Tag: chronic illness

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My Hair Hurts. So No, I’m Not Doing a 12-Step Skincare Routine.

JoLeave a comment

Its been a while whats been up guys? I’ll go. Nothing lol. Theres been pain nad appointments interspersed with some family fun, birthdays and its just so damn hot in the summer I dont do much, but it hasnt been all bad. I think I decided that I’m going to drop down to the free version of wordpress so I’m sorry if that messes with anyone’s formats or fonts. I’m just streamlining everything I can before the new school year. We are a month out for most schools going back. I’ll be around more once I get a routine.

So theres me, drop me a note let me know what this summer kept you busy doing. Now…

If you’ve never lived with chronic pain, “my hair hurts” probably sounds ridiculous.

But if you know…you know.

It’s not really the hair itself. It’s that strange feeling where your scalp is tender, your skin feels overstimulated, your clothes suddenly feel heavier, and every little sensation seems amplified. Even washing your face can feel like one task too many.

Welcome to another day of living in a body that likes to make up its own rules.

I Didn’t Always Need a Streamlined Routine

There was a time when I wore makeup almost every day.

I washed my face with Noxzema every morning and every night without thinking about it. Skincare was just part of my routine.

Then fibromyalgia, fatigue, and life happened.

What used to be automatic became another task that required energy I didn’t always have. I didn’t stop caring about my skin—I just had to stop pretending I had the same energy I used to.

The Myth of the Perfect Routine

Everywhere you look, someone is telling you that you need a dozen products and a complicated routine to have healthy skin.

Meanwhile, I’m over here negotiating with myself to wash my face before bed.

There are days when lifting my arms to shampoo my hair feels exhausting. There are days when standing at the bathroom sink for five minutes is enough.

So no, I’m not doing a twelve-step skincare routine.

My Real-Life Routine

Most days, I wash my face with a gentle cleanser in the morning and before bed, then apply my Olay moisturizer.

That’s it.

Not because I don’t care, but because I’ve learned the best routine is the one I can actually stick with.

There are still days when even washing my face doesn’t happen, and I’ve stopped feeling guilty about that. Chronic illness doesn’t care about my to-do list, and guilt has never made me feel better.

My Bare-Minimum Routine

On high-pain days, I ask myself one question:

What’s the smallest thing I can do that will still help?

Usually that’s:

  • Wash my face with a gentle cleanser—or even just rinse with water.
  • Apply moisturizer.
  • Wear sunscreen if I’m going outside.

Simple. Realistic. Sustainable.

Your Routine Should Serve You

People with chronic illnesses hear a lot of advice about what we “should” be doing.

Some days, just making it through the day is an accomplishment.

I’ve learned that consistency beats complexity every time. My skin doesn’t need twelve products. It needs a routine that works with the body I have today.

If today all you managed was washing your face and putting on some moisturizer, that’s a win.

If today all you managed was splashing your face with water because that’s all your body would allow, that’s okay too.

Self-care isn’t measured by how many bottles are on your bathroom counter.

It’s measured by finding a routine that’s sustainable—even on the days when your hair hurts. Til next time guys, take care of yourselves, and each other and look for more George updates, they are all over the yard lol.

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How I Know I’m Overstimulated (Before I Start Snapping at Everyone)

JoLeave a comment

Lots of stuff floating through my brain guys. I havent been around because full disclosure I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. I feel like I’m screaming into a dark void and nothing is coming back LOL. I started this to help people like me, but also help ME, so I will keep it but you might see changes soon. I’ll probably just go down a package with wordpress but I’m still deciding. Anyway, thats for another day, now lets talk OVERWHELM. There’s a very specific moment where I go from “functioning human” to “if one more person breathes near me I will lose it.”

And unfortunately, I don’t always notice it before I’m already irritated at… everything. Then others point out I’m cranky. As if I am ever anything less than a delight LOL

So here are the signs I’ve learned to catch before I turn into the world’s most overwhelmed mom with zero patience and a twitchy eye

1. Everything suddenly feels… louder than it should be

The TV isn’t even that loud. Nobody is yelling.
But somehow it feels like I’m trapped inside a blender.

Bonus points if multiple sounds are happening at once and my brain just goes “nope.”

2. I get irrationally annoyed at normal human behavior

Someone asking a simple question? Annoying.
Someone walking into the room? Also annoying.
Existing? Honestly… offensive.

This is usually my first clue that the problem is not actually them.

3. My patience drops to zero in 2.5 seconds

I go from “sure, babe” to internally screaming in record time.

Tiny inconveniences feel personal.
Like the universe specifically chose me for suffering because the remote is missing.

