Dear therapist, counselor, coach, psychiatrist, psychologist, dear nurse, dear mother, brother, sister, lover, partner, husband, ex, wife, son, uncle, niece, nephew and aunt, dear cousin, dear friend, buddy, side-kick, acquaintance, soul mate, dear social worker, doctor, healer, dear train conductor, dear butcher, dear baker and dear candlestick maker,
Today I felt moved to let you know that distress is not an illness. You probably know that and sometimes I forget it. Today I am reminding myself, as well as you, that hardship is not an illness. Misery is not an illness.
Shame, suffering, sorrow, heartbreak, desolation
Misery, anguish and any sort of sadness…
Disappointment is not any illness.
Being inconsolable is not an illness.
I know I can’t define something only by what it is not, and there are ways of examining my world, if not appreciating it, other than to see illness. I might have to write another letter to the world on another day, and for today, let me say again that distress is not an illness.