THE FIBROMATES JOURNAL

Reviewed by Irene Roth/Blog Editor

There are some books that arrive quietly but leave a lasting imprint on the heart. The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey is one of those rare and gentle memoirs. For fibromates and others living with chronic illness, this book offers something deeply needed: validation, comfort, and hope.

Bailey’s story begins with a sudden and severe illness that leaves her almost completely bedridden. Once active and independent, she finds herself unable to walk, work, or even sit upright for extended periods. Her world shrinks to the confines of her bedroom, and with that shrinking comes isolation, frustration, and the quiet grief of losing the life she once knew. Many fibromates will immediately recognize this experience—the abrupt shift from capability to limitation, and the emotional adjustments that follow.

Everything begins to change when a friend brings her a small pot of violets, and within it, a tiny wild snail. At first, the snail seems insignificant. But over time, Bailey begins to observe it closely. She watches its slow movements, its persistence, and its quiet routines. This tiny creature becomes a companion, but more importantly, a teacher.

Through observing the snail, Bailey begins to rediscover meaning in stillness. The snail moves slowly, but it moves with purpose. It survives. It adapts. It continues. In its quiet existence, Bailey finds reassurance that life does not need to be fast to be meaningful. This message is especially powerful for fibromates, who often must live at a slower pace than the world around them.

One of the most beautiful aspects of this memoir is its gentle honesty. Bailey does not deny the hardship of chronic illness. She acknowledges the loneliness, the dependence on others, and the uncertainty. Yet the book never feels depressing. Instead, it feels peaceful. It reminds readers that even in limitation, there can be beauty, connection, and growth.

The natural imagery throughout the book reinforces its hopeful tone. The presence of the snail, the violets, and the changing light in her room all symbolize quiet renewal. Like early spring, healing in this memoir is subtle and gradual. It does not arrive suddenly, but it does arrive.

For fibromates, this book offers a powerful and comforting message: your life still has value, meaning, and richness, even when your body has changed. It gently encourages readers to release harsh expectations and to embrace self-compassion. It reminds us that rest is not weakness, and that slowing down can open new ways of seeing the world.

Ultimately, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating is a memoir about resilience—not the loud, dramatic kind, but the quiet, steady resilience of continuing. It is a story of learning to live differently, and of finding hope in the smallest and most unexpected places. For anyone living with fibromyalgia or chronic illness, this book feels like a calm and reassuring companion, offering the gentle reminder that even after the longest winter, spring always returns.

by Irene Roth/Blog Editor

One of the most difficult emotional aspects of fibromyalgia is the realization that your life has changed. You may remember a version of yourself who could do more, plan more, and push through exhaustion without consequences. You may remember moving through your days with confidence, assuming your body would cooperate with your plans. That version of you may feel distant now, like a memory from another lifetime—someone you recognize, but no longer fully inhabit.

Letting go of that former version of yourself can feel like grief.

Grief does not only arise when we lose people; it also arises when we lose parts of ourselves. You may grieve your former energy, your independence, your spontaneity, or your sense of control. You may grieve the ease with which you once lived your life. This grief can come in waves—sometimes quietly, sometimes unexpectedly. It is important to honor these feelings rather than suppress them. They are part of the process of healing and adjustment.

You may miss your old energy, your old routines, and the sense of predictability you once had. You may miss the freedom of saying yes without hesitation or the confidence of knowing you could follow through on any plan. It is natural to long for what was familiar. But holding on too tightly to who you used to be can make it harder to accept who you are becoming.

Letting go is not about giving up. It is about making space.

It is about making space for acceptance, for growth, and for a new relationship with yourself. Letting go does not mean forgetting who you were. It means carrying forward the parts of yourself that still serve you while releasing expectations that cause harm or suffering.

It is important to understand that while your abilities may have changed, your essence has not. You are still the same person with the same values, dreams, and inner life. Your kindness, your wisdom, your sense of humor, and your love for others remain intact. What fibromyalgia changes is not your worth, but your pace. It asks you to live differently, but it does not diminish who you are.

