THE FIBROMATES JOURNAL

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. 

by Irene Roth/Blog Editor

A fibromyalgia diagnosis doesn’t just affect your physical health—it can reshape your sense of identity. Before diagnosis, you likely saw yourself in certain ways: capable, dependable, productive, and able to meet the demands of daily life. You may have taken pride in your ability to care for others, complete tasks efficiently, and follow through on commitments. Your sense of self may have been closely tied to your roles—parent, partner, professional, caregiver, friend, or community member. Then fibromyalgia enters your life, and suddenly, the things you once did without thinking require careful planning—or may no longer be possible at all.

This shift can create a profound sense of loss. You may wonder, “Who am I now?” When pain and fatigue disrupt your routines, it can feel like parts of your identity have been taken away. You may feel less confident, less capable, or even less valuable. You may struggle with feelings of frustration, grief, or confusion as you try to reconcile your former self with your current reality. These feelings are not a sign of weakness—they are a natural and deeply human response to a life-altering condition.

But here is an important truth: fibromyalgia does not erase who you are. It reveals new dimensions of yourself that may have been hidden beneath a life of constant doing. When you can no longer rely solely on productivity to define yourself, you begin to discover the deeper qualities that have always existed within you.

You are still the same person with the same heart, values, and inner strength. Your compassion, creativity, intelligence, and wisdom remain intact. In fact, many fibromates discover that living with chronic illness deepens their empathy for others and strengthens their emotional resilience. You may become more patient, more self-aware, and more attuned to what truly matters. You may begin to appreciate quiet moments, meaningful connections, and small victories in ways you never did before.

Reclaiming your identity does not mean pretending fibromyalgia doesn’t exist. It means integrating your experience into your life story without allowing it to define your worth. You are not “less than” because you need rest. You are not “weaker” because your body has limits. You are adapting to a new reality, and adaptation requires tremendous courage and strength. Every time you listen to your body, honor your needs, and continue forward despite uncertainty, you are demonstrating resilience.

This process often involves redefining how you see yourself. Instead of measuring your identity solely by productivity, you can begin to recognize other qualities that define you—your perseverance, your self-awareness, your emotional depth, and your ability to keep going even when life feels uncertain. You begin to understand that your worth is inherent, not earned through constant activity.

Reclaiming your identity also means giving yourself permission to grow. Chronic illness often forces you to slow down, and in that slowing down, you may discover parts of yourself that were previously overlooked. You may develop new interests, such as journaling, creative expression, meditation, or advocacy. You may discover a deeper inner life and a stronger connection to yourself. You may also find new purpose in supporting others who are walking a similar path.

You are not the same person you were before fibromyalgia—but you are not lost. You are evolving into a version of yourself that is wiser, more compassionate, and more resilient.

Your identity is not defined by what you can do on your most difficult days. It is defined by your willingness to continue living, adapting, and finding meaning in your experience. It is defined by your courage to show up for your life, even when the path looks different than you expected.

Fibromyalgia is part of your story, but it is not the whole story. You are still you—and you are still whole.

By Heather Walton, Guest Blogger

What shall I say about chronic pain, which took me from what I thought I couldn’t live without and gifted me with possibilities and opportunities? Pain has upended my rowboat and placed me in a sailboat, where the winds blow me where they will, and I am learning to trim my sails and enjoy the adventure.

Was it fate? Was it in my genes or DNA? Was it my need to push through, to succeed, that brought me this pain? Likely all of the above. But just as we see the changing seasons with their bluster and chill, their new shoots and fruits, and their glorious sunsets amid the ever-changing clouds that scud and float their merry way across the bluest of skies, so we too have seasons.

There are times when we begin to bluster, and tears trail down our chins as our sailboat keeps skimming across the waves. There are moments of awful aches and slower steps when our hearts grow cold within us, and our stubborn selves find little comfort in sailing on.

And we look within to find our sails tattered and our hands too weary to row. The season wanes, and we long to shutter our pain, to anchor our craft. Yet where is our place—or even space—among the waves as we peer out over the deep, our eyes rheumy and weeping, and our cheeks chapped from the wind?

For a time, pain held me fast in a whirlpool of wistfulness, and I couldn’t see beyond the fog… beyond the bow. Still, the season has passed, and the waves have calmed for a time. The mist has ebbed.

There are patches of blue appearing in the sky that I never noticed before. And other boats are on the sea. Each one is a sailboat that holds a dear soul, and we wave at each other in delight. For just like me, these precious folk are mending their sails, minding their tillers, and bailing their boats. And I know deep down that the One who holds me holds us all on this vast ocean of love.

So, I guess this pain has taught me to float my boat, trim my sails, mind my journey, and especially… to trail my crickety hands in the cool water as it glistens like diamonds in the gentle rising of the sun.