It occurs to me, only now, after time has passed and the freshness of memory is faded, that before Fibromyalgia, not being strong was never an option for me.

I considered myself to have a high pain tolerance- surely if I endured that monstrous pain of miscarriage, and getting burned on my cervix during that precancer year- then I could handle anything.

I lifted heavy boxes, moved around furniture, and was extremely active.

I never knew how much I took the use of my arms, legs, and back for granted.

I never knew that I shouldn't get irritated at people who walked slow, just because I was always in a hurry.

And that's the thing, there, really.

I was always in a hurry. 

Had I never gotten sick, I may never have known the sweetness of being still.