How I’ve Communicated and Explained Myself to Heal Properly

After a six-month medical process, when I was diagnosed with gastritis, I had to clarify my situation and establish boundaries with others—at work, with my family, and among my close friends—regarding my new medical condition, so I could Heal.

When I was first diagnosed, my condition was significantly worse—I was almost unable to function. I stopped lifting weights, refrained from outings with family and friends because I was afraid there wouldn’t be suitable food for my condition, and I had to eat things that irritated and worsened the burning sensation in my stomach. I had to eliminate all unpredictability, knowing that I would face worse pain if I didn’t.

It’s started at work, so I could focus on the healing process without interruptions from tasks like cleaning, applying force, or lifting heavy objects. During those six months of testing, I did all those things, and suddenly, I realized I had a valid reason to slow down and change my ways—otherwise, nothing would get better. I was risking years of living in pain, always hoping for a change that would never come.

The second group I needed to explain myself to was my family, to gain their understanding and support. Since my parents divorced when I was eleven, I had been living in both houses. Once diagnosed, I decided I needed to cut out stressors and hardships to heal and to focus on calmness and relaxation. I had to cut back on traveling and stop visiting my father’s house altogether.

My reason for this was that I couldn’t handle, especially at this stage in my life, the judgment, rejection, and endless questions from my father, which caused me constant stress. Later, a few months after stopping the visits, we talked, and I realized how disconnected I had been from what was really happening—the misunderstanding that grew because I rarely talked to or saw him.

Initially, when I started medical testing, I had no other reason to avoid those visits besides what I mentioned. After my diagnosis, I felt my mom should have told my dad about my inflammation, but she never did. I spoke to my dad as if he already knew, not realizing his frustration and anger.

Since that chat, I’ve been visiting him more often, and we've begun to understand each other better. I also had to explain the sacrifices I needed to make for my recovery, like canceling camping trips because of unpredictable food and travel plans—sometimes even just a day trip—where I was left in the dark about details or pressured to know everything, risking me becoming a nuisance in the family.

My close friends also needed to be updated. It meant adjusting the times I visited, or they came to see me, and changing what we did together. I had to find ways to replace our usual outings like dining out or drinking beer by meeting up with my own food and scheduling at reasonable hours instead of late nights, which used to be our norm.

In the end, explaining my struggles—or yours—to those close to you—to help them understand what you’re going through—is vital for your well-being and recovery. But it also takes courage, assertiveness, and honesty to open up about it.