Forgiveness Journey

I jogged. I did aerobics. I taught actors how to be strong, I was part dance teacher, part athletics coach.

After a year of teaching four energetic classes and acting in a very physical show, I got the flu, spent the summer resting, then developed constant headaches. My doctor thought I might have something he called “fibrositis,” and gave me pills. The headaches went away. I’m cured, I thought, and stopped taking the pills.

The headaches came back, along with sore muscles and fatigue. I went back on the pills. They got rid of the headaches but the sore fatigue remained.

I couldn’t possibly be sick. I had a PhD. I was a professor. A high achiever. Feeling ill made me angry all the time. Maybe that’s why I didn’t get tenure.

I gave up. I got a series of desk jobs. No longer did I jog, or work out. I didn’t even take walks. Years later, I discovered that simply walking half a mile exhausted me. Me, the Amazon woman. Something had to change.

My husband bought me a bicycle. When I first moved here to Ithaca, NY, I had sold my bicycle, because Ithaca is full of brutally steep hills. With this new bike, I practiced on nice flat pathways. Soon, I tried a gently rolling country road. The new bike had more gears than I could count, so on anything resembling a hill I could shift way down and almost make it. Then I could make it. Then I could make it in a higher gear, and ride for a longer time. I gave up my couch potato habits for my bicycle.

After biking, however, I discovered that I had to stretch, and then sit on a heating pad for an hour or two. It’s called “post exertional malaise,” and it’s a hallmark of fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue.

In those years of sitting on my butt, I’d read all about it. Books on the subject abound. In 2023 alone, I counted over a hundred on Amazon.

Although physicians have learned a lot since my 1988 diagnosis, mysteries remain. For example, no one really knows when it’s fibromyalgia and when it’s chronic fatigue. The first has more aches, the second has more fatigue, but both can have both. My own aches have subsided into things I can call age-related, but the fits of chronic fatigue still happen.

All the techniques I once taught have come to my rescue. I know how to stretch safely. I know several techniques for releasing muscle knots.

I also tried many other therapies. Physical therapy. Massage. Acupuncture. And a panoply of vitamins. The vitamins seem to help, and I still take them. But physical therapy, massage, and acupuncture didn’t. In fact, one physical therapy person “fired” me, tired of chasing my aches around. I found myself subject to fits of depression.

Having a chronic invisible illness is depressing. Other people don’t notice your illness, or don’t believe it. I don’t always believe it myself. Symptoms appear and disappear. In the disappearance times, I still forget that I have fibromyalgia. Or chronic fatigue. Or both.

Many people have an invisible disability. In the United States, the number ranges from one in two, to 26 million. We don’t use wheelchairs. We are not always housebound. We look perfectly fine. Talking with friends who have the same diagnosis, I learned that not only do symptoms come and go, they are different for everyone. No wonder the physicians are baffled.

Then there’s the notion that we must “get healthy.” Health is seen as the usual, the norm, the way things are. But everyone has something—a chronic illness, a more limited illness, mental problems, social isolation. Or smaller things, such as coping with small children and catching everything they get. So “health” is what we are all going toward, or away from, at any given moment. That is, health is a continuum. Some days you are invincible. Other days you are in bed, adapting.

Those of us whose chronic illness comes later in life are often high achievers. Learning to be a lower achiever comes hard. Chronic illness, arriving after 30 to 50 years of achievement, brings chronic grief. Which led me to chronic fits of depression.

Recently, I found myself re-reading Anatomy of the Spirit, by Caroline Myss. She often writes about forgiveness. So I forgave my sore right leg. Then I forgave my bouts of tiredness. I forgave my low achiever self. Finally, I mostly forgave the people who have betrayed me.

That sounds like I’m done with forgiving. Nope. I still struggle to fully understand I that my value does not come from how hard I work, or from a brilliant career. At least the bouts of depression appear less often.

Coping with fibromyalgia, I have learned a lot about myself. I’m much better at gratitude—for the people I love, and for my luck in having health insurance and enough resources so that I didn’t have to keep a job that was hurting me physically and mentally

Finally, I now pay attention to full moons, woodpeckers on the suet, and the changing seasons.

Judith Pratt’s experiences-- actor, director, professor, fundraiser, and freelance writer--inspire her novels, stories, and plays. Most recently, her stories were published in “ Fresh Words,” "The Gateway Review" and "Fifth Di" magazine. They have also appeared online in a number of publications. Her novel, "Siljeea Magic", was indie-published in 2019. Her current novel is under contract with Pegasus. In 2019, her play “Maize” was selected for the Louisiana State University SciArts Prize. Her play “Losing It” was published in Best Ten-Minute Plays of 2020.