RA Flare, From Gratitude to Grief

I am in the grip of a painful, persistent flare, the kind that makes the bones in my fingers feel like they’re being crushed. Washing my long hair feels like agreeing to climb Mt. Everest. Cutting my food requires too much action, and buttoning my shorts or clasping a necklace demands an actual pep talk. It’s been difficult.

Over the past month and a half, I’ve pulled every emotional and physical tool from my Flare Tool Kit. I’ve been extra vigilant with food choices, revamped my meditation practice, and bought new compression gloves. I move my body, medicate my body, and nourish my body, yet nothing is helping this time. The lack of relief has left me feeling powerless and hopeless. When my rheumatologist fit me into her schedule, I could feel how much she genuinely cared. She listened, asked questions, and together we decided to add another medication to my current biologic before abandoning it altogether. It made sense, a good, thoughtful plan. But when she said it could take three months to feel a change and six for full effect, I felt crushed. I sat there thinking, "but I need relief now." I need to wash my hair. I need to safely hold a glass. I need to walk my chihuahua Vivian like every other Dog Mom in the world.

Feeling Defeated

So even though I left her office with a plan that made sense, I felt deflated and sad. Those feelings lingered the rest of the day. It wasn’t until I got home, sank into an Epsom salt bath, and curled up with Vivian that I realized what I was really holding: both grief and gratitude. I was grateful for the thoughtful care plan, for my amazing-smelling bubble bath, and for how perfectly comfortable our couch is. I was grateful for my super cool Honda that carried me several towns over, the crisp iced green tea that kept me company, the short wait at the rheumatologist’s office, and the kind woman who held the door for me. But alongside the gratitude was the grief. Grief for being in pain so often that it has irreversibly changed me. Grief for x-raying my hands to see how much harm my RA has done. Grief that work now feels like an uphill climb, for not being able to pull laundry out of the washing machine or write a thank-you note. Grief for having to tell my sister and friends, Hi, it’s me again…. same problem, same pain. Because it will never truly go away. So yes, I grieve.

Learning to Let Both Exist

When I first learned about the power of gratitude, I believed that if I could just be grateful, even for the hard things the pain and sadness would fade. I thought that positivity could crowd out negativity, that if I could “flick the switch” from crappy to happy, then life would hurt less. But it turns out, that shift isn’t always easy or even possible. It’s a giant leap from hopeless to happy, and when I couldn’t make it, I felt like I was doing gratitude wrong. But then I realized something: gratitude doesn’t need to replace the hard feelings. It can live alongside them. Instead of using gratitude to erase my pain, I started letting them coexist…grief and gratitude, sadness and joy, hopelessness and hope. Not only did I let them live together, I named them, celebrated them, and even shared them. And that was freeing. Releasing the need to “kill off” my negative feelings gave me permission to feel gratitude even when I was sad and defeated.

The Unexpected Bonus

Little by little, I noticed that allowing myself to indulge in micro-gratitude’s softened the jagged edges of my pain. My sadness didn’t vanish; it just had company. Gratitude didn’t replace despair; it lightened it. Over time, recognizing small, ordinary joys, the first sip of morning tea, a clean pair of pajamas, a short moment of ease made my difficult days shorter, my heavy feelings lighter, and my world just a touch more manageable. Feeling gratitude isn’t something reserved for the big moments. We all do it, we just forget to make a big deal out of it. So…make it a big deal. Start small.
Notice the “low-hanging fruit” of gratitude. The smell of your coffee as it brews, the delicious and satisfying overnight oats you had for breakfast, or how your feet hurt slightly less this morning than yesterday.

That’s it….name one small thing you’re grateful for, then another, and another. With each small expression, your body and mind will soften. You will become more receptive to joy, and the heavy feelings become a little easier to carry. That my friends, is a big win.
Allowing my grief to share space with my gratitude gave both feelings room to breathe, to be felt, and to heal. Learning to make room for all of my feelings has become one of the most powerful tools in my Flare Tool Kit, and for that, I am deeply, genuinely grateful.

Sherry Duquet, RA patient