Posts by Fibromyalgia Support Network

By Irene Roth/Blog Editor

June has a personality all of its own.

It does not rush onto the calendar demanding attention. Instead, it arrives gently, carrying with it longer days, birdsong at dawn, gardens stretching toward the sun, and the quiet reassurance that life continues to unfold in its own time.

For those of us living with fibromyalgia, June can stir mixed emotions.

There is beauty in the season, but sometimes pressure too. Warmer weather and brighter days can bring expectations—social gatherings, outdoor projects, travel plans, and the feeling that we should somehow be doing more simply because summer is near. Yet fibromyalgia does not follow seasonal schedules. Pain, fatigue, sleep struggles, and flares may still accompany us, even when the world around us appears energetic and carefree.

Perhaps this month offers us something different.

Our June theme, Nature and Healing, invites us to reconsider what healing might look like.

Healing is not always about becoming symptom-free or returning to who we once were. Sometimes healing is quieter and more personal. It may be learning how to live with greater gentleness toward ourselves. It may be finding moments of peace in difficult seasons or discovering new ways to nurture body, mind, and spirit.

Nature often becomes an unexpected companion in this process.

We do not need mountain hikes or ambitious adventures to experience its gifts. Healing through nature can be wonderfully simple. It may be sitting beneath a tree and feeling a breeze on our skin. It may be watching clouds drift overhead, listening to rainfall against the window, tending a few flowers, or noticing the comforting rhythm of birds visiting the yard.

Nature asks very little of us.

It does not measure productivity or judge our limitations. A garden does not question why we need to rest. Trees do not ask us to explain our fatigue. The natural world simply invites us to be present.

For many fibromates, this kind of presence can feel restorative.

Nature reminds us that life moves through seasons. Some seasons bloom with energy and possibility. Others call us inward toward stillness, reflection, and recovery. Neither season is wrong. Both belong.

Perhaps this is one of nature’s quiet lessons for us—that healing rarely happens all at once. Like gardens, healing unfolds gradually, often beneath the surface before we can fully see its growth.

Our fibromates community understands this gentle unfolding. Here, we create space for honesty, encouragement, and shared understanding. We celebrate one another’s victories, hold space for difficult days, and remind each other that healing is not a competition or a straight path.

As we move through June together, may we remain open to the healing found in small moments and natural beauty. Thank you for continuing to share your voices, reflections, and companionship. You help make this community a place of warmth and belonging.

May this month offer you pockets of peace, moments of rest, and the gentle companionship of nature along the way.

Irene Roth, Blog Editor

There are days when stillness feels impossible.

Your body aches, your thoughts race, and rest doesn’t feel restful at all. You lie down, hoping for relief, but discomfort lingers—sometimes louder in the quiet than in the movement. For those living with fibromyalgia, stillness is not always peaceful. It can feel like a confrontation with everything that hurts.

So how do we find stillness when our bodies won’t cooperate?

The first step is to gently redefine what stillness actually means. Stillness is not the absence of sensation. It is not a perfectly quiet body or a pain-free moment. Stillness is something softer than that. It is an inner posture—a willingness to stop fighting, even when the body is unsettled.

This can be incredibly difficult.

We are so used to trying to fix, to soothe, to escape discomfort. We shift positions, distract ourselves, or push through the moment. And sometimes those things are necessary. But there is also a quiet invitation beneath all of that effort: what would it feel like to simply be with yourself, even here?

This doesn’t mean accepting pain in a passive or hopeless way. It means meeting the moment with a little less resistance. It means saying, even silently, this is where I am right now, and I can soften into it just a little.

Stillness, in this sense, becomes less about control and more about presence.

It may begin with something very small. Noticing your breath—not changing it, just noticing it. Feeling the weight of your body supported by the chair or bed beneath you. Letting your shoulders drop by even a fraction. These are subtle shifts, but they matter.

You might also find that stillness doesn’t require complete quiet. Sometimes, a gentle anchor helps—a soft piece of music, the hum of a fan, the rhythm of rain outside your window. Stillness can exist alongside sound. It is less about silence and more about a sense of settling.

There is also permission here—to move if you need to. Stillness is not rigid. If your body asks you to stretch, to shift, to sit up or lie down, that is not a failure of stillness. It is a form of listening. True stillness includes responsiveness.

Perhaps the most important part of this practice is compassion.

On the days when your body won’t cooperate, it is easy to become frustrated or even critical of yourself. You may feel like you are doing something wrong, like you should be able to rest more easily. But your experience is not a flaw—it is a reality. And meeting that reality with kindness changes everything.

Stillness is not something you achieve. It is something you allow, in small, imperfect moments.

It might last only a few seconds at first. That’s okay. Over time, those seconds can begin to stretch. Not because the pain disappears, but because your relationship to it shifts.

You begin to create space within the discomfort. And in that space, there is a different kind of quiet—not the quiet of a perfectly calm body, but the quiet of not struggling against yourself.

And sometimes, that is enough.

by Guest Blogger/Lou Paré-Lobinske

You wouldn’t think it would

be,

but it is.

Lying on the floor, or on a bed,

propped up in several ways.

Pillows or blankets work.

Your head higher than your chest,

your chest higher than your legs.

Your legs in Cobbler’s Pose –

knees bent, soles of the feet together,

with pillows under the knees

so there’s no stretch at the groin.

Lay back and relax.

Feel the tension melt away

from your entire being.

Float away on a cloud

as long as you like.

Feel the peace

permeate your body,

your soul and your mind.

Feel yourself hesitate to come out of the pose,

not wanting to lose

this luscious, serene feeling.

Sigh and realize

that the DVR has gone into sleep mode,

so maybe you better move on to the next pose.

You can always come back tomorrow.

* Please note: the name of the overall pose is actually the Supported Bound Angle Pose

About the Author: Lou Paré-Lobinske is 59 years old and based in north Florida, USA. She is a published poet and journalist and has a freelance editing business. She also has two blogs and a Patreon because she doesn’t have enough to do. She has had fibromyalgia for 28 years. She lives with her husband of 39 years and their four cats.