Throwing in the Towel

Despite starting 12 posts in the last few months, I’ve been unable to finish and post any. I’m giving myself permission to write a short missive, so I can complete something. One symptom of fibromyalgia is “brain fog,” during which times concentration, word finding, processing information, etc. take a break. They’re just not there and you cannot make it be so. Unfortunately, my brain has taken a beating from being flooded with stress hormones constantly. My cognitive difficulties are disabling.

Taking this into consideration, some of the goals, activities and interests I’d held out hope for future pursuits are being tossed out of the boxing ring. Since university, I’ve had books in varying states of draft, but only in my head. Some were fiction but most were autobiographical or educational/counseling (my profession). As I became a public speaker as part of my career, I wrote pages of notes or outlines, but didn’t transform them into workbooks or printed material. Then, I had two babies 19 months apart and did the books for my husband’s small business, definitely not the books I’d seen in my future!

The writing is on the wall, even offered up in many reports from the state’s professionals and mine. I’ve already accepted I will not work again; hell, I can’t even manage to write in a journal, even sporadically, read an online article all the way through in one go or hold onto information or express myself verbally. Now, I’m throwing in the towel on one of my dearest goals, writing a book. Now, age 60 looms less than 60 days away. Science has recently proven that our bodies go through significant changes at this specific age. Of course.

Walking carefully from my bed to the bathroom, I picked up three fingernail polish bottles that took up residence on the dresser at the beginning of the summer. My eyes fell on them every day, frequently reminding me I was going to file and paint my fingernails, sometimes deluding myself into imagining I’d get to my toenails, too. Recently, I’m really struggling cognitively and physically and there’s the whole mind-body connection, you know? While passing the chest of drawers, my eyes fell on the color I’d chosen in June as well as base and top coats. I shrugged and picked them up, stowing them back in their proper spot.

At that moment, as odd as it probably sounds, the realization that I won’t actually be writing any kind of book occurred to me. I’ve missed my window. Years ago, I was more than capable, but fibromyalgia doesn’t allow one to revisit abilities that were commonplace in the early days. They’re not on recall. Some may encourage me not to give up on my goal, but to look for a way or maybe I’ll be better some day. Believe me, those words have been on a loop in my head for ages. What hit me was exactly this, “If I can’t manage to polish my fingernails for seven weeks, I’m not going to write a book.” There it is.

Surrender isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m free of any weight hanging over my head because I “should” write. I even thought about writing a book about my fibro experience. Too late! Surprised myself writing this post, and that feels good because I have a dozen drafts from the past few months sitting in the unfinished bin. I was never inspired to finish them and was disappointed about that. I’ll drop in here as able and if I have anything worth writing about. The major external stressors that have occupied my life for the last year are unwinding, and hopefully so am I. Hoping the best for you.