I wish I didn’t, but I know how debilitating extreme fatigue can be. Honestly? It feels like a plague. And a plague that affects far too many of us. From fibromyalgia fatigue to depression fatigue, the mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion of burnout, chronic fatigue syndrome … the conditions might be different, but the result remains the same. Life becomes less adventure, more a test of endurance. And we have to learn to coach ourselves through it …
This extreme fatigue makes me feel like a loser
“I’m such a loser.” I caught myself saying to a friend the other day. It was a moment of self-mockery, of self-deprecating humour. I was trying to be funny – and it worked; she laughed along with me. But beneath that laughter came a realisation that cut into me with striking depth: I still have work to do, I still have to learn to bring myself a lot more kindness.
It’s not a new thing. I’ve been struggling with extreme fatigue for years; at first it was only the fatigue that came with the depression phase of my bipolar disorder, dragging me deep into its murky depths. But later, fibromyalgia also twisted itself into my body, imprinting its own brand of extreme fatigue into my life.
I hated that I didn’t always have all the energy in the world to do all the things I wanted to do. Fatigue seemed to suck the life energy right out of me. Often, I couldn’t scrape together the energy to sit up straight. Or even to keep my eyelids open. For a long, long, time, I just slept for days. I felt like a zombie swamp creature. And I hated myself for it.
Then I saw something that changed everything.
If all you can do is crawl …
I saw this beautiful quote …
“If all you can do is crawl, start crawling.” – Rumi
The relief I felt when my eyes flitted across Rumi’s beautiful words was immediate. I was holding myself in such judgement because I hadn’t been what I wanted to be as a writer. I hadn’t been what I wanted to be as a lover. As a daughter, sister, friend. As any of the roles I play in my life. And those kind, gentle words reminded me that we are all human.
They reminded me that we can’t always be everything to everyone. We can’t always be rushing towards our dreams and our goals and our lofty ambitions. We can’t always be pushing to be more. We can’t always be the best. On top form, feeling like we’ve climbed every mountain.
Those words reminded me that even when we’re crawling, we’re still moving forward. That sometimes (oftentimes), we actually have to be still, and be in the moment, and look around us and acknowledge who we are and how far we’ve already come. Because we have all come so far.
Holding myself in kindness and compassion
Over the years I’ve learnt to be gentler with myself, to be more forgiving of myself, to hold myself in kindness and compassion. To rest when my body is tired and my brain is foggy. I’ve started finding the right meds. Again. I’ve learnt my new triggers. I’m rediscovering which foods nourish my evolving body, which exercises I can handle, and when.
There are still debilitating days. But there are fewer of them. On the not so bad days, I still crawl. On the good days, I fly. I don’t feel like a zombie swamp creature anymore. I don’t hate myself anymore for only crawling when I can. But I still hate that I can’t fly all the time. I hate that I have to rest more than I used to. And I still sometimes feel like a loser.
When I’m not being kind to myself
Those moments when I catch myself saying things like, “I’m such a loser”, when I’m not being kind to myself, when I’m frustrated because I’m not flying like a superhero, it’s a warning than I’ve gone too far. That I’ve once again fallen into the trap of pushing myself beyond my current limits, straining under the weight of expectations – both my own and those of others. It’s a reminder that I have to make adjustments.
I remind myself to honour my body. To thank her for supporting me through trauma and anguish and grief and life’s adversities in all its shades. To remember that she still brings me joy – in taste and touch and sight and sound and floods of exquisite emotions. My body is still here, on this beautiful planet of ours. And that means I am too.
So who am I to deny her rest when she needs it? My friend reminded me that we shouldn’t be berating ourselves for the things we do to survive. And today, I’m holding those words close to my heart.
I’m telling myself, instead, to stop fighting my natural rhythms and cycles; whatever they may be at this point in my life. Because we accept the ebb and flow in nature, in the tides of the ocean, the phases of the moon, the change of seasons. We even celebrate them. Why not in our own bodies? Why do we think we need to be machines?
When the energy flows, when I have the power in my body and the clarity in my mind to step into the faster flowing rivers of life, I am deeply, deeply grateful. But let’s also graciously allow ourselves the space to crawl when that’s all we can manage, the space to be still when that’s what we need. Let’s give ourselves the same kind of unconditional permission to rest as we do to push our boundaries.
“You’ve been criticising yourself for years and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” – Louise Hay
