Becoming Through Fibro

by Irene Roth, Blog Editor/Writer

This is a Haiku poem that I wrote while the ladies in my group wrote in my writing program on October 25th, 2025. Everyone in the group loved it. So, I thought I would share it here with the greater FSN Community.

Once I ran with wind
Through fields of unbroken dreams—
The body obeyed.

Morning was easy,
Like breath before the first sigh—
I was infinite.

Then came the whisper,
A flicker beneath my skin,
Lightning without rain.

Bones became anchors,
Muscles turned to molten stone,
Fatigue wrapped my soul.

Friends spoke of my glow
Fading like a late sunset—
They could not see pain.

Doctor after room,
Labels fell like autumn leaves—
None could name the storm.

I learned the language
Of aching and surrender,
Syllables of rest.

Days slowed into dust,
A clock with no urgency,
Time lost all its edge.

Identity cracked—
Who was I without my fire?
Who beneath the mask?

I mourned the woman
Who once danced through deadlines’ dust,
The “old me” vanished.

Yet in quiet hours,
I heard a gentler heartbeat—
One that matched my pace.

The world moved too fast,
But I found a softer sky
Inside stillness’ arms.

I became fluent
In small mercies and moonlight—
The art of pacing.

My worth once measured
In doing, producing, proof—
Now, in simply being.

The mirror offered
A face lined with tenderness,
Not defeat—but grace.

I learned to listen
To whispers of weary bones—
They are my teachers.

Each flare a lantern,
Revealing the sacred now—
Pain as slow wisdom.

I stitched new meaning
From broken threads of my days,
A tapestry whole.

Fibro did not steal;
It remade the architecture
Of my belonging.

Now I live gently,
A pilgrim in my own skin—
Unhurried, aware.

I breathe differently—
Less as conquest, more as prayer,
Each inhale a gift.

In stillness, I bloom,
No longer who I once was,
But something deeper.

Beneath all the ache,
A self reborn in silence—
Light through fragile glass.

The storm still visits,
But I have learned its music,
And I hum along.

Soft morning rises,
And I greet it with open hands—
Alive, enough, whole.