THE FIBROMATES JOURNAL

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.

by Irene Roth/Blog Editor

March arrives quietly, like a gentle turning of the page. The heavy stillness of winter begins to soften, and small signs of renewal appear. The days grow longer, sunlight lingers a little later in the evening, and the earth slowly awakens. For many, March symbolizes hope, fresh beginnings, and the promise that change—though often gradual—is always possible.

One of the most beloved celebrations this month is St. Patrick’s Day, with its cheerful greens, shamrocks, and traditions of luck and resilience. The shamrock, in particular, carries a meaningful message. Though small and delicate, it has long symbolized endurance, growth, and quiet strength. It thrives through harsh conditions and returns each spring, reminding us that renewal is always possible, even after difficult seasons.

For fibromates, March can serve as a powerful metaphor. Living with fibromyalgia often brings unexpected changes—changes in identity, expectations, and daily rhythms. Like the changing seasons, you may find yourself in a period of transition, learning to let go of the version of yourself that lived without chronic pain while slowly rediscovering who you are now.

This is not a loss—it is a transformation.

Just as the shamrock grows steadily and persistently, fibromates learn to reclaim their identity, redefine success, and live authentically. Success may no longer mean doing everything you once did, but it can mean honoring your body, pacing yourself wisely, and recognizing your own resilience. Living authentically means no longer apologizing for your needs, but instead embracing the truth of your experience with compassion and dignity.

March reminds us that growth does not happen overnight. It happens quietly, beneath the surface, in small moments of acceptance, courage, and self-discovery. Each time you listen to your body, choose rest without guilt, or speak kindly to yourself, you are planting seeds of renewal.

St. Patrick’s Day also reminds us that luck is not always about chance. Sometimes, luck is the strength you discover within yourself. It is the resilience that carries you forward, even when the path is uncertain. It is the courage to live authentically, to honor your limits, and to redefine your life on your own terms.

As we move into March, let this month be a gentle invitation. An invitation to release self-judgment. An invitation to reclaim your identity. An invitation to redefine what success means for you. And most importantly, an invitation to live authentically—not apologetically.

Like the shamrock, you are still growing. Still resilient. Still whole.

This month, honor your journey. Renewal is already underway.

by Breanna Gehl, Guest Blogger

Otto Ought and Wanda Want are next-door neighbors living side-by-side in an old-fashioned townhouse. The grass of Mr. Ought’s property is trimmed just-so. His side of the hedge is cut with precision, and his house is painted a practical tone of brick red with a sturdy, oak door. He likes it this way, and works hard to achieve a home of structure. Mr. Ought is full of thought and works tirelessly to accomplish his goals.

 Mrs. Want grows a meadow-like flower field across her lawn that attracts bees and hummingbirds. Her house is painted a pastel lavender, with a pink, polka-dot door. Outside her house is a little rusted swinging bench, and stacks of wood that she will get to organizing -eventually. Mr. Ought says she ought to sort through that wood before it rots. Mrs. Want says she doesn’t want to, and she can’t stand the plainness of his perfectly-trimmed posies. He cuts the tops off any flowers above 12 inches high; a dreadful sight to behold Mrs. Want’s eyes. 

Although they don’t always agree with each other’s ideas, Mrs. Want and Mr. Ought see the value in each other’s way of living. Mrs. Want struggles to overcome larger tasks, and Mr. Ought will often stop by to fix any cracks or leaks in her home. Mr. Ought benefits from the lovely hummingbirds who come to visit his neighbor’s garden and the warm honey tarts she brings with her; compliments of her beehive.

The Balance of Ought and Want leads to a friendly relationship. Instead of fighting each other, they discuss and consider. Together, Ought and Want helps us to overcome the heaviness of everyday life and develop a sense of self-respect and self-love. Without Want, Ought is distressed; without Ought, Want is a mess. With determination and cooperation, the pair are truly blessed.

This gentle partnership offers an important lesson for fibromates, especially when it comes to self-love. Fibromyalgia fills our minds with many oughts—I ought to do more, push harder, or keep up with others. But self-love allows space for “want”: I want to rest. I want to listen to my body. I want to honor my limits. True self-love is not choosing one voice over the other, but letting them work together with compassion. Ought gives us direction, while Want gives us kindness. And in that balance, we learn to treat ourselves not with judgment, but with care.

Hi everybody, my name is Breanna and I’m from Kitchener, Ontario. I’ve had chronic pain ever since I can remember, but I haven’t let that stop me from accomplishing great things. Five years ago, I got my Bachelor of Environmental Studies at the University of Waterloo. Before September of 2025, I was a caregiver, chef, and nurse for my disabled dog, Koda. Now that he’s gone, I’m finding myself again and trying new things. My favourite, current projects are creative writing and fiber art.

 Mentally, I’m working through my understanding of perfectionism, and my value as someone who isn’t built for physical utility. Some days my ambitions make me feel like a Ferrari in a ditch; spinning its wheels and getting nowhere fast. I’m learning how to reconnect with myself and love the little things life offers us at a slow pace, such as a warm cup of tea and a bit of humor. These can go a long way for those of us who struggle to make peace with our challenges.