Safety Bubble

                 Living in a Bubble – and How My Husband Keeps Me There (Safely)

There’s something I want to share – something quiet and soft that lives in the corners of my life with fibromyalgia, but means more to me than I often let on.

My husband keeps me in a bubble.

Not the isolating kind, not the kind that makes you feel like the world is passing you by – but the kind that holds you. Protects you. Cushions you from the sharp edges that illness tends to bring. Sometimes, I wonder if people truly see how much strength it takes to be the person beside the person in pain.

Living with fibromyalgia is unpredictable. There are days when the mere weight of air feels too heavy on my skin, when my bones ache as if they’ve carried centuries, and when my words slow down like a buffering video no one has the patience to wait for. I’m not lazy. I’m not giving up. I’m fighting an invisible war – but, my husband, fights it too in a different way.

He watches me. Not in a controlling way, but in a way that makes me feel seen without having to explain myself. He learns my silence. He notices the slouch in my shoulders, the pause before I stand, the way I blink more when my body starts its familiar burn. Before I can even say the words, he’s adjusted the pillows, filled my water bottle, or placed my heating pad just right. He’s already made the call that we’ll skip the outing today, knowing I’ll try to push myself too far otherwise.

Some people might say I live in a bubble because I don’t go out much, or because “does too much” for me. But the truth is: this bubble is our choice. It’s a boundary wrapped in love, not limitation. It’s how we survive, and more than that, how we still thrive.

He never makes me feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t sigh when I cancel plans. He doesn’t flinch when I fall apart. He doesn’t expect the version of me that existed before pain – he just loves who I am right now.

And let me tell you, that kind of love? It’s rare. It’s powerful. It’s safe.

Some days, I mourn who I used to be. But I never have to mourn alone. And on the days I feel like a burden, he reminds me that I’m his best friend, his person, his priority. That I’m not just someone to care for, but someone to love and live life with – even if that life looks different than we imagined.

So yes, I live in a bubble. But it’s filled with softness, understanding, and someone who holds space for all my broken and beautiful parts. And if you ask me, that’s the kind of bubble anyone would be lucky to live in.

Because even in the ache, there’s always something worth holding onto.