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Fibromyalgia Time Is a Completely Different Time Zone

JoLeave a comment

I live in a time zone most people don’t know exists.
It doesn’t follow clocks, calendars, or common sense.
It does follow pain levels, fatigue spikes, and whether my nervous system has decided today is a “no thoughts, just vibes” kind of day.

Welcome to Fibromyalgia Time.

1. Five Minutes Can Take an Hour

In Fibromyalgia Time, a “quick task” is a bold lie.

  • Showering
  • Getting dressed
  • Answering one email

Each looks like it should take five minutes. In reality, it includes:

  • A rest break
  • A mental pep talk
  • Forgetting what you were doing
  • Another rest break

Time stretches when pain shows up, and shrinks when energy disappears.

2. “Later” Is a Vague Concept at Best

When I say “I’ll do it later,” I don’t mean today.
I also don’t mean tomorrow.
I mean when my body allows it.

Fibromyalgia doesn’t run on deadlines. It runs on:

  • Pain levels
  • Brain fog density
  • How hard my nervous system is spiraling

Later is not procrastination. It’s symptom-based scheduling.

3. Energy Expires Without Warning

Normal time assumes energy is steady.

Fibromyalgia Time says:

“Surprise! You had a 30-minute window and didn’t know it.”

You can wake up feeling okay and hit empty before lunch.
You can plan carefully and still lose the day by 2 p.m.

Energy doesn’t taper. It vanishes.
And when it’s gone, the clock stops mattering.

4. Recovery Time Is Not Predictable

In normal time, rest has a formula:

Do thing → Rest → Feel better

In Fibromyalgia Time:

Do thing → Rest → Still tired → Still tired → Still tired → Why am I still tired?

Recovery isn’t linear.
Sometimes a nap helps.
Sometimes it does nothing.
Sometimes it makes things worse because now you’re groggy and in pain.

5. Past Me and Present Me Are Not the Same Person

Fibromyalgia Time has no memory continuity.

Past Me:

  • Made plans
  • Overestimated capacity
  • Was wildly optimistic

Present Me:

  • Is negotiating with joints
  • Has three spoons left
  • Is offended by Past Me’s confidence

Canceling plans isn’t flakiness — it’s time travel without consent.

6. The Clock Keeps Moving Even When I Can’t

This is the cruelest part.

The world doesn’t pause when your body does.
Bills are still due.
Appointments still exist.
Expectations don’t magically adjust.

Fibromyalgia Time moves slower inside your body — but faster everywhere else.
That disconnect is exhausting all by itself.

7. Productivity Happens in Weird Bursts

Fibromyalgia doesn’t believe in steady output.

Instead you get:

  • Sudden bursts of “must do everything NOW”
  • Followed by complete shutdown

It’s not a lack of motivation.
It’s a nervous system that dumps all available energy at once and then clocks out.

8. Rest Is Not Wasted Time (Even If It Looks Like It)

In normal time, rest is a reward.

In Fibromyalgia Time, rest is maintenance.

Lying down isn’t laziness.
Doing less isn’t failure.
Pausing is how you stay functional at all.

The clock might say you did “nothing,” but your body knows better.

9. Fibromyalgia Time Requires Translation

“Just five more minutes”
“Can you hurry?”
“It won’t take that long”

These phrases assume a shared timeline.

We’re not on the same clock — and that’s not a moral failing.
It’s a medical reality.

10. Surviving Fibromyalgia Means Redefining Time Entirely

Success isn’t measured in hours worked or tasks completed.

In Fibromyalgia Time, success looks like:

  • Listening to your body
  • Stopping before you crash
  • Adjusting expectations without self-blame

You’re not behind.
You’re just operating in a different time zone — one that requires patience, flexibility, and a whole lot of self-compassion.

Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.


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When My Brain Checks Out: Dissociation, Explained Gently

JoLeave a comment

There are moments when I’m technically awake, technically functioning, but not really here.

I’ll be mid-sentence and lose the sentence. Mid-thought and lose the thought. Mid-day and suddenly it’s hours later.

That’s dissociation — and it’s a lot quieter, weirder, and more common than people think.

This isn’t a dramatic shutdown. It’s not a panic attack. It’s not giving up.

It’s my nervous system quietly saying: this is too much right now.

What Dissociation Actually Feels Like

Not the textbook version. The real-life one.

