One of the qualities possessed by most introverts is that of being a good listener. Generally speaking, I’d much rather hear someone else’s story than share my own. Like many things in life, it’s a continuum and there are times when I don’t take in a message as deeply as I should, but for the most part I tend to align with the stereotype of the attentive, empathetic introvert.

I’ve recently realized that there’s a hard stop with when it comes to my ability to listen. While I take great joy in listening to the stories of my friends, learning what’s important to them and what they value, I’m terrible at listening to myself. As I’ve struggled with my health the past few years, not much else has become as apparent.

I do a really good job of listening to other people’s thoughts about what I should do to get well. I listen to people tell me it will be fine and that things will go back to the way they used to be, when there’s absolutely nothing to suggest that they will (which really is fine…the past should never be the goal). I listen to people diminish my concerns, and let their perceptions influence my understanding of my own reality. A few days ago, I listened to one of my physicians disparage the doc that single-handedly pulled me out of the worst Hashi’s flare I’ve ever endured. It was that moment that made me realize that I need to stop listening to other people’s opinion quite as much, particularly when it comes to my wellbeing.

I know what I need to do to recover from the latest setback (not Hashi’s related, for better or worse). I know that it requires sacrifices I don’t want to make, which I think makes it easy for me to believe the stories other people tell, the picture they paint. Every time, I walk away questioning what I need to do, wondering if I’m being too rash, too dramatic, even though when I step back from the situation and view it objectively, I know I’m not.

My health-related challenges are a drop in the bucket compared to what some people endure. One of my favorite people on the planet is battling a devastating cancer, and my hubby nearly died in an accident a few years ago. While life isn’t what I thought it would be right now, I still have much for which I am grateful. It’s quite likely that I’ll recover from this latest setback, and while the future might look different from the past, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Through all of the bullshit of the last several years, what I’ve realized matters most to me is time. Time to spend with friends and family, time to be in the mountains with my most favorite person, time to hang out with my dog. I don’t have to run marathons to hang out with my friends that do (see recent weekend in Boston). I don’t have to have an “important” job title to make an impact. While I have a lot of frustration over the past few years, I can see much more clearly that which matters to me. I’m present in a way I wasn’t before.

So perhaps I have learned to listen to myself. Perhaps it’s a skill to be stretched and developed, just like any other. I don’t know that it will ever be easy for me to cut out the noise, but the clearer my priorities, the easier it becomes.

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” ~Douglas Noel Adams