Flare & Flourish

  It Rewrote Me There was a time when that sentence felt impossible. Years ago, while I was studying teaching, my neurologist told me something that changed everything. The tests came back showing water cysts throughout my brain. Suddenly, there was an explanation for why information wouldn’t stay, why studying felt like trying to hold water in my hands. And just like that, I was told I might have to give up my studies. I only had two years left. It felt like the world was swept out from under me, and I just kept falling—no ground, no certainty, no plan. When something you’ve worked toward for so long disappears, it’s not just a degree you lose. It’s identity. Direction. Hope. But in the middle of that loss, something unexpected happened. A wonderful friend saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself anymore. My friend told me I should become a psychologist. At first, it sounded almost ironic—after endless blood tests, scans, appointments, and learning the language of illness...

   My Nervous System Is Holding the Spoon Some days my life feels like a storm in a teacup. Tiny cup. Big feelings. Absolutely unnecessary amount of thunder. On the outside, everything looks fine. I’m busy. Productive. Smiling. Making plans. Setting new and exciting goals like a person who definitely has it all together. On the inside? My nervous system is hosting its own music festival—headlined by anxiety, supported by fatigue, and sponsored by “Why Is My Body Doing This?” I used to think mental health lived only in the brain. You know—thoughts, moods, worries, overthinking at 2 a.m. But plot twist: the body is very much involved. The nervous system doesn’t just send emails; it sends full-body notifications. Tight shoulders. Racing heart. Random exhaustion. A stomach that reacts like it just read a scary headline. And no matter how hard I try to stay busy—because wow, do I try—my body eventually taps me on the shoulder and says, Hey. We need to talk. Busy Isn’t the Same as R...

Friday arrives like a soft knock instead of a loud alarm. No rushing. No demanding. Just a gentle hey… you made it. Fibromyalgia doesn’t care what day it is—but Fridays feel different anyway. Fridays have permission baked into them. Permission to move slower. Permission to cancel plans without guilt. Permission to rest and still call it a win. This morning, my body wakes up before I do. A familiar chorus: stiff shoulders humming, hips whispering complaints, nerves buzzing like they drank coffee without me. Fibromyalgia has its own playlist, and today it’s a remix—unpredictable but not unmanageable. So I negotiate. We stretch before we stand. We breathe before we think. We choose softness first. Friday Fibro Fun isn’t about pretending pain doesn’t exist. It’s about finding joy around it—like sunlight slipping through blinds even when the room is messy. I make tea. The good kind. I wrap myself in the coziest thing I own and let my muscles unclench one by one, like they’re exhaling secret...

  Depression Had Other Plans Let’s clear something up: I don’t enjoy being sad. I don’t thrive in darkness. I want daylight. I want peace. I want my brain to calm down for five minutes without starting a full emotional TED Talk. I used to think healing was black or white. You’re broken, then you’re fixed. Turns out depression lives in the gray and brings a suitcase. Taylor Swift’s Daylight feels familiar because it isn’t pretending everything magically gets better. It’s about learning to see light after believing darkness was all there was. When depression creeps in, people love to say, “Just shake it off.” I’ve tried. I shook. Depression stayed. What actually helps? Time. Patience. Faith. Honest conversations with my husband or friends who are still standing next to me when things get heavy. Healing work that’s slow, uncomfortable, and not Instagram-worthy. Depression can knock you down. But you don’t have to knock it out in one round. Sometimes winning looks like getting out of b...

   Am Not Losing Weight, I Am Losing Pieces of Myself Fibromyalgia and losing weight is not a glow up. It is not discipline. It is not a secret routine I want to share. People catch me on my best days. The days where my face doesn’t show the war. They say, “You look so good, what are you doing?” And I swallow the truth and answer, “I’m trying my best.” What I don’t say is that my nights are loud with pain. That sleep slips through my fingers while my joints scream. That some mornings my body feels like it belongs to someone twice my age and someone else entirely. They know my diagnosis. They know my symptoms. And still, they expect more of me. As if knowing cancels out suffering. As if invisible pain should still perform. In less than three months, my body disappeared in ways I never asked for. The scale became an enemy, a reminder that sickness is applauded when it looks like thinness. I would choose soft and healthy over skinny and sick every time. But healthy people don’t u...

  How I Pace My Life Without Losing Joy My body has a smaller battery than the world expects. Some days it drains before morning coffee. Some days pain arrives like weather, uninvited and unavoidable. Pacing wasn’t something I chose. It was something my body demanded. At first, pacing felt like grief. Like folding my dreams into smaller shapes. Like watching the version of me who could do everything walk away without looking back. I used to push. Through pain. Through fatigue. Through the quiet voice in my body begging me to stop. Fibromyalgia taught me the cost of that silence. Now, I move slower. Not because I’ve given up, but because I’ve learned what it takes to stay. I plan my days gently. One thing at a time. Space between moments. Room for rest before the crash, not after. I listen for the early signals. The heaviness in my limbs. The fog creeping into my thoughts. The ache that says, this is your warning. Stopping before I’m forced to feel like self-respect. Joy didn’t disa...

 I wasn’t gold, wasn’t glitter, wasn’t shine Just a name they used when the stars aligned But I got sick, and silence hit the line They ghosted like guilt they didn’t wanna find Pale light from my hospital bed No texts back, just echoes in my head They said “Always,” But they meant: “Only when it’s easy.” All those girls in my mirror frame They posed for the light, disappeared in the rain I bled for them, they ran from pain And I still hear them spell my name— But they vanished When I was cracked and breaking Love was just a word for faking They vanished Left me on read, like I was contagious Turns out friendship’s so courageous ’Til it costs something ’Til it stings ’Til I need Real things They posted prayers but never called Burned me down and blamed the fall One by one they closed the door Guess sick girls aren’t trending anymore They sold “support” like a souvenir Gave applause when the coast was clear I was too much — or maybe too real But I know now what truth reveals— Yeah, ...