My cough makes a terrific comeback.
I wake to the irritation brewing in my throat. I inwardly cringe as the rupturing roar splits the pre-dawn silence. I worry over my roommate’s sleep.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as the air rasps and rattles out of my lungs.
And then I become concerned for myself.
This cough has been my companion for the past two weeks. Devoted to delivering a message I resist in fully receiving.
My cough commands my attention.
Pay attention, she barks, and the barking grows louder the more I suppress and charge forward, run forward. And this isn’t forward movement; this is racing. This is fleeing.
I’ve been accused of not taking care of myself. Of not nipping this cough in the bud. And this is because I haven’t rested, and I haven’t rested into the pleas the cough shakes me to hear.
This croaking chorus sings my vulnerabilities.
I wheeze, “I’m sorry” after every fit, and my friends reply, “You don’t need to apologize.”
My acting coach looks at me with such compassion that I want to cry and she tells me to just add the coughing to the character in my scene. (And I do and buddying up with that throat tease transforms the scene into genuine, comedic, inspirational fun. Thanks, cough!)
I feel self-conscious “coughing”, messy in a sickness that I can’t kick because the cough calls for a caring that I perceive to be sorely lacking in my surroundings.
At the bottom of this cough lurks an unpleasant misbelief – I don’t feel loved, I don’t feel appreciated, and I don’t feel safe in expressing my needs.
I’m reacting to the reaction and then resisting the emotional explosion from catty comments and situations that feel out of my control; yearning for spaces and places that need to be safe and still for me to recharge, ground and re-center.
I’m waking up early and staying out late. I’m crashing into naps, drinking enough tea to buy out a shelf at Whole Foods, and tiptoeing around people who seem intent on swinging commentary on my tiptoeing.
Stay in your own lane, my cough rattles a reprimand. My cough wants to yip-yap at a chosen few. My cough craves to throw a tantrum and not apologize for the explosion.
My cough speaks up for my very human needs.
Of course, I need affection, attentiveness, acceptance.
And I allow myself to recognize that these needs are missing in a current situation that simply does not work for my wellbeing.
And to see that affection, attentiveness, acceptance reflected and gorgeously gifted to me from friends and loved ones in this journey reaffirms a lovability that lets me heal and clarify.
I’m letting myself need love.
I’m letting myself soften into receiving.
I’m letting myself courageously listen.
So I hear you, cough.
I hear what you are telling me. I hear what you are saying and take the purposeful action to rest and redirect.
I forgive myself for not listening. For spiritually bypassing through a pain that notified the marker for change.
And in the morning stillness, as I quietly cough, I reprioritize the day. I cancel plans. I create spaciousness to sink into a body that persists toward optimal functioning.
The cough makes a comeback, and so does a reinforced commitment to my healing, and my thriving.
So now, I relax, cough when I need to cough without apology and rest in the letting go.