Wool Goddess

Living with chronic fatigue is a constant dance of balance. Every day, I wake up and take quiet stock of myself, how much energy do I have today? Sometimes, I wake with a sense of readiness, able to do a few things, maybe even enjoy a good stretch of activity. Other days, it feels like my energy account is overdrawn before I’ve even gotten out of bed, no matter how well I slept or how much I rested the day before.

It’s unpredictable. That’s one of the hardest parts. I can do everything “right” such as eat well, sleep plenty, pace myself, and still wake up running on empty. It’s not laziness. It’s not a mindset issue. It’s just the way my body works now.

Every action comes with a cost. If I push myself to do too much in one day, I know I’ll be paying for it the next. And if I do something big, travel, host, even just spend time in a busy space, it often triggers a flare. Recovery can take days, and during that time, I have no choice but to scale back to the bare minimum.

I’ve learned to manage my life around invisible units of energy. I never know quite how many I’ll get, but I’ve gotten good at budgeting them. Rest is no longer optional, it’s built into everything I do. I’ve had to get really clear about what’s necessary, what can wait, and what just isn’t worth the crash.

This way of living has simply become my norm. I don’t think about it as much anymore, it’s just the rhythm of my life. Sure, there are days it gets me down. Days when I wish I had more stamina, more predictability, more freedom.

That’s normal. That’s human.

But mostly? I love my life.

One of the most healing things I’ve found in all of this is crocheting. What started as a hobby has become a kind of therapy, a creative, meditative practice that brings me peace. On days when my body won’t let me do much, I can still pick up my yarn and hook and feel productive, connected, and calm. It’s something I can pour energy into without draining myself dry. It grounds me. It comforts me. It reminds me that there’s still beauty, still progress, still joy, even in the stillness.

Crochet has become a lifeline. A quiet celebration of the small things I can do. And through it, I’ve created not only handmade pieces, but moments of mindfulness, of healing, and of pride.

This life isn’t always easy. But it’s mine. And in learning how to balance it, I’ve found a softer, slower kind of joy, one made of quiet days, gentle creativity, and love that weaves through everything I do.

Huge healing hug if you understand my words and live a similar life.