THE FIBROMATES JOURNAL

by Heather Walton, Guest Blogger

I heard the little one, before I saw her. I was up on the chancel unpacking my guitar.  I watched her dance up the aisle chattering away with her Grandma and clutching Minnie Mouse and a tiny backpack. With her blond curls bouncing, and smile beaming, she dropped her jacket and Mouse on the first pew and marched right up the steps to my side where she proceeded to wrap her little arms around my waist, saying “Hi!”

Her Grandma came bustling up behind her, starting to apologize for the little one’s boldness, but I was delighted and I hugged her close.

From that moment on, nothing in the service went as planned. This little one, holding the divine spark that we often don’t take enough time to fan into flame, led us up the mountaintop to worship.

She helped with the singing, and added her own dance moves. Then, she helped me show a picture of another young girl, who was helping to feed her community by placing seeds into bricks.

It seemed fitting somehow to have these beloved children of God renew our hope and calling on a week where there has been such loss and sorrow clutching our hearts across the nation.

 Truly life is a blend of sorrow and joy.

In the closing prayer, my little helper waltzed up the steps again just as I was lifting up prayers for the lives lost this past week. She placed a picture in my hands covered in stickers, scribbles, and golden stars. I lifted it high and I and the congregation laughed even as the tears poured down our faces. This tiny sun kissed gal reminded us that even when everything seems to be falling apart, yet we are loved, cherished and held in Holy Hands.

This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine

by Irene Roth-Blog Editor-Freelance Writer

Body awareness is powerful—but it can go two ways. For some people, noticing the body becomes a form of scanning for danger: What’s hurting now? What symptom is next? That kind of awareness can increase anxiety and make the body feel even less safe. The goal isn’t just awareness. The goal is awareness with kindness—because kindness changes what awareness does inside you.

Self-kindness is not pretending you feel fine. It’s telling the truth with gentleness. It’s the difference between saying, “I’m falling apart” and saying, “I’m having a hard day, and I deserve care.” When you pair body awareness with self-kindness, your nervous system receives a different message: You are not alone in this. I’m here with you. That message matters because the body often responds not only to what’s happening, but to how we relate to what’s happening.

Start by noticing how you talk to yourself when symptoms show up. Many of us use harsh language without realizing it: This is ridiculous. I can’t do anything. I’m so weak. That inner commentary becomes a second layer of pain. It tightens the body, increases stress hormones, and drains emotional energy. Self-kindness interrupts that cycle by changing the tone of your inner relationship—from criticism to care.

Try this three-step practice: Notice – Name – Nurture.

• Notice: What is happening in my body right now?
• Name: What might I be feeling—physically and emotionally? (tired, overwhelmed, tense, tender)
• Nurture: What is one kind response I can offer?

The nurture step is where self-love becomes practical. Kindness might look like pacing your day, sitting down sooner, choosing simpler meals, texting someone for support, or giving yourself permission to cancel what’s nonessential. It can also look like speaking kindly: Of course this feels hard. I’m doing the best I can. Even a small shift in language—This is difficult instead of This is hopeless—can soften your body’s stress response.

It also helps to widen your awareness beyond symptoms. Ask, What feels even 5% better right now? Maybe it’s a warm mug in your hands, a softer light in the room, a comfortable blanket, or a slower breath. When you notice comfort alongside discomfort, you teach your nervous system that you are safe enough to keep going. This isn’t ignoring pain; it’s balancing your attention so pain doesn’t become the only headline.

Body awareness can also guide boundaries. If your shoulders rise every time you talk to a certain person, that’s information. If your stomach drops when you say yes too quickly, that’s information. Self-kindness means you take that information seriously. You don’t override yourself to keep everyone else comfortable. Instead, you respond with a boundary that protects your body’s peace.

One of the most healing forms of self-kindness is micro-rest. Not a full nap—just 60 seconds of softening. Unclench the jaw. Drop the shoulders. Exhale longer than you inhale. Place a hand on your chest and remind yourself: I can slow down. These tiny acts tell your body it doesn’t have to stay on high alert.

Over time, turning awareness into kindness builds self-trust. You begin to believe your body’s signals instead of arguing with them. You learn that support is not something you earn; it’s something you give yourself because you matter. And that changes everything. Awareness becomes less about fear and more about guidance—your body’s messages translated into daily compassion.

by Shelley Taylor, Guest Blogger

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…

and loving myself.