Treasure-Hunting? You Have the Map

314. %22Safe Route%22

If you’re here looking for a quick-fix solution to Lyme disease, I will disappoint you. If you’re here because you’re googling in a desperate search for the way to “get better asap,” I will—sadly—disappoint you. I am a person that has a great deal of recovery from this disease and more to come, but the most important thing I have learned over my two- and- a half-year long struggle with Chronic Lyme disease is that there is no one solution, no one way, no magic trick. What works for my body, likely won’t work for your body and what works for your body would probably need to be modified for mine. Antibiotics do not work for everyone. Nor does The Cowden Protocol, the Buhner protocol, Ozone therapy, infrared saunas, eating raw, high doses of vitamin C, coffee enemas, IVIG, stem cells, reiki, and the list goes on. For most people(including myself), it’s a combination of many things, leaving an uncertainty around what ACTUALLY “did the trick.” But look at that list: yes, it’s scary and confusing that there’s no one remedy, no steadfast solution, but it is also a list that presents bountiful opportunities to heal; there are no real barricades, there’s always a new road to explore. Healing flaunts an abundant landscape. On this site, I can only write about my experience, the paths I went down, which paths led to an opening and a rainbow and which ones led to a moldy cave summoning death. I can only hope that one of the paths I suggest happens to help you. It was frightening when antibiotics — the most commonly known treatment for Lyme — didn’t work for me. It was frightening to look at all of the forks in the road and know that nobody, not a single person, had the exact directions that would lead me out of the woods. That my guidance needed to come completely from within was startling…lonely, but every time I relied on someone else’s map, it didn’t take me where I hoped it would go. It felt so hauntingly desolate to be that much of an individual— I felt I had already done enough work in this area, and I really wasn’t up for the task of a deeper relationship with my internal guidance system (fuck that), but it seemed like I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to heal I was going to need to become my own greatest ally, advocate, and traveling companion. And I wanted/want to heal.

As a result of how I was raised, I didn’t trust myself for most of my life. My personal instinct and self-trust— something that we are all born with— were stolen from me and replaced with extreme self-doubt. My notably powerful inner-voice was quieted by my father’s outer-voice, force-feeding me the idea that I was wrong… always.  That foundation left me endlessly seeking counsel on what I “should” do, the opinions around me seemed to hold more weight than my own. And then in my early twenties, I was faced with a big decision that no one could make for me, and I was forced to begin the scary descent into self.

I moved to Hawaii from NYC when I was 23, both for a boyfriend that made me feel safe, and because I didn’t want to do the NYC grind anymore. Deciding that I wouldn’t let an acting career control my happiness (I didn’t want to live in NY or LA or London), I moved, thinking, “if I love to act that much then I can act from anywhere.” And I did just that. I landed on Maui and within a couple of months was on stage and signing with an agent on O’ahu. There was one tiny little problem—I HATED it. I was a big fish on dry land. I loved the work I was doing, and I loved a lot of the people (some very talented) I was working with, but, in the end, there was a total disconnect: I did not belong. I didn’t want to talk about the surf, I wanted to talk about George Bernard Shaw, and I didn’t want to look at one more fucking painting of coral, I wanted the MOMA. And I didn’t want to be the best, I wanted to be INSPIRED and challenged by the best. But leaving Hawaii meant leaving my long-term relationship with my sweet boyfriend, it meant leaving a picturesque mountain home essentially on a goat farm. It meant leaving my very  comfortable life that COULD likely satisfy me on some level for a good time to come. I wanted to leave, but what if leaving all of that was a terrible decision? I struggled for over a year. YES, OVER A YEAR. Should I stay or should I go?  Or maybe I should move to O’ahu ? ON REPEAT, for a year, to anyone who would listen. I wished more than anything that someone could just tell me what to do, what the right thing was, or give me the instruction manual on how to live a fulfilling life. I attended Unity Church one Sunday, a non denominational experience of— I don’t know— spirituality, in a desperate attempt at peace. After the service, an announcement was made that there were prayer chaplains, people who pray with you, and I jumped up to be first in line— I was THAT desperate. I was seated opposite a mild-tempered man dressed in pale linens—his demeanor matched the luxurious breeze and lush scenery on the outdoor balcony. I was the thing that didn’t belong, dressed in black, a tea kettle about to scream. He looked at me and said, “what do you need today?” The blue sky and the green grass darkened, the breeze went stale as I shifted out of the present and into the fear of the future, and I burst into tears, “I don’t know…GUIDANCE. I need guidance, desperately.” I closed my eyes to deepen my breath, he gently and lovingly— like he was an old friend— took my hands and… said a bunch of spiritual stuff that I don’t remember. I opened my eyes, now bored and still without an answer, and that’s when he said one last thing, “may you always know that the guidance is inside of you and nowhere else.” DING DING DING. I did know. That deep-knowing that I had been trying to repress for so long came storming through the surface, like a breeching humpback whale, and bellowed, “please leave. You need to go, you need to leave your guy, and you need to go to LA.” Motherfucker. My heart wants the most complicated shit. Plenty of people would have wanted to stay, plenty of people would be happy and thrive doing exactly what I was doing, but I am not plenty of people, and I cannot steal your desires. I cannot rob you of your internal guidance system because I can’t locate my own.

