I woke up in a quiet, dark hotel room. I had a long day yesterday, working with my sales rep down in Miami.
I should have been happy, but I wasn’t.
Here I was, on a business trip for my job that I absolutely loved, yet all I could do that morning was cry as I struggled to get out of bed and to straighten my stiff joints.
Although things were going great in my sales management career, I couldn’t say the same when it came to my body. In fact, the intense pain was often more than I could bear.
Between the debilitating muscle aches and dreaded morning stiffness, I was suffering. Constantly.
You know how you feel when you have the flu? Sore, stiff, achy and just so tired?
For the last 8 years, that was how I felt every day.
For 8 years.
Day after painful, tired, stiff day.
I had seen my doctor two months earlier and he told me that I needed to stop working. Not that I should, not that he recommended it, but that I needed to.
That’s right. I needed to quit the one job that I wanted to do, had trained to do, had longed to do, the one job that I WAS doing. Just up and quit.
It was like everything that I had worked hard to achieve suddenly didn’t matter. All of my hours and energy creating a career I was proud of. Wasted.
Why?
Because fibromyalgia, the “F” word, was fucking up my life.
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