Step Into Spring with Fibromyalgia: Cultivating a Healthy Self

By Guest Blogger Laura Erdman

When I first became ill, I was working as a gardener. I had quit my go-nowhere corporate job to pursue a more joyful, authentic life. I became a full-time gardener in training. I should have been the healthiest I’ve ever been. I was enjoying the sunshine and the activity. I loved caring for plants and their soil, and I delighted in the creature communities of bugs and birds and fungus that I met every day.

I met the nicest people in the garden. Kind, gentle people who with sensitive fingers and eyes, carefully cultivating the conditions where tender organisms could thrive in the harsh Canadian climate. I made friends. I was happy. I was renewing my life in a good way, so I don’t know why my body chose that moment to revolt.

It’s a prolonged grief, the grief for what I used to have. I used to be able to get up at dawn and dig in the soil for hours. Since that time, 5 years ago, my life has gotten smaller and smaller. I am continually giving ground as I adjust to my new lack of capabilities; I can’t drive to town like I had hoped. I can’t shop at the greenhouse because it is too large to walk through. I just can’t keep up with the weeding and watering, so my lovely plants wither where they were planted.

The grief is profound and prolonged, so how can I celebrate the coming of spring?

I will try, of course; I can’t not try.

I’ve learned to break goals into tiny steps. Just the smallest possible task, done today or tomorrow. No pressure. No striving. So today or tomorrow, I’ll take a poke around and find my gloves and shears. Then today or tomorrow I’ll go out and look at the shrubs. On one of the next few days, I’ll set my timer for 10 minutes and gently clip the winter kill. Then, judiciously, I’ll clip off twigs and ends that appear to be healthy, but will choke the plant of its space and sunlight if allowed to grow. In the first days of my gardener training, this horrified me, excising perfectly healthy tissue from a perfectly healthy plant. Now, with experience, I am wise enough to see that these particular limbs are choking the plant from the inside out by using precious resources that inhibit its growth. Clipping these parts allows the emergence of fresh new leaves ready to soak up the sun and beautiful blossoms primed to fruit.

I prune this little bush as I know I must lovingly prune myself. I can’t continue to be the person whose beliefs and behaviours led to this collapse. Losing my capabilities has had the advantage of exposing what’s really important. The tiny bit of energy I have must need to be allocated to the thoughts and behaviours that sustain me, the things I love, the things that uplift me, and that help me to feel good. The better I feel, the more I can do.

What is keeping me from thriving?

I see the gnarly pieces that are choking my potential to thrive; adjusting myself to suit someone else’s preferences, failing to speak my true feelings for fear of being rejected, obsessively ruminating on one bad interaction, allowing my mind to dwell on the same negative thought over and over again, sinking away from the will to take positive action into sucking hopelessness and self-hatred.

These, too, I must trim away. I must make space for healing with intentional small steps that support my well-being. I must become my own gentle gardener by using my inner voice to cheer me and direct my wise actions, making safe space for feelings to be felt, honouring my authentic needs, learning what my boundaries are and defending them. For the sake of feeling good, for good health, as good as it can be, I owe this to myself. I deserve it. If nothing else, it is necessary—to balance out my grief, loss, and pain.

Just try to be okay.

Wishing you a gentle, slow, and hopeful spring. May you cultivate the space to help yourself thrive.

Laura Erdman is a 45-year-old artist living in British Columbia. Originally from the prairies, she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 2020. She explores creativity, self-care, and the challenges of building a meaningful life while managing chronic illness.