I went— I went terrified, in tears, and with almost no money, but I went, and I claimed for months that it was the hardest decision I had ever made. I don’t know why—I had already chosen to quit drinking, quit doing drugs, move multiple times, cut off my father, welcome him back in, leave multiple relationships, quit college, continue my education as an actor, quit jobs, take jobs, turn down jobs, etc—but something about leaving that relationship and that goat farm on Maui for LA life truly felt like the hardest decision. I turned 25 in Los Angeles a few months later, and I was high on my new life. I had made the right choice, I was thriving.  And then, suddenly, my worst nightmares started to manifest. I went overboard, and the only thing that threw me a life-raft when I was a hot- second away from drowning was my internal voice.

I was profoundly tested in the waves of a destructive romance and a new decision needed to be made that would deeply affect the rest of my life—would I deny myself and submit to his storm in an act of feebleness or trust that the life-raft would lead me safely to shore?  My inner voice was wild and loud. I knew from the moment I met him that he and I would clash so profoundly it could be deadly, and I repressed myself again, manipulating my truth to get what I intellectually wanted—self-betrayal is almost a betrayal of the Universe and, in my experience, it has always led me to the depths of despair. Again, what was my near-death experience is probably someone else’s fantasy life. Someone else could have happily been in that situation, but I wasn’t—I wasn’t just unhappy, I was suicidal.  When the act of not listening to my gut was actually going to kill me, I gave in—I left him, I flew to NYC to recover from what was a traumatic experience, and I vowed to trust myself, to listen to my inner voice from there on out. It knew better than my brain did. I would stop denying myself, betraying myself, abandoning myself, and I would pay attention to what my body wanted instead of shutting it up with some damaged part of my brain.

Again, I thought I had learned enough at that point: there would at least be a couple of years  of smooth sailing. NOPE— I got sick just a couple months later. While all of that previous experience gave me a foundation to grow from, trusting my guidance system when it came to how to treat and heal from an illness—when literally EVERYTHING (my life) was at stake and literally NO ONE had the one answer— that is next-level shit. I actually had no idea just HOW MUCH information my body held. Our bodies are very smart.

When the common treatment of long-term antibiotics didn’t work for me, I was faced with the horrifying task of trial and error. I learned/ am learning to submerge myself in patience and self-care. Slowly, the practice of staying in touch with my body, consistently doing what felt “right” to me, going where the love was, and being my own greatest ally has dropped me here—in a much healthier place. We are each dealing with distinctive chemical structures/illnesses/traumas/brains and therefore, we all heal differently. I found out that the guidance system I hold within my little self is a perfectly detailed map to the treasure, inviting me to use it freely whenever I want. I still turn down the offer sometimes because I’d really rather not walk through the Lion’s den that is sometimes life, but it’s there, and it’s the best tool for healing Lyme disease I’ve got. I am sorry if this disappoints you, but that is what I have to share today: find your own way, trust your body, and learn to love the shit out of yourself. Find a few (or a hundred) loving hands to hold on the journey but you lead the way—the benefits are miraculous and empowering.

With fun, love, and an abundance of healing,

Jackie
By:

Share if you liked it:

Leave a Reply