  • My body keeps going, but my brain feels like it stepped out for coffee.
  • Sounds feel slightly delayed, like everything is happening behind glass.
  • Emotions flatten — not sad, not calm, just muted.
  • I forget what I’m saying while I’m saying it.
  • Time skips. Ten minutes disappears. Sometimes an hour.

It doesn’t feel scary in the moment — it feels empty. And that’s often what makes it unsettling afterward.

Why It Happens (No Jargon, I Promise)

Your brain has two big jobs:

  1. Keep you alive
  2. Process information and feelings

When stress, pain, trauma, sensory overload, or emotional pressure stack too high, the brain makes a call:

“Processing everything right now would cost too much energy.”

So it pulls back.

Less sensation. Less emotion. Less memory formation.

This isn’t a flaw. It’s a conservation strategy.

How to Gently Come Back (Without Forcing It)

Dissociation doesn’t respond well to yelling at yourself to focus.

It responds to safety cues.

1. Start With the Body

Thinking your way out rarely works — the body has to go first.

  • Press your feet into the floor and notice the pressure
  • Wrap up in a hoodie or blanket (weight helps)
  • Hold something textured: a mug, fabric seam, stone

Feeling your body is the bridge back.

2. Use Temperature as a Reset

Temperature changes speak directly to the nervous system.

  • Splash cool water on your face
  • Hold something warm or cold in your hands
  • Step outside for fresh air if you can

You’re telling your body: we’re here, and it’s now.

3. Name What’s Happening

No analysis required.

Quietly acknowledging it helps reduce fear:

  • “I’m dissociating right now.”
  • “My system is protecting me.”
  • “I don’t have to fix this — just notice it.”

Naming brings orientation without pressure.

4. Ground Through One Sense (Not Five)

Sometimes the classic five-senses exercise is too much.

Try just one:

  • Sight: name one color you can see
  • Sound: listen for the furthest noise you can hear
  • Touch: rub your thumb across your fingers slowly

Simple works better than intense.

5. Externalize Memory When Words Slip

If thoughts are falling through trapdoors:

  • Write a single keyword
  • Record a 10‑second voice memo
  • Text yourself: “brain offline — continue later”

This isn’t failure. It’s accommodation.

Aftercare Matters More Than You Think

When dissociation fades, what often shows up next is shame.

Why can’t I just stay present?

But dissociation means something was already overwhelming.

The kind response is not pushing harder — it’s softer transitions:

  • water
  • food
  • low stimulation
  • rest

You don’t need to earn recovery.

One Last Thing

Dissociation doesn’t mean you’re bad at coping.

It usually means you’ve coped a lot.

Your nervous system learned this because it once helped you survive.

Now you’re teaching it that there are other safe options too.

And that learning takes time.

Gentle time. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Cold Weather Things My Body Strongly Objects To

JoLeave a comment

My body and winter are not in a partnership.
This is not a misunderstanding.
This is a formal complaint.

Here are the cold-weather offenses my body would like formally noted.

1. Cold Floors

The floor should not feel like it’s actively trying to steal my soul through my feet.
Socks help. Slippers help. BOTH preferred.
Nothing helps enough.

2. Wind That Feels Personal

Some wind is just weather.
Some wind shows up with intent.

If I wanted to be slapped by air, I would have made different life choices.

3. Joints That Suddenly Think They’re 90 Years Old

One normal movement.
One tiny twist.
And now my knee is filing paperwork.

Cold makes every joint feel like it’s been pre-injured in a previous life. Somebody borrowed my body for something fun then returned it all achey and broken.

4. The Way Cold Makes Pain Louder

Pain already exists.
Cold weather just turns the volume knob and snaps it off.

It’s not new pain — it’s amplified pain, which somehow feels ruder. Shut it off. Ok thats not practical, how about just a polite ‘can you turn that down please.’

5. Muscles That Refuse to Warm Up

Stretching?
Heating pads?
Positive thoughts?

My muscles respond with:
“No 💖” then it laughs and says no again and I could cry.

6. Static Electricity Betrayal

Nothing like being attacked by your own light switch.

Winter electricity has trust issues, and now I do too. It pairs well with skin so dry it’s legally kindling.

7. Getting Out of Bed

The bed is warm.
The air is hostile.
My body cannot be expected to make that transition peacefully. I wish I could be like Roman Emperors and have the business of the day brought to my bed. I’d hate it there too but at least I’d be comfortable.

