Yesterday, as I was thinking about digging up some potatoes for dinner and sort of dreading the exertion (something I used to relish), I thought, there’s no way this can be it. There’s no way that I’m going to be feeling like this or worse for the rest of my life. There’s no way this is a real disease. I’m just lazy, undermotivated, being a big baby.

The people with fibro I’ve met have been overacheivers, fixers, do-ers, taking on more and more and more and always blaming themselves for things that don’t get done.

It’s hard to let go of that.

I dug up the potatoes.