Just before “COVID hit” (are you tired of that phrase too?) I said I was going to lose weight. It’s part of the experiment to see what actually helps fibro symptoms and what doesn’t really. So that was…. 9 months ago? Instead of losing weight, I’ve added probably a baby’s worth of weight, so I’m due now any day. But I can’t schedule an inducement to shed the weight. I blame COVID; I blame working from home; I blame the loss of weekly treks in the pool; I blame wine and pasta; I blame failure.

There have been successes. Working in the garden – I didn’t get as much done as I wanted, but I got a lot done. Working from home – I save money and time (lots of each) by working from home. I don’t see going back to working on site now, but I’ll worry about that bridge when it falls. I have a home and a job and friends and security. My life is on the whole good – still. I’m grateful for that goodness.

But I’ve failed at getting back to writing on this page and reading the articles I need to read. I’ve failed at my latest experiment and in fact have done damage to myself. And I’ve failed at my relationship. That makes me saddest of all. I’ll be going back to going it on my own after having someone in my life for 4 or so years. And it is my failure. I fail at accepting the things that women accept all the time, from the small things, like praising a man to high heaven for doing the most basic tasks, to much bigger things. I love Terry and want to see him happy – I’m not the person to make him happy. He’s not the person to make me happy. We are better suited to being the people each other can count on as we go our way separately in life. If we can achieve that, we can turn failure into a positive. I’m hopeful.

I’m hopeful that with this change I can resume my “normal” activities that have been put on hold. That I’ll be able to read and write and… think. My thinker has been blocked a lot for too long. One of the things I have had to struggle with is the idea that it’s okay to put what I want ahead of what other people want. I take care of people all day every day in my job and often in my life. With a chronic lack of energy and chronic exhaustion, I spend what little energy reserves I have on the needs of others. I’m not a saint. I don’t want to be a saint. I am, however, almost 60, yep upper reaches of 50, and it’s okay (I tell myself everyday) to put my needs ahead of other’s needs. I’ll always make time for people. I’ll always struggle to make time for myself. But asking for distance, for an empty home, is like blocking my calendar, giving myself administrative or office time. Some people need to be alone on a regular basis. I’m one of those people, to the detriment of relationships.