a migraine and brain fog so bad I can’t remember my husband’s name.

I miss shopping just for fun.

I miss going to movies without worrying the sound will be too loud or the visuals too fast.

I miss going for walks with my husband.

I miss swimming.

I miss just doing something I want to do—without having to think about how it’ll affect tomorrow.

I miss my old life.

And when I’ve been feeling crappy for a while, I can almost let that go. I can come to a place of acceptance: this is my life now—and I’m making it work. There are good things here too.

But then I have a good day—and it all comes crashing back. The grief. The guilt. The pain. The doubt. The fear.

It comes screaming into my life, and I wonder how I’ll ever feel happy again.

That is why I hate good days.