Hi, I’m Sarah.
I can’t quite believe I’m writing this, to be honest. It’s a bit surreal — being here, on Me Versus Fibromyalgia, sharing something so personal. But if you’re reading this, I’m guessing you understand what it means to live with this condition. And maybe, like me, you’re looking for something real — connection, honesty, a bit of hope. So here I am.
I’m new to writing publicly about my experience with fibromyalgia, though it’s been part of my life for longer than I care to admit. Joining this blog feels a bit like standing in a room and finally saying, “This is me. This is what I’ve been carrying.” And I’m ready — or at least trying — to be honest about it.
One of the hardest parts for me has been mourning the life I used to have. I don’t think that’s talked about enough. That quiet, heavy grief of watching the old version of yourself slip away — the one who could say yes to plans without checking energy levels, who could walk without pain, who didn’t measure life in rest breaks and recovery days.
I miss her. I really do.
Sometimes I still catch myself thinking, Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and feel like myself again. But then I realise — this is myself now. This tired, aching, fierce version of me is still me. She just had to change. She didn’t want to. But she had to.
And that’s the other thing — it’s not just the physical pain, is it? It’s the mental and emotional weight that comes with it. The way it sneaks into every part of your life — your relationships, your plans, your sense of self. Some days I grieve hard. Other days, I manage. And on a few rare days, I even thrive — in small, quiet ways. A laugh. A walk. A moment of stillness where I feel okay in my body.
I’m learning that it’s okay to carry grief and hope at the same time. They’re not opposites — they’re just part of the same road. And writing here is my way of walking that road with a little more honesty, a little less isolation.
I don’t have all the answers. I probably never will. But if you’ve ever felt lost in this — if you’re mourning the life you had too — just know you’re not alone. I’m right here with you.
Thanks for being here with me.
With warmth,
Sarah 💙
