What Sourdough Bread and Fibromyalgia Taught me.

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Blueberry Loaves & Lemon:




Some things rise slowly.


Some things hurt before they heal.


Some things are both soft and strong—


like sourdough.


Like me.


There’s something strangely comforting about sourdough bread.




It takes time. It needs rest. It requires patience, nurturing, and trust in something you can’t quite see—


kind of like healing.


Kind of like living with fibromyalgia.


Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about Taylor Swift—not just her songs, but the way she gives pain a voice without making it loud.


She writes about heartbreak like it’s a poem and healing like it’s a process.


And honestly, I think she’d understand what it’s like to live in a body that doesn’t always keep up with your spirit.


Two sourdough loaves.


It’s an image that came to mind one day when I was too tired to do anything but sit in silence.


Two loaves, side by side.


Maybe one’s a little cracked, the other a little underdone.


But both are rising—slowly, stubbornly, beautifully.


Maybe they’re people.


Maybe they’re versions of me—who I was before chronic illness, and who I’m becoming through it.




Maybe they’re a metaphor for the quiet kind of strength it takes to keep going when everything hurts.


Living with fibromyalgia feels like baking without a timer.


Some days you feel okay. Other days, your body is a mystery you can’t solve.


Pain shows up uninvited, fatigue clings like a second skin.


You cancel plans, skip showers, and feel guilty for just surviving.



But then something small happens—


A good cup of tea.


A lyric that hits home.


A soft hoodie, a stretch that doesn’t hurt, or a friend who just gets it.



A little sweetness in the sour.


Blueberries and lemon.


Taylor would write about this, I think.


Not the big drama of it, but the softness.


The way you keep going.


The way you learn to hold both grief and gratitude in the same hand.


The way healing isn’t linear—but it’s still worth believing in.


So this is where I am.


Rising slowly.


Resting often.


Listening to folklore on quiet mornings and letting my life be what it is—imperfect, unfinished, but full of heart.


If you’re reading this and you’re living with chronic pain, fatigue, or any invisible illness:


I see you.


You are not behind. You are not broken.


You are still becoming.



Like sourdough, you just need time, warmth, and a little room to rise.


Let your story unfold slowly.


Let it be bittersweet.


Let it be yours.



Put on a Taylor Swift record.


Make some tea.


And know that even when you feel half-baked—


you are still whole.

https://x.com/FlareflourishF 

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