8. Cold Air in My Lungs

Breathing should not hurt.
Yet here we are.

Why does cold air feel like inhaling disappointment?

9. The Lie of “Just Bundle Up”

Oh, sure.
Let me just add one more layer and magically override my nervous system. Adding more clothes means more weight, more seams, and puts me on a fast track to sweating.

10. The Way Winter Pretends This Is Normal

People will say:

  • “It’s not that cold.”
  • “You’ll get used to it.”
  • “It’s just the season.”

My body disagrees. Loudly. Daily. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Things I Learned the Hard Way (A Fact-Based Rant) BTW This is post 200!

JoLeave a comment

I used to think my body malfunctioning was a personal flaw.
Turns out it’s mostly biology reacting to stress and occasionally filing a formal complaint.

Here’s what’s actually happening — and what helps a little.

1. Stress Steals Memory Access

Fact: Cortisol suppresses the hippocampus, the brain region responsible for forming and retrieving memories.

Translation: The information is still there. Stress just locked the door.

What helps:

  • Write it down immediately (notes app, scrap paper, hand, whatever)
  • Say it out loud once — verbal encoding helps retrieval
  • Reduce decision load where possible (same routines, fewer choices)

2. Cold Weather Makes Pain Louder

Fact: Cold increases nerve sensitivity and muscle stiffness while reducing blood flow.

Translation: Winter doesn’t create new pain. It turns the volume knob up.

What helps:

  • Pre-warm before moving (heated blanket, warm shower, heating pad)
  • Layer before you feel cold — not after
  • Gentle movement > total stillness (even tiny stretches count)

3. Writing Things Down Works Even If You Never Read It Again

Fact: Writing engages motor, visual, and language centers, strengthening memory encoding.

Translation: Your brain remembers better when your hands are involved.

What helps:

  • Write while someone is talking to you (yes, even mid-sentence)
  • Use ugly notes — perfection kills follow-through
  • One notebook or app only (scattered systems cancel each other out)

4. Stress Interrupts Thoughts Mid-Sentence

Fact: High cognitive load disrupts working memory and verbal recall.

Translation: Your thought didn’t disappear. It got stuck in traffic.

What helps:

  • Pause instead of apologizing — the thought often comes back
  • Say “hold on” and take one breath (literally one)
  • Jot down keywords, not full sentences

5. Your Brain Uses Food as Fuel and a Clock

Fact: Irregular eating can destabilize blood sugar, affecting attention and recall.

Translation: Skipping meals doesn’t just make you hungry — it makes your brain unreliable.

What helps:

  • Eat something at the same time daily (even if it’s small)
  • Pair eating with a routine you already do
  • Low-effort calories count — fed is better than ideal

6. Fatigue and Forgetfulness Share a Nervous System

Fact: Chronic fatigue alters neurotransmitters and executive function.

Translation: “I’m tired” and “I can’t think” are often the same sentence.

What helps:

  • Stop pushing for clarity when exhausted — it won’t come
  • Plan important thinking for your best energy window
  • Rest without guilt; recovery is not optional maintenance

Closing Thought

None of this is a character flaw.
It’s a nervous system under prolonged stress doing its best with limited resources.

Coping doesn’t mean fixing it.
Sometimes it just means making today slightly less hostile.
Til next time guys, take care of yourselves, and each other!

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Why Cold Wrecks My Body (and What Actually Helps)

JoLeave a comment

Cold doesn’t just make things uncomfortable.
It changes how my body functions.

When temperatures drop, my muscles tighten automatically, my joints stiffen faster, my pain threshold lowers, and my nervous system shifts into protection mode. Even before I move, my body is already bracing — like it’s expecting something bad to happen.

What helps:
I warm my body before I ask anything of it. Heat isn’t a treat, it’s a prerequisite. Heating pads, hot showers, warm drinks — anything that tells my nervous system it’s safe enough to stand down.

Cold also makes my muscles stay clenched — especially my shoulders, neck, hips, and lower back. That constant tension creates soreness that doesn’t feel earned and doesn’t go away with rest alone.

What helps:
Targeted warmth and gentle movement. Not “bundling up,” but keeping the parts that guard the most actively warm. Slow stretching or light movement early prevents stiffness instead of fighting it later.

In winter, everything costs more energy. Getting dressed hurts more. Moving hurts more. Thinking hurts more. By noon, I’m exhausted and I haven’t even done anything impressive.

