Dorothy Wall: Resourceful Woman of the Month

Nothing tells you you're overfunctioning, doing too much, as clearly as illness. And nothing spurs you to change your ways as much as illness. The ultimate reality check.

When I first became ill with a vicious case of mononucleosis in 1978, I had no idea what lay ahead. I was a 30-year old single parent, in graduate school, working four days a week in a bookstore, while sorting out my divorce. I knew I was run-down, but I'd always been healthy and energetic. I thought I'd bounce back quickly. Wrong.

In those days, no one had heard of chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). It wasn't until 1988 that the Centers for Disease Control recognized this illness. But we now know that 10-12 percent of those who have mono go on to develop CFS, also called myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME). And we know that ME/CFS is a serious illness in which a virus or other insult (injury, chemical exposure) dysregulates the immune, autonomic and neuroendocrine systems. Which means you feel like your brain is made of sludge and walking up a flight of stairs is an exhausting hike.

What does one do when illness drags on and on? In my case, I kept going. I was still young and determined enough to get away with it. I pushed my body forward for the next 15 years, through improvements and relapses, teaching, writing, consulting with writers, being a mom, traveling, partying, repartnering. Here's one of the dirty little secrets of illness: most people who are ill love to cheat illness, and do so at every opportunity. I look back with satisfaction at the parties I managed to attend, despite exhaustion, the writing coach business I built, the books I've written, the family gatherings I made it to. Those who are ill can be--out of necessity, hubris, ignorance--spectacular over-functioners.

Then in 1995 my body said, no more. Following a monumentally ill-judged business trip to New York, I had a complete collapse and ended up in bed for the better part of the next two years. My body was flared with pain. I could barely walk across a room. I had fever, night sweats, light and sound sensitivity, confusion, cognitive problems. I have been slowly recovering ever since, and this time, knowing more about this illness, I am through with crashing and burning.

Well, that's a neat encapsulation, but of course it's been a long hard slog, a tale of lessons learned, reversion to old ways, lessons learned again, and again. But illness is a tough taskmaster. In illness, your body does for you what your overfunctioning self wouldn't do. You have no choice but to do less. Severe illness, when you're really laid flat, also gives you lots of time to think, reevaluate, decide what's important. Lots of cloud watching and pondering, which isn't such a bad thing.

Four months after my collapse, I was able to prop myself up in bed and start working with my writing clients by phone. And after two years I found myself scribbling a short essay called "Staying Home," about the tensions of being a modern woman who is housebound like some 19th century neurasthenic. That essay was the starting point for what later became my book, Encounters with the Invisible: Unseen Illness, Controversy, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Once I started writing, I couldn't stop. I wrote a chapter on "Seeing," on "The Erotics of Illness," on "Neurasthenia Revised." Then I wrote one called " On Determination" and knew I was expressing one of the central issues of illness, and of overfunctioning: how does one handle that intense and confounding desire to soldier on despite all obstacles?

People say you worked and wrote a book while ill? I look back with astonishment myself. You could say I was still overfunctioning, and perhaps I was, but I was compelled to explore the complexities of illness. What became clear as I wrote was this: if overfunctioning helped get me here, limp and foggy-brained, the tendencies behind overfunctioning-determination, can-do optimism-can help get me out. Redirected, of course. And herein lies the challenge. Instead of being determined to run a business, meet a writing deadline, have a perfectly cleaned house and scan all the family photos, I have to be determined to take care of myself.

And I don't mean getting on the fast-track to relaxation. It's no surprise that the more women feel overwhelmed by the demands of their lives, the more we see spas, yoga classes or magazines all offering us ways to relax and be good to ourselves, until buying a yoga mat and getting that facial become one more thing on our to-do list. The real way to opt out of an overly pressured life lies beyond these commercialized, surface solutions. It lies in not buying into the Superwoman myths to begin with. (Which were an invention of the media, not of feminism, by the way. Feminism from the get-go was about women resisting commercial pressure and men doing their domestic share!) I like the way Rivkin and Rubin put it: "More things don't have to be done than one might think."

So this is what my life looks like now. I've given up a big chunk of my career--teaching, speaking at conferences, traveling-out of necessity and not without regrets, but with clarity that it's right. I've jettisoned those people who were a drain on my energy. No more entanglements with Impossible People, IPs, as Rubin and Rivkin so astutely call them. They still cross my path, we may tango briefly (some very interesting, creative people in that group), but no more close involvements. I chose a partner who sees running the household to be as much his job as mine. I downsize my shopping (good for the planet anyway). I do as much as I can each day-working with clients, writing, walking, seeing friends-but stop when my body tells me to. I take delicious naps. I still push against limits, but gone are the days of doing anything truly foolish. That's a big step forward. My health has been steadily improving.

Dorothy Wall (www.dorothywall.com) is author of Encounters with the Invisible: Unseen Illness, Controversy, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and coauthor of Finding Your Writer's Voice: A Guide to Creative Fiction. She works as a writing coach in Berkeley, California.