Lost Threads of Thought & Memory; Fibromyalgia & Creating

There are days when the fog comes in from the sea and lays itself thick inside my mind, a white silence where my thoughts should be. I feel then that my own spirit is not my own, but that some old, northern magic is upon me, as if Huginn and Muninn, Oðin’s own ravens of thought and memory, have flown with me, and have grown weary of their journey. They tuck their dark heads beneath their wings to rest, and I am left alone in the stillness, grasping for a thing just flown, a word that was perched on my tongue but has now taken flight into the blank and featureless sky. It is a lonely theft, to feel a memory turn to mist in your hands, to know the shape of a love but not the name you called it by.

I rarely speak of my illness however here I am taking a moment to do so, not because I long for pity... it is simply that there are times when sharing the truth can open a window into understanding, and so I will.

One of the most difficult symptoms I live with is what we call fibro fog. It comes with fibromyalgia, a disorder of the central nervous system that alters how the body processes pain and sensory signals. On the surface I may look well enough, but my nervous system is always burning, always overworked, and that fire reaches the mind too.

Fibro fog feels like the threads of thought unravel in my hands. It's embarrassing, sometimes frightening, and devastating. A word I know slips from my grasp. A sentence begins clearly, then fades away before it can reach its end. Sometimes the wrong words tumble out, as if somewhere between brain and tongue the path became tangled. This happens because the brain is working too hard to manage pain, fatigue, and sensory overload all at once, and so memory, focus, and language are left weakened. It is not that the words are gone from me, but that my mind cannot always send them through.

Fibromyalgia affects the way the brain and spinal cord process pain and other signals, and that’s why the symptoms are so broad: constant pain, exhaustion, sleep problems, and of course, the brain fog... it even affects how internal organs function. There can be over 100 symptoms woven into this chaotic fibro fabric.

This is why fibromyalgia is such a hidden thing... many of us learn to carry on as if we are whole, though pain and exhaustion never leave our side. We walk, we work, we smile, but beneath it all the nervous system is forever storming. Some of the worst struggles are invisible, yet they shape our every day. So if you ever find yourself speaking with someone who jumbles their words, who pauses too long, or who seems to lose the thread of their own thought... be gentle. They may be carrying this fog. And though it is an invisible companion, it is a heavy one.

Understanding, patience, and kindness are as healing as any medicine. For myself, I find healing too in creation, in the turning of textile and wood, in working close with the gifts of Landvættir and tree, fur and feather. This is the way I keep my place in the world, though the path looks different than I once imagined. For me, the fog makes regular work nearly impossible. I used to be a healer as an Holistic Health Practitioner, and before that I spent years as a professional buyer in retail. To hold a job that demands clear speech, memory, physicality, and constant energy is no longer something I can do. Therefore, I turn to my hands, to my craft, and to the old ways. The wares I create... the needlework, the pyrography, the hand-sewn garments, the pieces born of bone and antler... are not only art, but also my way of walking through the world. They allow me to weave meaning, beauty, and spirit into what I can still offer, even as my body limits me.

And so, as I walk this winding path with fibromyalgia, I lean into the work of my hands. Every piece I make is a coupling of survival and offering... a way to honor the spirits of land and craft, and a way to carry myself forward in life. If you feel called, you are welcome to walk alongside me by supporting my work. Each stitch, each carving, each rune I burn into wood holds a part of this journey, woven with care, patience, and so much gratitude.