Julie Chibbaro

In 2007, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, though I've probably had it since 2004. Fibro what, you ask? Well, no one seems to know what causes this disease, not in any concrete medical terms. It's about as mysterious as the Bermuda Triangle, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and apparently about as solvable. Symptoms -- overall body aches, kinda like a stiff neck in your whole body. Brain fog. Sensitivity to touch -- even my hair hurts when it's bad. Some days are better than others. Some days I have to spend in bed.

Recently, I went to a new doctor who asked me how I worked with all this pain, which was a eureka moment for me. No one ever asked me that before. In fact, my disease was something I mostly tried to ignore, just as most people go through their day with a stiff neck -- irritated, unable to really move, but coping just the same.

But his question made me realize something that I hadn't understood or admitted to myself in all these years: I am, because of this disease, largely disabled, and I haven't figured my life out around that fact. It's a first step I haven't allowed myself to take. I spend much of my time berating myself for being in too much pain to write, when really, what I need to do is figure out HOW to write, how to LIVE with a disability. Wow.

Why has it taken me so long to admit this, to understand it? Because all my life I've been strong and daring, taking great risks both physically and with my career, and I've always had my own strength to rely on. Now, these past few years, the pain has been getting worse, limiting my life greatly, until I can't even garden. These limits, frankly, suck. That's why I haven't admitted to them.

What, I wonder, will change if I am able to say to myself: Work within these new limits. Do what you can. Give yourself a break and allow yourself to take care of you. Will I experience a new order? Will a calm take over the storm of being disabled?

The admission is a first step -- I will see what comes of it.