“I made it through another day.” That’s my mantra every evening as I prepare for sleep. Some nights, I’m utterly drained; other times, I feel a bit better. Yet, I know that once I close my eyes, the night will be long and challenging. All I can do is endure.
Each day begins with a familiar struggle—pain. Before my partner even rises, often before dawn breaks, the discomfort strikes. It envelops me, heavy and oppressive. On good days, it’s a dull ache; on bad days, it feels like my joints are on fire, each movement a reminder of my condition. It’s relentless, attempting to break my spirit, but I refuse to let it win.
For a time, I clung to denial about my fibromyalgia. I thought it was a trivial diagnosis and urged my doctor to explore other possibilities, convinced there had to be a different explanation. It wasn’t until my first flare-up that I had to confront the reality—I have fibromyalgia, and this is my life now.
I remember a trip to the beach with my partner, enjoying a stroll along the boardwalk in April. The chill of the air pierced through me, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t shake the cold. I wanted to make the most of our child-free weekend, so I pushed through. However, by dinner, my symptoms escalated. My appetite vanished, and the thought of eating made me feel nauseous. I forced a few bites, offering excuses for my lack of appetite. That night, I was unable to sleep; pain coursed through my body, leaving me restless.
Upon returning home, I realized I couldn’t continue like this. My kids have become accustomed to the fact that Mommy can’t always do everything. They’ve seen me curled up on the couch, tears streaming down my face from the pain. They help when they can, often more than they should.
But I’m their mother. I should be able to take them for walks, chase them around the park, or swim without feeling as if I’ve been hit by a truck the next day. This reality fuels my anger and drives me to fight with every ounce of strength I possess. This isn’t the life I envisioned, but it’s the one I have.
I used to be the mom who took her kids hiking, biking, swimming, and playing sports. We were an active family. My twin boys bring a whirlwind of energy into our home, always wanting me to join in their fun. Some days, I can manage it. I let chores slide and dedicate the day to enjoying time with them, knowing that clean laundry can wait. Every day presents a choice between responsibilities and desires. I’ve learned I can’t do it all—those days are behind me.
Now, I meticulously track my activities and meals. I rely on various supplements and medications that only dull the pain a little. Accepting that I will never experience a pain-free day again has been a struggle. In fact, I’ve lived with this condition for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be pain-free—and that thought terrifies me.
I worry that one day, the pain may become unbearable. I’ve had days where the agony feels overwhelming, and I silently plead, “Please, just make it stop.” Yet, I find the strength to push through because my family relies on me. I will never surrender. I will continue to fight.
As I snuggle into bed each night, I remind myself, “You did it. You made it through another day.”
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In summary, living with fibromyalgia is a daily challenge filled with pain, but it also comes with moments of joy and love. By embracing each day and focusing on what truly matters, I find the strength to keep going.