“I survived another day.” That’s my nightly mantra as I crawl into bed. Some nights I say it with a sense of triumph, while other times, I feel utterly drained. I know that sleep will come, but it will be fleeting, and I brace myself for a long night ahead.
Each morning starts with discomfort. Often before my partner rises and while the world outside is still waking up, the pain greets me. It’s a heavy burden, dragging me down. On better days, it’s merely an ache, but on worse days, it feels like my joints are on fire, each movement bringing a new wave of agony. The pain is relentless, seeking to overpower me, but I refuse to let it.
For a significant period, I denied my fibromyalgia diagnosis. It felt too easy — too dismissive. I urged my physician to conduct additional tests, convinced there had to be a different explanation for my suffering. But it wasn’t until I experienced my first major flare-up that reality hit me. I have fibromyalgia, and this is now part of my existence.
One April, during a trip to the seaside, my husband and I enjoyed a stroll along the boardwalk. The air was crisp, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t shake the chill that seeped into my bones. I pushed through, determined to make the most of our child-free weekend. However, by dinner, my symptoms intensified. My appetite vanished, replaced by a wave of nausea that made even the thought of food repulsive. I forced myself to eat a little, concocting excuses for my lack of appetite. That night, every inch of my body ached, and sleep eluded me.
Upon returning home, I realized I could no longer endure this way of life. My children were adapting to the reality that their mother couldn’t always keep up. They’ve seen me curled up on the couch, tears streaming down my face, unable to escape the pain. They help where they can, sometimes taking on more than they should.
But I am their mother. I long to take them for walks, to chase them in the park, or to swim without the aftermath of feeling as if I’ve been crushed by a truck. This frustration fuels my determination. It’s not the life I envisioned, but it’s the reality I face.
Once, I was the mom who took her kids hiking, biking, and swimming. We were an active family. Now, I have twin boys who have boundless energy, begging me to join them in their adventures. Some days I can muster the strength, letting chores slide as we embrace the joy of being together. Tomorrow’s laundry can wait; today was about laughter and play. Each day presents a choice between obligations and desires. I recognize I can’t do it all; those days are behind me.
I meticulously log my activities and food intake. I rely on various supplements and medications that only slightly ease the pain. Accepting that I may never experience a pain-free day again has been a hard truth to swallow. I’ve lived with this for so long that I can’t recall what it’s like to be without pain — and that thought terrifies me.
I fear reaching a point where I can no longer endure it. There are days when the pain overwhelms me, and inside, I scream for relief. Yet, I rise again, pushing myself because my family needs me. I refuse to surrender. I will keep fighting.
As I settle back into bed each night, I remind myself, “You did it. You made it through another day.”
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Summary:
Living with fibromyalgia presents daily challenges that require resilience and determination. Each day is a battle against pain, but moments of joy with family remind us of what is truly important. While accepting the reality of chronic pain is difficult, the love for family drives the fight to live fully despite limitations.