Fibromyalgia Is Not My Enemy

If you have been reading my blogs for a while now, then you know how many negative posts I have written about my chronic illness.

You have seen the frustration.

The exhaustion.

The anger.

The grief.

Up until tonight...I believed it was my enemy.

Simple as that.

The thing that ruined my normal life.

The diagnosis that took my energy.

That changed me.

That aged me.

The label that made everything feel permanent, the kind with no relief. No end date.

I carried it like a sentence.

If BPD was the emotional scar from trauma, then fibromyalgia felt like the physical one.

Like my body had joined the chaos too.

For a long time... I treated it like something I had to fight. Beat. Outwork. Ignore. Push through...and then it became something I realized I could not fight...Or beat...Or outwork... Or ignore...Or push through...

That realization did not come peacefully.

It came with grief.

Real grief.

Because chronic illness is not just pain...

It is loss.

Denial:

Maybe the doctors are wrong.

Maybe it is temporary.

Maybe it is just stress.

Maybe it got worse because I moved up north and the cold makes everything tighter.

Maybe it is because I slowed down.

Maybe my brain fog and memory issues are because I am not using my brain the way I used to when I was working every day.

Maybe I am just out of practice.

Maybe I just need to get back into a rhythm.

Maybe this is environment.

Maybe this is lifestyle.

Maybe it is anything but chronic..

Maybe there is a cure...

Maybe there will be one day?

Denial was not stupidity.

It was hope trying to find a loophole.

Because when you live with something you don't want...you try all means to get rid of it..

Even if that means you are in Denial...

And I was...for a time being.

But...hope does not mean there is a hidden switch I failed to flip...

I did not cause this by moving.

I did not cause this by slowing down.

I did not cause this by thinking wrong or living wrong.

Chronic does not mean careless.

It means chronic.

If you want the Oxford definition it's this:

chron·ic

/ˈkränik/

(of an illness) persisting for a long time or constantly recurring.

And accepting that has taken more strength than fighting it ever did...and that is not a mindset problem. It is a medical reality and I am done pretending otherwise.

Bargaining:

Maybe I can go back to work on the good days.

Maybe I can do part time.

Maybe I can control my own schedule...

I tried.

I came from the sales world.

I served in restaurants.

I tried DoorDash.

I tried being my own boss and making my own schedule.

I slowed down long before I ever moved, because the pain was already escalating.

By 2022, I could not maintain consistency even with flexibility.

Because flares do not ask for permission.

Then the medical bargaining started too...

If I fix your sleep.

If I exercise consistently.

If I lose weight.

If I reduce inflammation.

If I remove sugar.

If I drink more water.

If I lower stress...

I have been prayed over at church.

I have been told I am healed by the blood of Christ Jesus.

I have been told that through neuroplasticity, maybe there is a way.

I have been offered medications meant to quiet the nervous system.

I have been offered new plans.

New protocols.

New promises.

I have been asked if I want to be part of studies.

If I want to be a guinea pig.

If I want to try experimental ideas.

I have even heard the kind of suggestions that sound like science fiction, like electrodes and shocking the brain to try to interrupt pain signals.

And it is scary, because it reveals something about desperation.

It makes you realize how much you want relief.

How far you would go to feel normal...

There was a moment where I thought, would I try anything?

Short of shaving my head and shocking my brain, probably.

Because I have already tried so much.

I have tried...

Weightlifting.

Pushing through pain.

Crying through workouts trying to push through pain.

Anti inflammatory diets.

No sugar.

More water.

Eating healthy.

Reducing stress.

Fixing sleep.

Supplements.

Vitamins.

Every recommendation people throw out casually like it is brand new information.

Chiropractic adjustments.

Massages.

Physical therapy.

Doctor appointments.

Specialists.

Research.

Hours and hours and hours of research.

I have had all the time in the world to try everything people love to suggest...

And none of it stopped the pain.

Some things bring relief.

But the pain always returns.

Hope rises.

Hope falls.

Again.

And again.

And again.

There is not a single day I wake up without pain.

And that is where the anger sets in...

Anger:

Why do people assume I have not tried?

Why do people hand me obvious advice like it is revolutionary?

