Last weekend I had the great opportunity to meet Sara Nash (from the Single Gal's Guide to RA blog).

She is as fun and funny in person as she is on her blog.  We spent time talking about dating and creating relationships, both romantic and other.  Sara shared her experiences, and some heartfelt questions.

In honor of St. Valentine's Day, I will pass along some of the wisdom and humor we gathered together.

Loving and Being Loved is an Important and Essential Part of Life.

It can be tempting to believe that it's "just not worth the effort" to extend yourself and create some meaningful relationships.  When you don't feel well, or perhaps you see yourself as damaged, or compromised, it is also a temptation to believe you're not worth it.

Neither of those beliefs is accurate.

Finding someone to love -- and being willing to let yourself be loved -- is one of the greatest gifts we can receive or share.  It can take some intention, some willingness to risk, and a dash of humor, but a loving relationship is possible -- and incredibly nourishing.

Commit Yourself to the Process.

Relationships don't "just happen."

There is often some tricky trial and error.

Sara and some others at our meeting talked about some "off" experiences -- dates who didn't "get" her, or who left because of the diagnosis of RA.

Well, isn't that their loss????

It's no fun to feel rejected, but sometimes these experiences are the only way to sort the keepers from the not-so-good ones.

Then it comes back to your own confidence -- that you are a gutsy, interesting, many-faceted prize.

You are more than your diagnosis -- it doesn't define you, and it is not the most important part of your self-understanding.

It is piece of your life, a shade of your color, but not your dominant hue.

You may have some inner work to do to know you are lovable and have a lot to give -- and if I'm talking to you, get started!

You may have work to do to put your intention out in the world, and put yourself in the path of relationships.  This requires some planning and some effort, but this is also doable.

Committing to the process is a good place to get started.

Manage the Unpredictable.

That sounds like a contradiction -- how can we manage what isn't known?

With a chronic disease -- that has fatigue and pain as unwelcome companions -- learning to manage and plan for the unseen circumstances can help provide a cushion of time, energy, and space.

As Sara said, "When you have a chronic disease, you learn you have to be very well organized."

That's part of it -- and preparing for contingencies is the other part.

Do you have a quick three- or four-sentence description of your illness, if you would need to explain to someone why you take pills, or why you walk more slowly?

Have you practiced some generic cover lines for times when you don't want to disclose?  If you would need to end a date, or chose an activity that is a little less strenuous than a mountain hike, you don't need to over explain or make yourself feel more vulnerable.

Everybody gets the flu, and many folks don't like to hike or bike.  A simple "I don't think that appeals to me," or "I got an unexpected bug.  I enjoyed our time so far, and I'd like to call you tomorrow when I'm feeling better."

Having some practiced words in your back pocket -- and giving yourself permission -- are two ways you can manage.

You probably have some I haven't thought of, and it's wonderful to share.

If you are beyond the dating and into a long-term relationship -- most of this still applies!

We still need to commit -- and re-commit -- to the process of loving and being loved.  A relationship is a deep gift in our lives -- and also requires intention, attention, and an eye to the unpredictable.

I wish you all well on your journey, and whatever your relationship status, bless yourself with a gift of appreciation and loving thoughts this Valentine's Day.

A valentine from me to you, and a valentine from you to you.

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A colleague of mine had a serious operation last month.  She has had rheumatoid arthritis (RA) for over 30 years, and lived through some severe flares that kept her bed-bound.

The result of some of these flares has been a crippling of her hands, and in particular her right hand. The deterioration -- that so many of you know so well -- has continued.  She has had more and more trouble using that hand to write, to drive, to open doors and jars, and to hold a cup of coffee.

For some time now she has been considering hand surgery to replace her knuckles.  This would unbend and unfreeze her hand, but the surgery is lengthy and potentially very painful.  The fear of the pain and being even more incapacitated kept stopping her.

Who wants to voluntarily sign up for pain, a hospital stay, and an uncertain outcome?  What if -- after all the trouble -- it didn't even make that much difference?  What if there were more pain?

She was full of doubt and indecision.  She talked about it for several years, and kept finding reasons to put it off.  The bottom line:  she was scared.