4. My body feels tense for no reason

Shoulders up by my ears
Jaw clenched
That low-key “I might cry or scream, we’ll see” feeling

Love that for me.

5. I can’t focus on anything (but also can’t rest)

I try to scroll, watch something, do a task…

…and my brain is just buffering.

It’s like being tired and wired at the same time, which is a special kind of awful.

What I Actually Do About It (aka damage control)

This is not a “perfect self-care routine.”
This is “what can I realistically do before I snap at someone I love.”

✔️ 1. Reduce input immediately

Turn something off.
Lower the volume.
Leave the room if I can.

Less noise = less rage.

✔️ 2. Say it out loud (before it comes out wrong)

“I’m overstimulated.”

That’s it. No speech. No explanation.

It buys me space without starting a fight I didn’t mean to start.

✔️ 3. Change the environment

Dim lights
Different room
Sit in the car for a minute like a gremlin

A small shift helps more than I expect every time.

✔️ 4. Give myself a “no expectations” reset

I stop trying to be productive, patient, or pleasant.

We are in survival mode now.

Even 10–15 minutes helps take the edge off.

✔️ 5. Do something mindless on purpose

Scroll
Play a chill game
Watch a comfort show.
Fold laundry slowly.

The goal is not productivity.
The goal is not snapping.

The part I have to remind myself of

Being overstimulated doesn’t mean I’m failing.

It means:

  • too much input
  • not enough capacity
  • and my brain is waving a tiny white flag

The earlier I catch it, the less damage control I have to do later. Til next time gang. Take care of yourselves, and each other.

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The Unhelpful Advice Hall of Fame

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(Inductees Chosen for Outstanding Contributions to Missing the Point)

There are two kinds of advice in the world:

  1. Useful.
  2. Enthusiastically useless.

Today, we honor the second category.

Welcome to the Unhelpful Advice Hall of Fame — a carefully curated collection of statements that have survived decades despite helping absolutely no one.

Please hold your applause. Or don’t. It won’t change anything.

🏆 Inductee #1: “Have you tried yoga?”

Yes.

I have also tried stretching, resting, hydration, optimism, and briefly considering becoming a houseplant.

Yoga is lovely. It is not a firmware update for my nervous system.

Next.

🏆 Inductee #2: “You just need to push through it.”

Ah yes. The classic strategy of overriding biology with vibes.

If “pushing through” worked long-term, no one would burn out. No one would flare. No one would collapse two days later wondering why their body sent them a strongly worded letter.

I don’t lack effort. I lack unlimited reserves.

🏆 Inductee #3: “Everyone gets tired.”

Correct.

And everyone gets hungry. That doesn’t make famine a personality flaw.

There is a difference between “I stayed up too late” tired and “my cells are filing a union complaint” tired.

We can respect nuance.

🏆 Inductee #4: “You’re too young to feel this way.”

I wasn’t aware age functioned as a warranty.

Bodies are not cars. There is no mileage-based fairness system. If there were, I’d like to speak to management.

🏆 Inductee #5: “You just need to think positive.”

I do think positive thoughts.

I also think realistic ones.

Positivity is not a structural support beam. It’s a throw pillow. Decorative. Occasionally helpful. Not load-bearing.

🏆 Inductee #6: “At least it’s not worse.”

This one wins for optimism with a side of existential dread.

You’re right. It could always be worse.

It could also be better.

We don’t have to race to the bottom to validate discomfort.

🏆 Inductee #7: “Maybe it’s stress.”

Maybe.

And maybe stress is also a biological event, not a moral weakness.

Also, if the solution to stress were “simply relax,” the spa industry would have ended human suffering by now.

🏆 Inductee #8: “Have you tried cutting out gluten/dairy/sugar/joy?”

I appreciate the commitment to dietary experimentation.

However, if eliminating bread were the cure for complex medical conditions, Italy would not exist.

🏆 Inductee #9: “But you look fine.”

Thank you. I moisturize.

Looking fine is not the same as being fine. Packaging can be deceiving. Ask any online order I’ve ever received.

🏆 Inductee #10: “You just need more discipline.”

If discipline cured chronic illness, high-achievers would be immortal.

Sometimes the issue isn’t willpower. It’s capacity. And capacity does not respond to shame-based motivational speeches.

Honorable Mention: Silence

Sometimes the most helpful response is:

“That sounds hard.”

No fix. No pivot. No silver lining.

Just acknowledgment.

It turns out being believed is far more effective than being optimized.

If you’ve ever nodded politely while mentally nominating someone for this Hall of Fame, you’re not ungrateful. You’re tired.

Advice is easy. Listening is harder.

And if nothing else, at least we can laugh — carefully, responsibly, with proper hydration — about the fact that some phrases will apparently outlive us all. 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.