Flare & Flourish

                                                         For the Rest of Us Still Healing Living with chronic illness means carrying a lot the world can’t always see. Some days feel invisible. Some days feel impossible. And then there are the people—like Selena Gomez —who remind us that softness is still strength. She’s been open about her battles with lupus , anxiety , and depression , showing that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s truth. She makes space for people like us: the ones who don’t always feel strong, but show up anyway. This poem is for anyone who needs a little light on a heavy day. She sings in shadows, soft but brave, With strength behind each word— A voice that whispers, “You’re enough,” Even when it hurts. She walks through storms the world can’t see, And still, she shows up true— A mirror for the ones like me, Still healing...

 My Selena Gomez-Inspired Chronic Illness Blog Series There’s a lyric in “My Mind & Me” that doesn’t try to be poetic — and maybe that’s why it cuts so deep: “My mind and me / We don’t get along sometimes.” When I first heard Selena sing those words, I felt an instant lump in my throat. Because this isn’t just a song about mental illness. It’s about the battle inside your own head — one that doesn’t care how strong you are on the outside. For me, this lyric became something I couldn’t stop thinking about. Because living with fibromyalgia hasn’t only taken a toll on my body. It’s taken a toll on my mind, too.  The Mental Weight of Chronic Pain They don’t tell you this when you get diagnosed. They give you pamphlets, maybe a referral. They explain the symptoms: pain, fatigue, brain fog. But they rarely talk about the emotional grief that comes with it. The depression. The anxiety. The loneliness of living in a body that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. There are days I lie i...

   My Selena Gomez-Inspired Chronic Illness Blog Series When Selena Gomez released “Rare,” it felt like a quiet anthem — not loud, not angry, but full of strength. It was a reminder that even when the world forgets your worth, you can still remember it for yourself. Living with fibromyalgia, I’ve had to do exactly that. Because there have been so many moments where I’ve felt anything but rare. I’ve felt tired, broken, invisible. Like my body was betraying me and my life was no longer mine. But this song made me stop and ask myself: Why don’t I recognize that I’m rare, too?  When Illness Steals the Spotlight Fibromyalgia doesn’t just bring pain — it brings a loss of identity. Suddenly, I wasn’t the friend who showed up. I was the one canceling at the last minute. I wasn’t the go-getter at work. I was the one quietly burning out. I wasn’t the person I used to be — and worse, I didn’t know who I was becoming. People stopped checking in. Some assumed I was exaggerating. Other...

 “Lose You to Love Me”: Letting Go of Who I Was Before Fibromyalgia There’s a line in Selena Gomez’s “Lose You to Love Me” that always hits me right in the chest: “I needed to lose you to love me.” At first, it sounded like a breakup song. And it is — but not just with another person. Sometimes the deepest heartbreak is when you have to say goodbye to yourself — or at least, the version of you that existed before the pain. For me, that heartbreak came wrapped in the quiet cruelty of fibromyalgia. The Body That Betrayed Me! Before the diagnosis, there were just whispers: a little more fatigue here, a strange ache there. Things I brushed off, made excuses for. Until those whispers became shouts — and the body I once trusted became foreign, unreliable. I tried to hold on. To my old routines. To being “the dependable one.” To the person who could power through anything. But fibromyalgia doesn’t bargain. It takes. Slowly, subtly, and then all at once.  Grieving the “Old Me” It took...

A poem for those fighting fibromyalgia, inspired by the spirit of Taylor Swift’s lyricism My body sings in static tones, A song no one else can hear. Like thunder trapped in brittle bones, A storm that never clears. I wake with battles half begun, My armor made of ache. The morning light feels like a weight, Each breath a thread I break. They see me smile, but never feel The fire stitched in skin — Invisible bruises, tender steel, A war I fight within. I dance through days in borrowed grace, A mirror cracked, but whole. They don’t see pain behind my face, Just fragments of control. But still, I stand — a soft refrain That won’t give in or fade. A heartbeat echoing through rain, Unwritten, unafraid. So when you see me lost in thought, Know this is how I cope: In quiet wars that can’t be fought, I carry threads of hope.   https://x.com/FlareflourishF

 “They  (inspired by “CANCELLED! ) 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 Bu...

When the Villain Has a Name (Fibromyalgia) A Taylor Swift-inspired reflection on chronic illness When Taylor Swift released “The Manuscript”, tucked like a secret at the end of The Tortured Poets Department, I felt something shift. It wasn’t just the way she told a story — though, of course, it was beautiful and bittersweet, like all the best endings that don’t really end. It was the power she gave to memory. The way she gave voice to something invisible. Something that lingered. Something that changed her, even when no one else could see it. And that’s exactly what fibromyalgia is. The Villain in My Story Fibromyalgia isn’t loud. It doesn’t show up in blood tests or X-rays. It doesn’t wear a villain’s cloak or announce itself with drama. It whispers. It chips away. It hides in the margins, like a footnote you can’t erase. And yet, it rewrites everything. It rewrote my mornings — turning them from routines into recoveries. It rewrote my body — from a place of strength to a map of pain....