What helps:
I move earlier and smaller. A little motion before the stiffness sets in keeps my body from locking up. This isn’t exercise — it’s lubrication. Waiting until later usually means paying interest.

Cold doesn’t just affect my body — it stresses my nervous system. That means higher pain, lower tolerance, and less emotional bandwidth, even if nothing “bad” is happening.

What helps:
I treat cold days like high-stress days. Fewer plans. Fewer decisions. More quiet. Less pressure to perform. If my nervous system is already taxed, I don’t pile more on top of it.

Winter also messes with expectations. I want to function the same way I do in warmer months, and my body refuses. That gap between expectation and reality is where frustration lives.

What helps:
I lower the bar before I hit it. Winter isn’t the season for pushing limits — it’s the season for pacing. Needing more support when the environment is harsher isn’t regression. It’s adaptation.

Cold doesn’t mean I’m failing.
It means my body is responding to stress the way it was built to.

Winter raises the difficulty level — and I’m allowed to adjust how I play the game. Til next time guys, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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A Completely Serious List of My Current Coping Skills

JoLeave a comment

In the spirit of honesty, growth, and not pretending I have my life together, here is a completely serious and medically unreviewed list of my current coping skills.

  • Avoiding Mirrors
    Not because of vanity. Because mirrors ask questions I’m not prepared to answer. Like ‘Girl why are you going anywhere dressed like that?’
  • Snacks as Emotional Infrastructure
    Are they nutritional? Sometimes. Sometimes I’d be better off nutrient wise eating the damn box
    Are they morale? Absolutely. Until you spot the mirror and it says ‘maybe the cookies are a bit much’
  • Pretending It’s Fine (Short-Term Use Only)
    Works best in public settings, family functions, and when someone says, “So how have you been?”
    I get bored answering that so I state how I’d like to have been. Mirroring other people gets redundant too.
    Start making up stories or stop talking to people or be boring and say fine are your only options.
  • Talking to Pets Like They’re Union Reps
    They understand. They always understand. You know who you don’t have to pretend to be fine to? A dog. Dogs can get you through shit. I’d like to say the same for cats but a lot of them would be judging you. Its part of their job description.
  • Strategic Dissociation (Light Version)
    Not the scary kind.
    Just enough to get through Target without crying in seasonal décor. Besides it helps the chores go faster when you lose hours at a time.
  • Writing Things Down So My Brain Can Stop Holding Them Hostage
    Once it’s on paper, my mind is like, “Cool, not my problem anymore.” The problem is remembering to write the note and where you put it, because you set it down somewhere didnt you? Writing stuff down helps but if you cant remember where you put it tends to pile onto the existing issues. More baggage, yay
  • Canceling Plans Early So I Don’t Feel Like a Villain Later
    This is called foresight. And self-respect. And exhaustion. Better plan, don’t make concrete plans, then you can’t flake out of them. Now THAT’S foresight.
  • Rewatching Shows I’ve Already Seen
    No surprises. No emotional ambushes. Just vibes. That is the great thing about having a shitty memory, its basically brand new shit.
  • Lowering the Bar and Then Respecting It
    Today’s goal is not productivity.
    Today’s goal is “nothing got worse.” Today I met my goal of not fucking more stuff up. Some does that is deserving of a medal.
  • Letting Things Be Weird Instead of Trying to Fix Them Immediately
    Some days aren’t broken.
    They’re just… a lot. I get lost in the Overwhelm.

These aren’t glamorous coping skills.
They won’t make it into a self-help book.
But they’re keeping the lights on, and honestly? That counts.

If you’re doing what you can with what you have, you’re not failing.
You’re coping. And sometimes that’s the win.

Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Why Stress Steals Memory

JoLeave a comment

(Explained Like I’m Four Because Its My Current Mental Capacity)

Imagine your brain is a house.

Inside that house are different rooms. One room is for thinking — remembering things, planning, finishing sentences, and holding onto a thought long enough to actually say it out loud. Another room is for danger. That room has alarms, flashing lights, and a big red button labeled OH NO.

Most of the time, the thinking room is in charge.

Then stress shows up.

Stress doesn’t knock. It barges in yelling things like “PROBLEM,” “URGENT,” or “SOMETHING BAD IS HAPPENING.” Your brain doesn’t stop to check whether the threat is real or just an email, a memory, or the general vibes of winter. It just flips the switch.

The danger room takes over.

