Years ago I went to New Orleans.. everything changed. I put my hand on Marie Laveau’s tomb and asked for movement. I received it. At the time I was there with my closest, it felt like home and we met many people.. some we would work with and some we would leave. Eventually we would leave each other to embrace diverging paths. As always, life does its thing.
At the time this was written, I was trying to find my authenticity.. I had lost the person I had known (thought I knew) as myself. Life seemed somewhat chaotic and those who I considered my tribe had turned unhealthy. I think we were all in places twisty and thus instead of holding each other up as we should have been, we were codependent.. feeding each other’s negative. My time in New Orleans, while so beautiful, lies like a shadow on my mind of the just before this.. and it’s very bittersweet. I did not like who I had become. It was after that trip, in the midst of all that negative, when I was finally diagnosed.
I have read that fibromyalgia is often called “the unseen disorder” – difficult to diagnose, enveloped in a stigma of disbelief, and unseen in that most who suffer wear a mask to push through their pain. It took nearly two years of misses, multiple tests, and an escalation in pain carrying over ten years. Mine came with a side of osteoarthritis and depression. Still, harsh as it sounds, I was glad to have a name to put with the face.. plus, it also came with some clarity for which I am grateful. Things were changing.. and it was time to put on my big girl panties.