Work on your breathing.

Relax.

Reduce stress.

At this point, sometimes I just want to say, Oh gee, thanks. All better. Thank you...Genuinely. You cured me. I am so glad I did that. I cannot believe I did not once think about deep breathing and relaxing.

Silly me.

What a silly gump I am.

..............

Yes. That was sarcasm, if it wasn't obvious.

Not because breathing is useless.

Not because reducing stress does not matter.

But because the assumption underneath it is insulting...

It assumes my pain exists because I have not tried hard enough.

As if discipline could outwork a neurological condition.

As if I have not already tried until I was exhausted.

As if I have not already hoped until hope hurt.

As if this is a character flaw instead of a medical diagnosis.

As If I have not learned enough.

As If I have not done the basics...

I have done the basics.

I have done the advanced.

I have done the desperate.

And I am still here.

Still waking up in pain.

That is the anger.

Grief rage.

The kind that comes from carrying something invisible while people keep offering you small answers for a big reality and worse for the pain returning no matter how badly I wanted to believe them.

Depression:

Depression is not giving up on life, no matter how many times that thought has crossed my mind...

It is grief exhaustion.

It is what happens after your hopes have been lifted and dropped so many times that you start to brace for disappointment.

Because there have been so many times I let myself believe it would be different.

When a doctor sounded confident that this refferal or this pill would help.

When a professional suggested a new angle or experiment.

When someone promised relief.

When someone spoke in absolutes.

You want it so badly that you almost become vulnerable to any confident voice.

But then it fails.

And the pain returns.

Always...

Chiropractic brings relief, and it returns.

Massage brings relief, and it returns.

Medication helps, and it returns.

There has not been a single morning in the last five years where I woke up completely pain free.

That realization is heavy.

Not dramatic...

And if it sounds dramatic to you, step into my body for a minute and see what dramatic really feels like...

It is heavy.

It is mourning the fantasy of waking up normal...of being normal.

Acceptance:

Acceptance did not arrive as joy.

It arrived as realism.

This is my life now.

Acceptance does not mean I like it...

It means I stopped pretending I could overpower it.

And grief around chronic illness is not linear.

I have lived in all five stages more than once.

On good weeks, I sound accepting.

On flare nights, anger returns.

When symptoms ease, bargaining creeps back in.

When plans fall apart, depression revisits.

Chronic illness is not a one time loss.

It is a recurring adjustment.

And let me be clear about something else...

My pain is not imagined.

Fibromyalgia is a nervous system pain condition, but that does not erase structural problems. It does not cancel out mechanical dysfunction. It does not mean my symptoms are exaggerated.

I have chronic migraines.

I have a rotated left hemipelvis.

I have spinal misalignment.

I had an actual spinal injury at 17 years old in gymnastics.

I have real muscular imbalance and tension.

I have fibromyalgia layered in and on top of all of that.

This is real pain.

Real tension.

Real migraines.

Real inflammation.

Real nerve noise.

But even in acceptance, I still saw it as the enemy...

Until tonight...

Until I saw a video.

It said:

“I am fibromyalgia. I didn’t show up as pain. I showed up as exhaustion, as fear that you swallowed and whispered in your joints. I etched myself into your muscles when your voice wasn’t safe to speak up. I am what happens when your nervous system can’t come down, when rest feels like a threat, when your body holds stories that weren’t allowed to be told. Doctors call me chronic. I am protective. I didn’t show up to ruin your life or take your life. I showed up to finally demand no more. No more pressure. No more constant going. No more asking too much of you without time to rest. It’s time for gentleness. Listen to your body.”

And something in me softened...

Not because fibromyalgia is good.

Not because chronic pain is romantic.

Not because suffering is spiritual.

But because I stopped feeling attacked.

Because this was the FIRST time I ever heard something POSITIVE about fibromyalgia.

Maybe it is not punishment...

Maybe I am not cursed...

Maybe it is not protection either.

Maybe it is a body that ran in survival mode too long and is learning, slowly, how to live differently.

This is not romanticizing it.

It is simply saying this.

It is not my enemy either.

The Stillness and What It Made Space For:

When the pain escalated and work became impossible, that was grief.

But the stillness that followed created space...