When that happens, your brain makes a very practical decision: remembering things is no longer the priority. Surviving is.

So it starts redirecting energy away from memory, focus, and word-finding. Not because those things aren’t important — but because they aren’t useful if you’re about to be eaten by a bear. (Your brain is old-fashioned like that.)

This is why, under stress, you might forget what you were saying mid-sentence, lose track of why you walked into a room, or feel like your thoughts evaporate the moment you reach for them. Your brain isn’t failing. It’s triaging.

There’s also a chemical reason this happens.

When you’re stressed, your body releases cortisol. Cortisol’s job is to help you respond to danger. It speeds things up, tightens muscles, sharpens attention toward threats, like bear attacks, and keeps you alert. But it also tells the memory-forming parts of your brain to quiet down.

In simple terms: cortisol says, “We don’t need to remember things right now. We need to stay alive.”

So memory takes a back seat.

This is especially noticeable when stress isn’t a one-time event, but something ongoing. Chronic stress — from pain, trauma, long-term anxiety, caregiving, or just living in a body that never fully relaxes — can keep your nervous system stuck in high-alert mode. Over time, your brain starts acting like danger is the default setting.

That’s why memory problems can show up even when you’re not actively upset. Conversations feel harder to track. Words go missing. Thoughts disappear halfway through forming. The system never fully stands down.

And this part matters: this isn’t laziness, lack of intelligence, or a personal failing.

It’s not that your brain forgot how to work. It’s that it learned how to protect you — and protection came first.

Memory didn’t disappear. It just got temporarily demoted.

That’s also why external supports help so much. Writing things down, setting reminders, repeating information out loud — these tools reduce the load on a system that’s already busy. Sometimes just writing something is enough for it to stick, even if you never look at it again. Your brain trusts that it doesn’t have to carry everything alone.

The takeaway is simple, even if the experience isn’t.

If your memory struggles when you’re stressed, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your brain is doing exactly what it was designed to do — keeping you safe, even when the threat isn’t obvious.

And sometimes, safety comes at the cost of remembering where you put the thought you were just holding. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other!

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Your Body Thinks You’re Being Chased by a Bear (Spoiler: You’re Not)

JoLeave a comment

So here’s a fun thing that’s been happening: my body has apparently decided that normal life is a constant threat and has responded by keeping me in a perpetual state of “OH GOD OH GOD WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE” even though I’m literally just sitting at my desk trying to answer emails.

Welcome to chronic sympathetic nervous system activation, or as I like to call it, “why I can’t relax even when I’ve been scheduling rest and also why am I clenching my jaw right now?”

If you’re reading this and thinking “wait, is that why my shoulders are permanently attached to my ears?” – yeah, probably. Let’s talk about it.

What Fresh Hell Is This?

Your nervous system has two settings: “EVERYTHING IS FINE” (parasympathetic) and “NOTHING IS FINE PREPARE FOR BATTLE” (sympathetic). The sympathetic system is supposed to kick in when you’re actually in danger – like if a bear shows up or you’re about to miss a deadline or someone says “we need to talk.”

It’s supposed to turn on, help you deal with the thing, then turn OFF.

Except sometimes it just… doesn’t turn off. It’s like that friend who came over for dinner three months ago and is still on your couch. Your nervous system has overstayed its welcome in fight-or-flight mode, and now you’re stuck with elevated heart rate, tense muscles, and the general vibe of someone who’s been drinking espresso for 72 hours straight even though you haven’t.

The Fancy Medical Terms (In Case You Want to Sound Smart)

Doctors and wellness people might call this:

  • Sympathetic dominance (sounds like a kink, isn’t)
  • Hyperarousal (also sounds like a kink, still isn’t)
  • Autonomic dysregulation (absolutely does not sound like a kink)
  • Chronic stress response (boring but accurate)
  • Low vagal tone (your vagus nerve has given up)
  • High allostatic load (fancy way of saying “you’re worn the hell out”)

Pick your favorite. I personally enjoy “sympathetic dominance” because it makes it sound like my nervous system is being bossy, which honestly tracks.

