Dear Stranger
Dear Stranger,
There’s something oddly comforting about sharing with someone who doesn’t know you. There’s no preconceived notions, no judgment, no embarrassment, just a space to be open and honest. So, here I am, hoping to find some consolation in these words, and maybe, in some strange way, offer you the same.
This past week has been one of the toughest I’ve had in a while. My body decided to give out on me—again. It’s something I’ve come to expect with fibromyalgia, but that doesn’t make it any easier. The fatigue, the pain... it’s like trying to swim in an ocean with waves so high that you can barely stay afloat, let alone move forward, when all you want is to be on solid ground, running—or at least walking—with some sense of normalcy.
And then, on top of that, I got sick. Really sick. My symptoms felt strangely similar to COVID-19, but I haven’t been tested by a doctor. Maybe it’s denial or just plain exhaustion from dealing with one more thing, but I couldn’t bring myself to go through the process. It’s been a week of migraines, body aches, sore throat, blurry vision, and a lingering sense of dread. Is it COVID? Is it just another virus that my body decided to react to? I don’t know, and frankly, I’m too worn out to find out.
Balancing all this with work and family has been like trying to juggle while standing on a tightrope, hundreds of feet in the air without a net to catch me. My job has been especially stressful lately, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about quitting. The pressure, the never-ending to-do list, the constant feeling that I’m not doing enough—it all builds up until it feels like I’m about to burst. But then reality hits. I have bills to pay, a family, and the terrifying truth is that I don’t have the luxury of quitting. So, I push on, even when every fiber of my being is screaming for a break.
There are moments when I just want to close my eyes and escape, even if just for a little while. But life doesn’t pause for anyone, does it? The world keeps turning, deadlines keep approaching, and my responsibilities don’t take a backseat just because I’m struggling.
But here’s the thing—I’m still here. I’m still fighting, even if some days it feels like I’m losing. And maybe that’s the part I need to focus on more. The fact that, despite everything, I’m still standing, still moving forward, even if it’s at a snail’s pace.
So, dear stranger, if you’re out there feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, or just plain defeated, know that you’re not alone. We’re all fighting our own battles, some visible, some not, but remember we’re all warriors in our own right. And on the days when it feels like too much, remember that you’ve survived every bad day so far. That’s something to hold on to.
Take care of yourself. Give yourself grace. And if you ever need a reminder that you’re not alone in this, come back here. We’re in this together, even if we’re strangers.
With understanding and hope,
This Fibro Chick
A beautifully written article and, sadly, one that I can relate to all too easily. Are you familiar with the work of Rue Hass and Dr Nancy Selfridge? They have done a lot of work with people who have fibro and, in one of Rue's books, she mentions a common personality trait among many people who have fibro - namely, feeling like we have to keep soldiering on and tough it out.
But what happens when we don't keep battling and soldiering on? Our old world begins to fall apart, and that can be very difficult to deal with. But maybe letting go is like a forest fire - it seems like a destructive process at first, but eventually it creates space for new growth.
It may seem a bit cliched to talk of caterpillars and butterflies, but that's how living with fibro often feels to me: the death of my old self and the birth of the new.
Also, this might sound a bit woo-woo to some people, but it seems like a number of people had flare-ups of symptoms during the last full moon.
Anyway, thanks for taking the time to write this. I appreciate it. Take care.
“you’ve survived every bad day so far”
This. 👏 Honestly this has always been what gets me through those flare ups, massive reminder of how strong and resilient we are.