I’ve dealt with strange health problems since I was a skinny sixth grader. After years of confusing symptoms, four years ago everything finally fell into place when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Hearing that diagnosis was a relief—far better than the anxious fear that I was dying, which is what I had convinced myself of for a long time.
The months immediately after the diagnosis were difficult. I tried to navigate a flood of information and well-meaning advice about a condition I knew almost nothing about, all while coping with constant pain and the fog that some medications can bring. Over time, though, I’ve learned so much—about fibromyalgia, about my own limits, and about how to live comfortably and mostly pain-free without relying heavily on drugs. For that I am truly grateful.
Some days I even think of this diagnosis as a gift.
Yes—an unexpected gift from above. As the wife of a camp director, I tend to set very high expectations for myself. I want to be everything to everyone: supportive, reliable, a source of guidance and encouragement. I put pressure on myself to be flawless and to fix every problem brought to me. Maybe some of those feelings are similar to what a pastor’s wife experiences.
But fibromyalgia has forced me to let go of a lot of the guilt I used to carry. It has taught me to recognize my limits and to accept that it is okay—necessary even—to step back sometimes. Through this condition, God has shown me when it’s alright to sit down, to rest, and to say, “I can’t do everything right now.”
This week has been one of those restful weeks. While camp is full of families and the activity buzzes outside, my husband has kindly answered the many “Where’s your wife?” questions. I no longer feel embarrassed admitting that I can’t do it all. On days when my spine feels as though it’s been replaced by a lit stick of dynamite, when random tingling distracts me, and when my muscles feel like jelly, I know it’s smart to avoid large, noisy gatherings and to honor my body’s need for calm.
So I’ve been nesting on the couch under my polyester quilt, allowing myself naps and quiet time. And surprisingly, it has been a lovely week. Between rest periods and reading, I’ve soaked up the blue sky and warm sunshine, planted pansies, and enjoyed small moments of connection—gentle conversations and ginger ale on the deck with friends.
I’m practicing pacing and self-care—two essential strategies for managing chronic conditions like fibromyalgia. Pacing means balancing activity with rest, listening carefully to my body’s signals, and prioritizing what truly matters so I don’t exhaust myself trying to be everywhere at once. Self-care for me has become simple routines: restful naps, short walks when I can, quiet reading, nutritious food, and moments of gratitude.
In just a few days I’ll be traveling to Montana to visit my family, and I want to feel as well as possible for the trip. So if things seem a little quiet here over the next week, you’ll know why. I plan to take my camera along this time, so I might share a photo or two while I’m away. Otherwise, I’ll write up the highlights when I return.
If you’re struggling with chronic pain or another limiting condition, you have my empathy. It’s okay to slow down. It’s okay to sit down and rest. Letting yourself pause doesn’t mean you’re weak or failing; it means you’re caring for yourself so you can be present when it matters most.
Blessings to you today, and remember: don’t feel guilty if you need to sit down for a while, too!