This shift invites you to redefine your relationship with yourself. Instead of pushing your body beyond its limits, you learn to listen to it. Instead of criticizing yourself for what you cannot do, you learn to honor what you can do. Instead of measuring yourself against an outdated version of yourself, you begin to meet yourself where you are.

This process requires self-compassion.

Self-compassion means treating yourself with the same kindness and understanding that you would offer someone you love. It means recognizing that you are doing your best under difficult circumstances. It means allowing yourself to rest without guilt and to move through life at a pace that supports your well-being.

You may need to release unrealistic expectations that no longer serve you. You may need to stop comparing your current self to your past self. Comparison often creates unnecessary suffering because it focuses on loss rather than growth. Your life has not ended—it has changed. And within that change, new possibilities exist.

Letting go also allows you to discover new strengths. You may become more patient, more mindful, and more attuned to your needs. You may develop a deeper appreciation for small moments of peace and joy—a warm cup of tea, a quiet morning, a meaningful conversation. You may learn to value presence over productivity.

You are not losing yourself—you are rediscovering yourself.

You are discovering a version of yourself that is more self-aware, more compassionate, and more resilient. You are learning to live in alignment with your body rather than in opposition to it.

Your identity is not tied to how much you accomplish in a day. It is rooted in your character, your values, and your capacity to adapt. It is rooted in your courage to continue forward, even when the path looks different than you expected.

Letting go of the old you is not an ending. It is a transition into a new way of living—one that honors your humanity, your limits, and your resilience. It is an invitation to live more gently, more intentionally, and more truthfully.

You are still you. And that is enough.

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by Alvine Nkamtchoum, Guest Blogger

Identity! What is my identity?

A daughter? Friend? Sister? Aunt? Mom?

What exactly is my identity?

I used to think my identity was simply woven into the different things that made me ‘ME’ including my race, status, job.  

When life went up-side-down, of course it was easy for me to question what I thought was my identity because of the different things I had tied it to. 

I questioned my value and worth as a young person whom according to our society’s standards and expectations was supposed to be more productive. Added to the fact that as an immigrant who abandoned her life and loved ones and moved to a far-away country in search of a better life, was actually living more or less like a lazy beggar. 

I questioned my role as a provider or maybe a supporter would be a better choice of word here because I had to stop working. 

I questioned my whole existence and why I was even still breathing. 

Of course i questioned it all. But, was my identity truly tied to all these? (Thinking face emoji)

Well, that’s what happens when we place our value, worth and even identity on things and people, other than Christ. 

Prior to Spring of the year 2021, I attached my identity to everything but God. Well don’t blame me—I did not know any better. Now it all makes sense why loosing all these things made me feel like life wasn’t worth living again. 

The countless fights with God—like I even stood a chance. (Laughing emoji) 

The hundreds of questions in a minute like God owed me any answers or explanations. 

The screaming at the top of my voice like it’s no man’s business. Guess who was getting more headaches from these screams. ME! 

The frustrations from not being able to get up and go out like everyone else. Not to mention the mere thought of watching my life go from young and active to differently abled. (Trying not to use the word ‘disabled’ here). 

I cried! God knows I cried!

And when I had had enough of fighting with myself (obviously I could not fight God), I humbled myself, surrendered to God’s will and sought His face. Gradually, I found my real identity—in Christ. 

It all started with a book I received as a gift from a sweet older lady friend; “Where is God When it Hurts” by Philip Yancey, then moved to more and more desire to go closer to God. Gradually, my perspective shifted and gave me an opportunity to see life from a whole new angle. 

My identity was never tied to neither those things nor people as I thought it was. No! My identity is in Christ and this is how I choose to live from here on. 

So what if my health is struggling?

So what if I am not as able-bodied or productive as my peers?

So what if I don’t earn money like I used to or support my loved ones like I love to?

So what if I am a Christian and still have to share my body with an infirmity?

Does any of these change who I truly am? Of course not! Because my identity was never tied to anything I do or not do. My value as God knows it doesn’t reduce based on what people think of me (not even what I think of myself). My true identity is in Christ and this is something Chronic Pain will never be able to take away from me.