Time between flares.

Time on days...Moments...when the pain was manageable...When I finally have it Managed..It is a small window...but it does come...

It just doesn't last...

Time...not swallowed by outside demands.

And that time has allowed me to focus on my mental health in ways I never could before...

It has allowed me to commit to therapy.

To do my Integrate BPD program I have been in the last year and and a half

To sit in OCD therapy and actually apply what I am learning...

To journal.

To reflect.

To examine patterns instead of reacting inside them.

I am not grateful for chronic pain.

But I can acknowledge that the stillness created space.

And in that space, I started healing parts of me that had been ignored for years.

Ways Fibromyalgia Has Indirectly Shaped Me:

I would never have chosen this.

I don't know anyone that would.

But I cannot ignore what it has changed in me.

It took me out of the rat race.

It forced me to slow down.

It forced me to learn pacing.

It forced me to respect physical limits.

It gave me permission to rest without guilt.

It removed me from high stress environments.

It made productivity less tied to my worth.

It increased my empathy for invisible illness.

It deepened my compassion for people in chronic pain.

It showed me a whole new reality lens.

It pushed me toward therapy.

It created space for my Integrate BPD work.

It allowed me to focus on OCD treatment more intentionally.

It gave me time to journal and reflect.

It made me more self aware.

It taught me body awareness.

It taught me nervous system regulation skills.

It strengthened my marriage in some ways through vulnerability.

It forced hard conversations about support.

It reduced external overstimulation.

It made me value good days deeply.

It sharpened my gratitude for simple relief.

It made me research my health.

It helped me to speak up more.

it helped me to advocate for myself relationally...medically..

It forced boundaries with people who minimize illness.

It showed me who is safe and who is not.

It humbled me.

It slowed impulsive overextension.

It made gentleness a necessity instead of a luxury.

It shifted my identity from performer to person.

It took the light off what I do to who I am

It made me confront myself

It made me confront my perfectionism.

It gave me quiet time with God.

It exposed how much I used productivity to cope.

It softened my view of myself.

It pushed me toward deeper healing instead of surface functioning.

None of that cancels the pain...

but looking at the benefits instead of only the loss... shifts something in me.

It does not erase the pain.

But it changes the lens.

And right now, that is enough.

That's enough for me.

The Hard Nights:

And then there are the hard nights.

The excruciating nights.

The migraine splitting nights.

The deep muscle ache nights.

The spine locked and screaming nights.

The skin on fire and Itching for no reason nights.

The anxiety spiraling nights.

The panic tightening nights.

The depressive episode nights.

The mid life crisis moments.

Those nights are not poetic.

There is no lesson in those moments.

There is only survival.

Tramadol for the pain that will not quiet...

Hydroxyzine for the burning skin that will not stop itching....

Ubrelvy for the migraine spilling over the edges of my skull...

Tizanidine for the locked muscles that refuse to let go...

Propranolol for the anxiety that pounds in my chest...

Clonazepam for the panic that steals my breath...

Heat to bring comfort...

Ice to reduce inflammation...

TENS to distract through electricity...

Massage gun to shake the pain...

Magnesium glycinate and melatonin to gently pull me out of consciousness when staying awake feels unbearable.

A slow inhale.

A longer exhale.

Letting the exhale stretch just a little farther than the inhale as I drift toward sleep, hoping rest will reset what my body cannot.

Prayer whispered into the dark.

Waiting for the wave to pass.

On those nights, I do not need a metaphor.

I do not need to justify my rest.

I do not need to defend my body.

I do not need to explain my limitations.

I do not need advice to just breathe.

........

I need quiet.

I need relief.

I need regulation.

I need rest.

Fibromyalgia is not romantic.

Fibromyalgia is not my enemy.

Healing for me right now looks like this...

•Not fighting my body.

•Not worshiping my illness.

•Not making it evil.

•Just listening.

•Just doing what my body needs moment to moment.

Nothing more.

That's all I got right now.

My nervous system needs gentleness.

Not because I failed.

Not because I am weak.

But because it has carried a lot.

I am listening.

I hear you.

I am listening.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”Matthew 11:28

Kristen, Unfiltered Xo 💋