Clearly she was not listening to me, hell-bent on racking up points for netting a new member for her organization du jour. But in all fairness, I accept some of the responsibility for our frustrating conversation. Perhaps I was not speaking clearly. Maybe I was being too diplomatic. But in all honesty, I was afraid to out myself as a fibromyalgia sufferer.
I was too embarrassed to admit that I function on finite energy and when all the energy I have on any given day is spent, I have no reserve from which to borrow. I was too much of a
coward to acknowledge that the daily pain with which I live requires my best energy to manage. I was too proud to acknowledge that the overachieving, success-driven, self-actualizing woman she once knew had retired her superwoman tights and cape long ago. Now my favorite outfits consist of silk pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and a heating pad.

I didn't tell her that I'd rather spend time listening to birds sing or the ocean roar than listening to a motivational speaker pump up an audience; that I'd much rather spend a quiet evening laughing and talking with her than sharing the details of my life with a bunch of people I do not know. I did not tell her, "Frankly, I'm not looking for new friends, new projects, or new inspiration," though I wish I had.
Indeed, I wish I had told her,"If you really want to help improve my life, come on over and finish bringing in the groceries from my car. Better yet, offer to go grocery shopping for me!
Take the overdue books back to the library. Maybe you could bend down and pick up the shells that FuBu knocked off my desk. Would you be willing to brush Mookie's coat? How about vacuuming the carpet for me? You want to help improve my life? Gift me with a weekly maasage for a month. I'm pretty sure that would provide a tangible improvement to the quality of my life."
At 3:00 in the morning, I regretted that I had not said any of those things. But in the light of the day, I realized: Why expend the energy? She wasn't listening anyway.




