All posts by Misty Katherine Morehead

I am an artist, writer, jeweler, and a Spoonie. Before becoming a Spoonie I was a very busy high achieving attorney and advocate bent on saving the world. Now I'm struggle to redefine my life to fit within my reduced energy level. Some days are better than others. I have fibromyalgia, trigeminal neuralgia, and chronic daily migraine.

In-patient

My hardest learned lesson has been patience. Having a body that attacks itself in a myriad of ways means being patient with yourself. Getting here is a journey that I am still on.

Most of the time I am patient with my usual limitations. Usually I can be kind, find things to be grateful for, prioritize my family and manage to contribute sometime to the running of the house.

I still struggle with finding patience when I have additional challenges, such as a concussion caused by a slip on black ice two weeks ago and a head cold.

When things add up and my body begins to feel like an all over plague area I start to lose my patience. I get cranky with myself for not being able to do enough. I lie in bed and stare about my room and rearrange it a million times in my mind. I read a book and discard it mid-chapter because it’s not the right book. I start a play a game or watch a show and they don’t help distract. I get impatient and restless and increasingly miserable the longer my physically forced rest continues.

I feel like Meg is Little Women cutting up all her dresses to redo them “á la Moffat”, destroying perfectly good things because I am feeling a sense of malaise.

I do have things to be grateful for and I try to count my blessings. I fear in times of difficulty my inner child is too full of the “unfairs” to really hear the counting.

Basically, I’m currently a whiny woman-child and a hot mess.

Advertisements

Don’t let the earth hit you…

Despite the otherwise generous nature of our home planet she has very little give, especially when you are testing that give with the back of your head having encountered black ice on your walk home.

Did you know a concussion is a lot like being way too drunk? I now do. I had the “Why did I drink THAT many margaritas?” spins for three days. Now I just have the “Am I really feeling the Earth move?” dizzies.

Totally a word, dizzies. Promise.

Don’t believe me though, I’m concussed. My brain is compromised.

Where was I?… Oh right, don’t hit the Earth with your head. Or anything really, don’t hit the Earth. Why would you do that? It’s mean! The Earth was just trying to help!

Damn it. I did it again.

Boy I hope my holiday Amazon Handmade listings aren’t this … creative.

I made a thing!

A little reminder to help me get through each day.

I find myself playing with them all day long. They are just about perfect for reminding me to be gentle with myself and others as I deal with chronic pain, disability, and life.

In a plug of shameless self promotion, I am selling them. You can see them on my Amazon Handmade page if you would like a set for yourself. The come with a simply black cord.

Three Simple Spoons for Three Simple Rules. Be kind. Be patient. Be forgiving. Especially with yourself.

From dusk ’til dawn

A peaceful day, a gloomy sky, the sounds of construction grinding by.

I light my incense, I close my door, my autumn headache is here once more.

My favorite sweater I gently don, I’ve got my coffee and my thick socks on.

I want to walk, to paint, to play. Instead I’m forced to sit and stay.

The neighbors laugh, the world moves on. I watch it pass.

From dusk ’til dawn.

The Sickroom door

It clutches you with feathered down and brings you to distress. That sinking feeling, that bone deep tired, the sickly person’s daily stress.

Your waking charge is “put on clothes” or “shower if you dare”. A far cry from the triumphs that once left your lips and pierced the air.

In place of ladder climbing feats you fight side effects and lack of rest, shattered bodies and shattered dreams disturb all attempts at nightly rest.

You get up and the make the bed each day so if you can’t do more, “At least I made the bed” you’ll say, and quietly shut the sickroom door.

From the outside you look fine, though less sparkly than before. It’s hard to laugh, to smile, to work, to play, when you live behind the sickroom door.

So you rest your head on feathered down and close your eyes once more, to spend another day locked away behind that stupid sickroom door.

— M.Morehead

Words matter…

I was feeling depressed the other day after another long bout of disfunction. Oliver and I were playing on his PS4 and I said “I’m sorry I can’t do the things other moms can do.”

To my surprise he said “Don’t say stuff like that about yourself. It makes me feel bad.”

Huh. That made me think. I didn’t want to spread my misery around to my kiddos so I really thought about the feelings I wanted to spread around.

I asked “How about if I say thank you for spending time with me doing the things I can do?”

He said “That’s better. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Our words matter. Sometimes, when we are mired in our own despair, we can forget the effect our words have on those around us. So, to all of you:

Thank you for being here to read my words.

Thank you for understanding my limitations.

Thank you for finding ways to be in my life despite those limitations.

You matter to me, your presence helps more than you know, and I love you.

This sucks…

One of the things that truly sucks about Fibromyalgia is that you are going along your life in a generally halfway decent state of activity and stout denial and then BLAMMO you can’t do anything.

Today I woke up and I was winded going downstairs. Making coffee was too hard for me to do. I tried to assemble a new catbox cover and opening one side of the box wore me out.

I spent the first 5 hours of the day lying on my bed in my pajamas listening to a book on tape because it was all I had the energy to do. Even now, writing this, my fingers are aching and my hands hurt and I am getting freaking winded from typing.

I don’t know when I will wake up again and have the energy to go to the gym or walk the dog or even bathe. Worst of all, right now, it’s even hard to breathe. My chest muscles and the nerves in my chest seem to believe that lifting my lungs up and down is a little too much for them to handle. I’m gasping sitting still and dizzy going downstairs.

Two days ago I walked 3.5 miles with the dogs happily and without getting winded. Yesterday I swam for 45 minutes and though I could feel the weakness settling into my arms I could still use them. Today I am a twisted, broken, incapable thing.

This disease sucks. A lot.