THE FIBROMATES JOURNAL

By Heather Walton, Guest Blogger

I ventured out to the garden today. It was such a bleak day, and I was beginning to think it was not the smartest move on my part, for the brisk breeze whisked me along the path like a winter’s castoff. Trembling bushes leaned away from the frosty blast, and shivering leaves littered my way to the patch as I pulled the collar up on my old ratty sweater.

Brrr! Forgotten vines choked my muddy steps as I slogged along, and too late I spied the rake. It leapt up at me as I stamped down hard on the flagstone and nearly sent my cricketty self back into the rusty gate I had just wrestled open!

Who was I kidding? Today was not the day for frolics in the garden. I gazed dismally at the untidy edges of my plot. In the rearview mirror of my mind, I could see last summer’s perfectly planted rows of merrily nodding beans, and greens, taters, and tomatoes; but winter had tromped on fall, and now my garden resembled my bent and brittle self, with tomato cages askew and weeds that had weathered the winter just fine. They were budding cheerily between haphazard onion sets and timid garlic sprouts.

Well… what to do, where to start? Like every task that seems too big for me to face, I sank to my knees in the mud to get a different perspective. And that’s when I saw her. A tiny bobbing spot of yellow among the brown decaying foliage. It was a dandelion! She was tucked into the miry clay, bravely shining forth with joyous abandon!

And suddenly being on my knees made perfect sense. This little spring bloom was summer’s promise. What a gift! I forgot to be miffed at the weather and the wild wind. Leaning up to her brave, fuzzy head, I smiled back at this bobbing nodding bloom of wonder.

I’m not sure how much I’ll plant this year, but not to worry! I’ll certainly have all the dandelion leaves I need for my salads. Sometimes, all it takes is a different view to see what a blessing has been there all the time.

About the Author:

By Samantha Stambaugh, Guest Blogger

Emotional overload is a big problem for me because my energy drains fairly fast, and I intentionally ignore it when I am doing things for others. I am in a cycle of burnout that I don’t seem to be getting myself out of.

I am working more on my self-care now than I have in years. The pain pushes me down into a chair on most days, but there are now better days where I listen for that first big tweak of pain and sit down before it gets intolerable.

For daily self-care help, I am using the Finch app, where I can make goals for myself, do breathing or meditation, and break down big goals into doable tasks. As I complete them, my little character gets time taken off her exploration for the day, and I can find out what she discovered on her outing. It’s a fun app, especially since I got my daughter doing it as well.

Coming back to emotional overload, there are days when the exhaustion hits like a cement wall out of nowhere. I try my hardest to white-knuckle through what I’m doing, but I find it drains me to the point of having no emotion at all. It’s a scary state. I don’t like watching myself be so dismissive and cold to the people I care about most.

When I hit my wall, I tend to sit quietly or escape the place I am in, if possible. A different view seems to replenish my emotion a bit, especially if it’s around water or mountains. Spending time amongst the trees also grounds me quickly. Nature lifts all the heaviness from within me, allowing me to finally take a cleansing deep breath.

If I can’t get there physically, I can meditate to my favourite spot I created—a log cabin surrounded by wintry mountains, fresh air, trickling river sounds, and I placed my Dad there so we can visit any time I need to. This spiritual place of solitude grounds me immediately and fills me with the love and pride I know my Dad has for me.

By Irene Roth/Blog Editor

Hi Friends!

May has a way of arriving with quiet contrast. The world seems to speed up—gardens waking, calendars filling, people moving outdoors again—yet for many of us, especially fibromates, this season invites something very different: a slower, more thoughtful return to ourselves.

There can be pressure this time of year to “feel better,” to match the energy of spring, to do more simply because the days are brighter. But living with fibromyalgia doesn’t follow the calendar. Some days may feel lighter, yes—but others still call for gentleness, stillness, and care. There is no failure in that. There is wisdom in it.

Instead of asking how much we can do this month, perhaps we can ask a different question: What supports me right now?

May can be a time to experiment with that question—not in big, overwhelming ways, but in small, manageable shifts. Maybe it’s noticing when your energy dips and choosing to pause instead of pushing through. Maybe it’s letting go of one expectation that no longer fits. Maybe it’s allowing yourself to enjoy something simple without feeling like you need to “earn” it first.

There is a kind of quiet recalibration that can happen when we stop measuring ourselves against what we think we should be doing. When we let go of that comparison, even briefly, we begin to notice what actually feels right in our own bodies.

This month, think of energy not as something you need to maximize, but as something you can work with. Some days it will be there; other days it won’t. Both are part of the same experience. The goal is not consistency—it’s responsiveness.

You might also find that May opens a small door back to things you enjoy. Not in a pressured, “get back to normal” way, but in a curious, open-ended way. What feels good today? What feels possible? What feels too much? These are valuable guides.

Even five or ten minutes of something calming—a short walk, a quiet cup of tea, a few lines in a journal—can begin to shift how the day feels. These moments don’t need to be productive to matter. In fact, their value often lies in the opposite.

As we move through May together, we’ll be exploring ways to protect energy, create breathing room in our days, and reconnect with what feels supportive rather than draining. Not perfectly. Not all at once. Just one step at a time.

You don’t have to keep up with the season.

You only need to move in a way that respects where you are right now.

And that, in itself, is a powerful kind of renewal.

Take good care, and please make sure to take the time to smell all the beautiful flowers.