Last month, she did it.

The full results aren't clear yet, but the intermediate results are stunning.  She can move fingers that haven't been in motion in 20 years.  It makes her cry to experience the change and the possibilities that are now here for her.

It makes me cry, too, and it makes me wonder how it is that so often we don't make the moves that would change our lives because we're scared.

Courage.  The word comes from cour or heart.  Some of the work of living our lives in the biggest and strongest way we can means living from our hearts -- letting that energy move us forward.  Trusting our heart energy to carry us through those stuck places and those frightening valleys.

On a news show last week I saw another example.  A town in the Midwest had been the site of a deep mine.  It turns out the metal they were mining was toxic when large quantities of it were exposed to the air, and there were hills of sludge and waste piles all around the town.  It was declared a disaster area, and everyone was asked to move out of the town.  The government paid to relocate them, and slowly all of the businesses closed. The Post Office left.  There were no more grocery stores.  The schools and churches were empty.

The story focused on a woman who had lived in this town her entire life.  She was born there, married there, and had her children there.  She was being interviewed because she refused to leave.  She couldn't imagine living anywhere else.  She couldn't let go.

Wow.  The visual was her house -- surrounded by these mountains of toxic gravel -- and she was rocking on her front porch, staying put in a ghost town.

What a metaphor for the way we sometimes live.  We can't imagine the next place -- we are afraid of what it will take for us to get there.  So we stay put.  Talking about how hard it is.

If that feels like you today, go into your heart.  See where your courage is -- to take one step in the direction you need to go.

It may not be as dramatic as having your knuckles replaced, or moving to a new town.  It may be deciding that it is necessary for you to start some exercise, or take a class because you really are thinking about training for a different job.  It may be investigating some new treatments or starting your own blog.

Whatever it is, breathe into your heart and let your courage unfold.

Then set forth.

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Every morning when I turn on my computer and boot up my e-mail, a lovely post appears from a fiery woman named Danielle LaPorte.  Her blog is titled White Hot Truth and I never know what will show up -- a song, a quote, a poem, a musing.

Today it was a simple question written in large script across the page:

What are you tolerating?

Isn't that a great question?

We tolerate so many things, letting them accumulate on the edges -- and sometimes even in the center of our lives.  Unanswered letters, cluttered desks and drawers, cars that need to be fixed, freezers that overflow so we can't get one more thing in them.  All of these are irritating tolerations that distract us a hundred times a day.

Then there are the larger, more insidious tolerations.  We tolerate thoughts that eat up our precious energy:  "I can't, it doesn't matter, it's not worth the effort."

We allow ourselves to tolerate relationships that don't support our growth, less-than-ideal self-care, and work that is dead-end.

We rationalize this -- but we let so many things stay in place because we're ... what?  You fill in the blank.

We don't put forth the effort to make a change.

I learned a long time ago that our tolerations actively sap our energy.  For every undone project and every jam-packed clutter zone, we pay a price.  A tiny bit of energy drains out.  If you are tolerating lots of things, your energy deficit may be larger than your energy credit.

When you live with a chronic illness, this is an expensive way to go.  You need your energy, your initiative, your sense of power and control.

You can take that energy back.  It is a simple process.

Start eliminating those tolerations.

I suggest people begin with a list.  Don't worry about how many items there are -- or how minor they seem.  Every one counts.  Write them all down.

Look for the easiest ones to eliminate.

Decide what you can do today and tomorrow.  Do two or three.  Then pick five to cross off by next week.

I once worked with someone who needed new glasses and hadn't taken the time to go to the eye doctor.  She also was out of checks, and got behind on bills, and her daughter was toddling around in shoes that were too small.  Then there were minor things like a car inspection, and a hall closet where you couldn't hang up anything because it was full of coats no one was wearing.  She had a longer list, but this was where she decided to start.

Three weeks into the project, she was feeling stronger and happier and more in charge.  She even felt that her arthritis was improved.

I think it had a lot to do with not feeling so overwhelmed and stuck.

What are you tolerating?  What will you do about that today?  This week?

When you get rid of them, I promise you will feel better -- in lots of ways!

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