What This Nightmare Actually Looks Like

Physical symptoms (aka your body’s way of saying “I hate it here”):

  • Heart doing gymnastics for no reason
  • Muscles so tight you could bounce a quarter off them
  • Digestive system on strike (nausea, IBS, the works)
  • Sleep? Don’t know her
  • Exhausted but also weirdly wired (tired and wired, the worst combo)
  • Headaches that won’t quit
  • Getting every cold that walks by
  • Hands shaking like you’ve had six cups of coffee (you’ve had zero)

Mental/emotional symptoms (aka your brain being a jerk):

  • On edge like you’re waiting for bad news that never comes
  • Brain fog thicker than London on a bad day
  • Irritable about literally everything (yes, even that)
  • Cannot. Sit. Still.
  • Hypervigilance (constantly scanning for threats like a meerkat)
  • Feeling nothing and everything at the same time
  • Anxiety that laughs at your attempts to meditate

Why Your Body Has Betrayed You Like This

Short answer: sustained stress that your nervous system couldn’t process properly.

Long answer: Maybe it was work stress, or caregiving, or financial pressure, or relationship drama, or past trauma, or chronic illness, or just living through the general dumpster fire that is modern existence. Your nervous system was like “okay, we need to be alert right now” and then just never got the memo that the crisis ended.

It’s not your fault. Your nervous system was trying to protect you. It’s just really bad at knowing when to clock out.

How to Convince Your Body That the Bear Has Left

Alright, here’s the part where I actually try to be helpful instead of just complaining (revolutionary, I know).

Vagus Nerve Stimulation (or: Push the “Calm Down” Button)

Your vagus nerve is basically the brake pedal for your sympathetic system. Here’s how to use it:

  • Breathe like you mean it – Longer exhales than inhales. Your body can’t panic and breathe slowly at the same time, so you’re basically hacking the system
  • Cold water to the face – Splash it, shower in it, or just hold ice. Your body goes “oh we’re doing survival mode differently now”
  • Hum, sing, or gargle – Yes, really. Yes, you’ll look weird. Do it anyway
  • Gentle yoga – Not the “let’s pretzel ourselves into oblivion” kind, the “we’re just stretching and breathing” kind

Daily “Please Chill” Practices

  • Sleep schedule – I know, I know. But your nervous system needs the routine like a toddler needs naptime
  • Move your body – But maybe don’t go run a marathon if you’re already exhausted? Shocking concept, I know
  • Go outside – Nature is basically free therapy and your nervous system knows it
  • Reduce caffeine – I’m sorry. I know. But coffee might be part of the problem
  • Eat actual food – Omega-3s, magnesium, B vitamins. Your nervous system needs fuel that isn’t anxiety and spite

The Woo-Woo Stuff (That Actually Works, Dammit)

  • Progressive muscle relaxation – Tense and release muscle groups. It’s boring but effective
  • Meditation – Even 5 minutes. No, you don’t have to empty your mind. That’s not how it works
  • Somatic practices – Basically any movement that helps you actually feel your body instead of just inhabiting it like a haunted house
  • Heart rate variability training – Apps exist for this and they’re legitimately helpful
  • Massage/bodywork – Yes, you deserve it. No, it’s not frivolous

The Practical Stuff Nobody Wants to Hear

  • Set boundaries – Saying no is self-care, actually
  • Reduce stressors – I know this is easier said than done, but where you can, do
  • Get professional help – Therapy is great. Medication is sometimes necessary. Both are fine
  • Actually rest – Not “scroll on your phone” rest. Actual, doing-nothing rest
  • Connect with humans – Safe relationships help regulate your nervous system (unfortunately we do need other people)

Real Talk

This doesn’t get fixed overnight. Your nervous system didn’t get stuck in panic mode in a day, and it won’t unstick in a day either. Some days you’ll feel better. Some days you’ll feel like garbage. Both are normal.

You’re not broken. You’re not weak. You’re having a completely normal response to stress that lasted too long. Your nervous system is just trying to keep you safe – it’s just really, really bad at its job right now.

Also, if this is seriously impacting your life, please talk to actual medical professionals. I’m just some person on the internet who’s been through this. Doctors and therapists have actual training and sometimes you need the real help.

The Point

You deserve to feel safe in your own body. You deserve to not feel like you’re perpetually being chased by something you can’t see. You deserve to actually rest without your nervous system screaming “BUT WHAT IF—” at you.

Start small. Pick one thing. Give it time. Be patient with yourself (I know, gross). And know that it does get better.

Your nervous system will eventually get the memo that the bear is gone. It’s just taking the long way around. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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The Quiet Depression No One Warns You About After the Holidays

JoLeave a comment

The holidays end, and everyone else seems to bounce back into life like it was all just a brief inconvenience. Decorations come down. Resolutions go up. People start talking about productivity and “fresh starts.”

