Is Your Health Your Wealth?

It's one of those phrases we've all heard. Without our health, what have we got? Money, possessions and material things can only take us so far if we're not well enough to enjoy them. But I've been thinking about this phrase a lot recently, and I'm not sure it's quite as straightforward as it sounds.

It's partly been prompted by a flare-up of my heart condition. When your health takes a turn for the worse, it's difficult not to let it dominate your thoughts. The physical symptoms, the uncertainty, the limitations and the worry about what might happen next can take up a lot of space. Things you might usually enjoy become harder, plans have to change, and even the simplest activities can require more thought and effort than they once did.

During times like these, I've found myself questioning, is your health your wealth?

On one level, it makes perfect sense. Good health gives us freedom, opportunities and the ability to do many of the things we enjoy. When our health deteriorates, we can become acutely aware of what we've lost, or what we can no longer do in the way we used to. But it got me thinking. If health is our wealth, what happens when our health isn't good?

Does that mean we're somehow poorer? And is the state of our health really the only way to measure the richness of our lives? I don't have any easy answers, but I've been reflecting on what it means to live with something difficult without allowing it to define everything.

It's okay when things are difficult

I think there's a lot to be said for having a positive outlook. Hope can be important, and finding things to appreciate during difficult times can bring comfort and perspective. Sometimes, a change in how we look at something really can make a difference.

But I also think there's a difference between finding positivity that feels genuine and feeling that we should be positive. When we're struggling, well-meaning comments such as “just stay positive” or “at least it isn't worse” can sometimes leave us feeling that we're not responding to our circumstances in the right way. As though we're supposed to find a silver lining, even when we're exhausted, frightened, frustrated or simply fed up.

Sometimes things are just difficult. Living with a long-term health condition has reminded me of that. There are times when I feel the impact of my illness very keenly, and I don't think I need to talk myself out of those feelings or immediately look for something positive to counterbalance them. I can acknowledge that things are hard without having to make them feel better than they are. For me, that's an important part of being honest with myself. But I've also come to realise that acknowledging the difficult parts of life doesn't mean we have to lose sight of everything else.

Looking beyond what's difficult

When I think about my life, I know my health is only one part of the picture. I think about my wife and children, my friends and the people I love. I think about the laughter, conversations, shared experiences and ordinary moments that make life meaningful. These things don't improve the state of my heart, and they don't take away the uncertainty I sometimes feel. But they matter enormously to me.

I also think about walking the dog and getting out into the countryside. It's something I've always enjoyed, and there's a particular kind of peace I find in being outdoors, surrounded by nature.

Of course, my health doesn't always make this easy. During a flare-up, a walk that I might once have taken for granted can become a real effort. Sometimes I'm moving so slowly that it barely feels as though I'm getting anywhere. That can be frustrating. I miss being able to do things without having to think so carefully about how my body might respond. But even on those days, I can still appreciate the fresh air, the sounds around me and the feeling of being outside. There can be a moment of peace, even when I'm not feeling well.

I'm not suggesting that a walk makes up for being ill, or that we should look for a lesson in every difficult experience. It doesn't work like that. Some days are simply harder than others. However, I've found that it's possible to experience those difficulties and still value the moments that bring me comfort or pleasure. Perhaps that's where the balance lies.

Holding two truths

The more I've thought about this, the more I've realised that two things can be true at the same time. My health can be poor, and my life can still contain things that matter deeply to me. I can feel frustrated by what my condition prevents me from doing and appreciate the people around me. I can worry about the future and enjoy a quiet walk with the dog. I can wish things were different without dismissing the good things that are already here.

One doesn't cancel out the other.

I don't have to pretend I'm okay to appreciate what I have. Equally, I don't have to ignore the good things in my life simply because I'm struggling. I think this can be difficult to hold on to when we're going through something challenging. When a problem takes up so much of our attention, it can become the lens through which we see everything else. That's understandable. If you're dealing with pain, uncertainty, loss or fear, those experiences can feel all-consuming.

I talk with clients who are facing significant health challenges of their own, and I know how much energy it can take just to get through the day. Being encouraged to look for positives or practise gratitude might feel completely out of reach, and I don't think it's helpful to tell someone how they ought to feel. There needs to be room for sadness, anger, frustration, fear and disappointment. We don't need to rush past those feelings or cover them up with something more comfortable.

But perhaps, when we're ready, we can gently begin to widen the lens. Not to deny what's happening, or to persuade ourselves that everything is fine, but to make room for the possibility that something else might be happening alongside it. We can be struggling and still have moments of connection. We can feel uncertain and still experience joy. We can acknowledge what life is taking from us while recognising what remains important. That isn't about forcing ourselves to be positive. It's about allowing our experience to be as complicated and varied as life itself.

So, what does wealth really mean?

I still think there's truth in the saying that our health is our wealth. Good health matters, and when it's taken away or becomes unpredictable, we can feel that loss profoundly. I wouldn't want to minimise that, particularly for those of us living with long-term conditions.

But I don't think health is the only measure of a rich life.

For me, wealth is also found in relationships, in the people we love, in moments of peace and connection, and in the small everyday experiences that can be easy to overlook. It's in the things that give our lives meaning, even when other aspects of life are a challenge.

Perhaps that's something we can all reflect on when we're facing difficult times. Not to pressure ourselves into finding the positives, and not to feel guilty if we're struggling, but to leave a little room for the other parts of our lives, too.

Because life doesn't have to be all good for there to be good in it. And for now, I'm learning to live with both of those truths.