Founded in November 2014, we are a community-based, volunteer-driven, self-help and wellness support group for people with Fibromyalgia (FM), their caregivers and loved ones. Since March 2020, we have been offering virtually a variety of programs, activities, workshops and special events for members and information seminars open to the public. With our online platform of virtual programs, activities, workshop series, and special events, we have become a borderless organization and now welcome members coast to coast to coast in Canada and beyond!
The Sharing Circle-Weekend Edition is our only IN-PERSON program which meets on the 1st Saturday of the month (unless otherwise noted, excluding July & August) in Meeting Rooms A & B, Jalna Branch Library, 1191 Jalna Boulevard, London.
Effective May 1, 2023, we changed our organization’s name from Fibromyalgia London Group to FIBROMYALGIA SUPPORT NETWORK.
Join us online and in person - we're here for each other.
With only my cat in my daily life (and she gets lots of love), the onus is on me to show myself the love and respect I deserve. As often as I try to honour my battered body and foggy mind, I still recognize how unkind I am to her at times.
Self-judgment and self-loathing arise when I self-sabotage. I’m learning to forgive myself for my weaknesses and let it be. Try harder tomorrow—no self-recriminations; instead, a softer, more tender acknowledgment of my inner child. Staying quiet and just loving her as she cries for attention.
I’ve been on a spectacular journey for the past few months, doing much of the “self-work” and healing from past traumas—slaying dragons, or in some cases, recognizing they’re no longer threats and that I can blow them away like dust bunnies collected in the crevices of my mind.
That “work” is allowing me to shift into the persona I now am—the little old lady; the Crone! My inner child is finally growing up and meeting me at my current age of 70 (almost 71)!
I’m a little old lady with a complicated health condition, and as uncomfortable as that may be, I’m happy here—being authentic and true to myself and others. Not hiding my weaknesses or spending spoons to rally through upheavals. I’m being mindful and content, accepting myself and all my foibles and frustrations…
Many of us were taught to distrust our bodies. We’ve been told to ignore signals, push through discomfort, and measure our worth by productivity. Over time, that creates a painful split: the mind becomes the boss, and the body becomes the burden. But what if the body isn’t the problem? What if the body is a wise ally—trying, again and again, to bring you back to balance?
Your body is constantly communicating. Hunger, thirst, tension, fatigue, restlessness, calm—these are messages. Even symptoms that feel inconvenient can be the body’s attempt to protect you. The inner healer isn’t a magical fix; it’s your built-in capacity to regulate, recover, and return to steadiness when you support it. Trusting that inner healer begins with respect—and with the decision to stop treating your signals like interruptions.
Self-love is the bridge between awareness and trust. When you practice self-love, you stop treating your body like a machine and start treating it like a living system with needs, limits, and seasons. You begin to notice patterns: certain foods that increase inflammation, certain stressors that tighten the chest, certain environments that drain you, certain routines that soothe you. That noticing is wisdom. It’s also empowerment, because once you see patterns, you can respond sooner—before your body has to “shout.”
To trust your inner healer, you don’t need perfect intuition. You need a relationship with your body that is consistent and kind. Think of it like building trust with a friend: you show up, you listen, you respond. Over time, your body starts to “believe” you. It stops bracing so hard. It softens in small ways. It becomes easier to sense what helps. You may even notice that your body gives you earlier, gentler signals—small nudges instead of big warnings—because you’re finally paying attention.
A simple practice: ask your body three questions each day:
What do you need more of? (rest, water, movement, quiet, connection)
What do you need less of? (noise, rushing, screen time, people-pleasing)
What would feel supportive right now?
Then choose one supportive action. It might be a warm drink, a slower morning, a short walk, a stretch, a boundary, or a nap. Your inner healer speaks through these small adjustments. And it helps to keep your promises small and doable—because every time you follow through, trust grows. In that way, self-love becomes a practice of reliability: I will not ignore you. I will not punish you. I will respond.
Trust also means releasing the idea that healing must look dramatic. Sometimes healing looks like fewer crashes. Sometimes it looks like recovering faster. Sometimes it looks like a calmer nervous system, better sleep, and less fear around symptoms. The body’s wisdom is often quiet, not flashy—and it often unfolds in ordinary choices repeated over time.
When you approach your body with self-love, you stop asking, How do I force this to stop? and start asking, How do I support myself through this? That is the beginning of real partnership. And in that partnership, the inner healer becomes less of a concept and more of a lived experience—one gentle choice at a time.
Pain is never “just in your head.” Even when it’s influenced by stress, sleep, weather, or emotions, it’s still real—and it still carries information. When we treat pain only as an enemy to crush or outsmart, we can miss what our body is trying to say. But when we approach pain as a messenger, we shift from battle mode to listening mode. And that’s where self-love quietly enters the room.
Listening doesn’t mean you like the pain or that you stop seeking medical support. It simply means you get curious instead of cruel. Many of us respond to pain with self-criticism: Why can’t I handle this? What’s wrong with me? Yet pain often rises when something is out of balance—too much effort, too little rest, not enough nourishment, overstimulation, or unprocessed stress. The body can’t always speak in words, so it speaks in signals.
Start with one gentle question: What is my pain asking me to notice today? Sometimes the answer is practical: you overdid it, skipped hydration, sat too long, clenched your jaw, pushed through fatigue. Sometimes it’s emotional: you’re carrying worry, resentment, grief, or pressure that hasn’t been named. Pain can be the body’s way of saying, “Slow down. Protect your energy. Something needs care.”
It can also help to remember that pain has layers. There’s the sensation itself, and then there’s our reaction to it—fear, tension, frustration, and the rush to “fix” it immediately. When we panic, the body often tightens further, and pain can feel louder. Self-love invites a different response: a pause. A breath. A softening of the shoulders. Even a quiet sentence like, I’m here. I’m listening. This isn’t wishful thinking—it’s a way of reducing the alarm response that can intensify discomfort.
Self-love turns listening into compassion. Instead of forcing yourself to function at full speed, self-love says, Let’s adjust the plan. It invites you to choose a softer pace, reduce unnecessary tasks, or break one big activity into smaller parts. It helps you stop interpreting pain as personal failure and begin seeing it as feedback. That shift alone can reduce the secondary suffering—panic, shame, frustration—that often amplifies the primary pain.
Try a 2-minute “pain check-in” with kindness:
Where is the pain located?
What does it feel like (tight, sharp, heavy, burning, aching)?
What might have contributed to it today?
What would help right now—heat, stretching, stillness, water, rest, medication, support?
You can add one more question that deepens self-love: What would I say to a dear friend who felt this way? Then offer yourself the same tone. This is how we re-train the nervous system to associate symptoms with care rather than self-blame.
Then offer yourself one loving response. Not a grand solution—just one small kindness. Pain becomes harder to live with when we abandon ourselves in the middle of it. But when we stay present—gently, patiently—the message becomes clearer. And little by little, your body learns you are safe with you.