There’s a strange sadness that settles in after the holidays — not dramatic, not loud, just heavy. The excitement is gone, the lights are packed away, and spring feels like a rumor someone made up to be polite.

Meanwhile, I’m standing in my kitchen staring out the window at gray trees, wondering how many months it is until I can touch dirt again. The holidays were made for family so when you are missing part of your family, you begin to question ever feeling anything other than this ever. Some days the hardest part isn’t missing them — it’s wondering if the version of me who was their mom actually existed.

This stretch of time — from after the holidays until the world thaws out — hits a lot of people harder than we admit. Shorter days mean less sunlight, which affects serotonin and melatonin levels in the brain. That shift alone can mess with mood, energy, and sleep. It’s one of the reasons Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) tends to peak in late winter, not December when everyone expects it.

But even without a formal diagnosis, this season can still feel emotionally brutal.

It’s the letdown after months of buildup.
The loss of structure.
The quiet after forced togetherness.
The waiting.

Everyone talks about January as a reset, but for some of us it’s more like limbo. Not moving forward. Not moving back. Just stuck — watching other people carry on while we tread emotional water.

I’m not drifting, I’m not drowning — I’m stuck treading water, burning energy just to stay here.

What makes this season especially isolating is that it doesn’t look like depression the way people expect. You’re still functioning. Still showing up. Still doing what needs to be done. You just feel… dulled. Unmotivated. Sad without a clean reason.

And because nothing is technically wrong, it’s easy to tell yourself you should be fine.

But this isn’t a personal failure. It’s a seasonal one.

Human beings aren’t designed to thrive in months of darkness, cold, and waiting. We’re meant to move, to grow things, to be outside doing something that feels alive. When that gets taken away, it leaves a very real emotional gap.

So if you’re struggling right now, you’re not weak.
You’re not ungrateful.
You’re not broken.

You’re just in the long, quiet middle — the part no one puts on a calendar.

And sometimes the only goal isn’t happiness. It’s getting through this season gently enough to meet yourself again when the light comes back. This is the year I stop treading water, I will start swimming again. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other

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When My Brain Picks a Fight, My Body Throws the Punches

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Sometimes I wake up already in pain, which feels rude considering I was unconscious and minding my business.

My jaw aches like I spent the night grinding concrete. My shoulders are locked halfway to my ears. My hands hurt like I’ve been stress-clenching imaginary problems in my sleep (which, honestly, tracks). I didn’t overdo it yesterday. I didn’t injure anything. I just… existed.

This kind of flare doesn’t start in my body — it lands there.

My nervous system wakes up feral.
Heart racing. Muscles braced. Skin overly dramatic.
Brain fog so thick I could lose a thought mid-thought.

It’s like my body heard a rumor that something bad might happen and decided to prepare for war before confirming the details.

When the nervous system is under prolonged stress, it can amplify pain signals even without new injury — a process called central sensitization. It’s common in fibromyalgia and chronic pain conditions, and it means the pain is real, measurable, and neurological — not imagined or exaggerated.

Here’s the annoying science part: emotional stress doesn’t stay politely in the “feelings” department. It rewires pain pathways, cranks up inflammation, and lowers the threshold for flares. My body doesn’t care if the threat is physical or psychological — it reacts with the same unhinged enthusiasm either way.

So when I say I’m in pain, I’m not being metaphorical.
I mean my body is cashing a check my nervous system wrote.

There’s research behind this, by the way. Emotional distress activates the same pain-processing pathways in the brain as physical injury. For people with fibromyalgia or trauma histories, the nervous system can stay stuck in high-alert mode — turning stress into very real, very physical pain.

It looks like moving slower. Canceling plans without guilt (or with guilt, but canceling anyway). It looks like heat packs, silence, and a deep distrust of anyone who suggests I “push through it.” It looks like exhaustion that sleep laughs at and pain that refuses to justify itself with visible damage.

This isn’t weakness.
This is a system that’s been on high alert for too long and forgot how to stand down.

Some days the goal isn’t fixing anything — it’s lowering the volume. Fewer demands. Softer expectations. Treating my body like it’s been through something instead of asking it to perform like it hasn’t.

Pain doesn’t always come from injury.
Sometimes it comes from carrying too much, for too long, with no off switch. Til next time gang, take gentle care of yourselves, and each other!