Living with fibromyalgia means waking up every day in a body that doesn’t always feel like it’s on your side. It’s pain that moves and lingers, exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, and a constant fight to be believed in a world that doesn’t understand invisible illness. Some days, even the smallest tasks feel monumental. Other days, I grieve the life I thought I’d have before chronic illness changed everything. For me, fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma, stress, and nervous system dysregulation. My body has carried years of survival, and now it speaks through widespread pain, fatigue, and sensory overwhelm. I’ve spent years learning how to listen to it instead of fight it. That hasn’t been easy. There’s been guilt, frustration, isolation, and fear—but also resilience, self-compassion, and an ongoing process of redefining what strength looks like. I know what it’s like to feel dismissed by doctors, misunderstood by friends, and judged by a culture that values productivity over rest. I know how hard it is to advocate for yourself when you’re already so tired. And I know how powerful it can be to talk to someone who gets it—not because they read about it, but because they live it too.