Fibro2Phoenix

I was done.

Done with living in overdrive.

Done with people-pleasing, overthinking, overgiving—
pouring from a cup that had long run dry.

On the outside, she looked fine.
Just another mum doing it all—school runs, packed lunches, gym five times a week—
smiling through the chaos, balancing all the balls in the air.

But behind the smile was a woman quietly falling apart.

Because you can eat kale, count your steps, and show up at spin class—
but if your mind’s at war with itself, true health stays just out of reach.
I didn’t know how to stop.
Didn’t know how to be, without doing.

And in that invisible cage of silence and self-neglect, I slowly withered.
But a flicker inside me—small, stubborn, sacred—refused to go out.

I knew I was meant for more.

The second time I tried to take my own life was to be the last.

Then came the diagnosis: Fibromyalgia.

And suddenly, there was a name for the storm inside me.
The bone-deep fatigue. The aches no one could see.
The endless fog, the mood swings, the waves of anxiety that crashed without warning.
And in that moment, something shifted...It had a name and..I was understood

The fog didn’t just lift—it parted like curtains.
I didn’t reach for the pills.
I reached inward.
With guidance, I came home to myself.
I realised I could heal.
I could choose me.
And so I did.
No one was coming to rescue me.

I held countless helping hands—until I learned to hold my own.
That was the day I began again.
Not just surviving.

But rewriting the story.
And you don't have to do it alone either.