My hands hurt.

I’ve been putting this post off for 2 weeks because I am afraid to draw hands.

I’ve started having some pain in my hands. Well, my whole body, but I notice it the most in my hands. I have one of those unfortunate symptom clusters that could be a wide range of illnesses, from autoimmune illnesses to genetic conditions. Maybe I’ll get a diagnosis in a few months or years, but in the mean time, my hands hurt.

I hesitate to call this pain a “flair up” because I feel like I’m coopting language that isn’t quite mine. But maybe, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to call the pain a flair up because I don’t want to admit to myself what “flair up” implies: chronic pain.

I woke up one morning last week, and I was so angry at my hands. While in the shower I said to myself: “my stupid fucking hands hurt”. You would not know that I have spent the better part of the last two months learning to practice self compassionate thinking with the vitriol that coursed through me in that moment.

This pain reminds me I’m not entitled to a body that works any particular way. Certainly not entitled to a body that works like a machine. I’ve spent most of my life thinking of myself as a machine.

I am grateful that I have hands. I am grateful for all the ideas they’ve typed up over the years, all of the computer work they’ve done to keep me fed, clothed, and comfortable. The clothes they have made, The stitching they’ve done. Years of scribbling. The way I got through grad school laying on my couch, balancing my laptop on my belly and typing in a way that made my Occupational Therapist say, in horror “yeah, don’t do that.”

I am grateful for the unskilled ceramics my hands have made, grateful for the years of cello practice. Grateful for the protest signs they’ve made. Grateful I can hold and pick up my niece as she grows. I am grateful for the new braces I have for my fingers, and compression gloves, grateful I don’t have to be in the cold much, where the symptoms get worse. Grateful I can use a food processor for chopping, grateful for the ready access to heat and rest I have. I am grateful for the specialists who are giving me ways to mitigate the damage.

Most of all, I am grateful for the pain in my hands, because it forced me to ask for help. The pain in my hands and body has forced me to ask for accommodations at work that I would have been too proud to ask for six months ago. My pain in my hands helped me find out how much my workplace is willing to help me. I never would have asked if my hands hadn’t sent me this information. in the HR meeting, as they cited the ADA compliance, I felt grateful for those protestors who wheeled into congress and had to be carried out.

I also want to be very clear—I am just as frustrated and angry with the pain as I am grateful for it. My anger doesn’t lessen my gratitude, my gratitude doesn’t make me less angry. Both feelings, like the pain, are here right now. And there’s room for all of it.

Anyway, if your hands are weathered, damaged, aching, or working just fine for you, if you’ve got ‘em, thank ‘em.