The Ugly Truth About Life with Chronic Fatigue

I have three sources of energy. Sleep is not one of them. I pretend it is by monitoring all aspects ofCarie Sherman my slumber, trying different bedtimes and wake times and room temperatures and routines, diets and sleep apnea treatments and light therapies and doctors, but here’s the sum of what I’ve learned: It doesn’t matter. I’m still chronically tired.

I feel rested in three hour increments. It doesn’t matter what I do during those three hours: Somewhere between 150 to 210 minutes after my last bout of sleep, I’m exhausted.

My Sources of Energy
• Source 1: Adrenaline. Lately my adrenaline rushes come as a reactionary response to negative stimuli. Usually a deadline—as simple as an article that’s due or the refrigerator is devoid of anything fresh. My favorite (ha) is the Shame Deadline. Maybe you’ve experienced it, too: the laundry in the washer is beginning to stink; your child cries when you stuff her feet in her too small athletic shoes; you haven’t left the house in 3.5 days.

• Source 2: Sugar. I’m in a constant struggle of managing blood sugar and managing a stomach that hates most food that enters it (thanks, IBS). Veggies or protein; sugar or fat, it matters not: I can feel hungry and crash, I can feel satiated and crash, I can eat greens and crash, I can eat dairy or chicken breasts or tofu or legumes and crash; I can eat Reeses Peanut Butter cups or the gluten free almond donut served at my favorite coffee shop and crash. Can you guess which one gives me the most energy, fast? I’m fully aware that eating sugar and carbs will spike my blood sugar. But I’m crashing no matter what I eat. Might as well ride a momentary high.

• Source 3: Caffeine. Oh, how I love thee. Without you, I wouldn’t get my daughter’s lunch ready or get her dressed on time or ever comb her hair. I never leave my house except for the search for your glorious head rush. You hold my eyes open, as if little toothpicks have been jammed between my eyelids. I might as well be asleep, for all the cognitive ability I have in those shaky moments where you let me forgo a nap, but you get me through the day. Thank you.

I know so many of you will argue—correctly—that I’ll feel poorly as long as I ride these highs. I’m sure you’re right. But unless you’ve been forced to live in three hour increments, and unless you go to the doctor every three months to make sure your organs haven’t decided to maim you, and unless you’re going to take over my life long enough for me to completely wean my body off the only things that keep me going, then this is how life shall be for me. And until this mess is resolved, you can take my caffeine when you pry it from my cold dead hands.


I’m Not Taking Good Care of Myself. This Was My First Clue.

Have you ever had one of those poor mental health days, one in which you find yourself driving homeCarie Sherman from Target with a load of bags that, later in the day, you’ll angst over, both in terms of the decisions you made and the money you spent; a day in which you nearly drown from a sudden downpour of tears; a day in which your brain won’t shut off and you obsess over every thought that pops into your consciousness, such as why you’re so unhappy (when you have so very much to grateful for) and how much you have to do and how you’ll never get it done and why so many people in this world have so little and how people can be so filled with hate and why you still get acne despite nearly 40 years of living on this planet?

A day in which you force a smile yet you allow yourself to dive deep into intrusive thoughts that range from whether you need Botox to why your dog has to get old to wondering if your sister is angry with you over a comment you made that was meant to be flippant and self-deprecating but later ruminations reveal may have been perceived as insensitive?

A day in which you’re certain your stomach, which is particularly sensitive to your emotional well-being, has teamed up with your autoimmune disorder to stage a hostile takeover?

A day in which you’re certain if you look at said stomach, it will resemble a snake that’s just eaten a rat, but when you glance you see nothing but a well-insulated gut, which triggers your anxiety over the extra pounds you’re carrying, anxiety that is not at all relieved by unbuttoning your jeans?

A day that, by the time you pull into your driveway, you forget the unbuttoning and give your neighbors a show of your ample backside as you reach across the car seat to wrestle with those Target bags that by now you’re sure you’ll return because you pick out terrible gifts and Why-Oh-Why did you spend so much on groceries when you could have easily braved Wal-Mart and spent far less?

A day in which you tweak your shoulder as you lift those stupid bags onto your kitchen counter?

A day in which you bark at your loving partner, about what you can’t remember, but who, bless his heart, sees you’re not your normal happy self and tells you to sit while he starts you a hot bath?

A day in which the barrage of your brooding thoughts gnaws and nags until you know you must make it stop! so you try deep breaths and counting those breaths but you can only count to 5 before your brain again takes center stage to berate you for not walking the dog and missing your great aunt’s funeral and telling your daughter she ate all her Swedish Fish when, in fact, you spent the greater part of last night devouring everything in your pantry with high fructose corn syrup on the label?

Have you ever had one of those poor mental health days?

A Break from My Self Indulgent Drama

Post hot bath, post nap, post breakdown, I recognize why I feel like shit: I’m not taking good care of myself.

So today’s “to do” list includes: Yoga (gentle), quiet time, hot tea, Epsom salt bath, easy walks in sunshine, chat with a friend, take breaks, read a good book. Etcetera; etcetera.

I hope my ranting and raving sounds nothing like your internal monologue. But in case they do, it’s probably time to slow down and take care of you. And in case you don’t think you need to practice self care or self care doesn’t come easily to you or you haven’t stopped to take a breath in years so you don’t even recognize you need self care, check this out:

You Feel Like Shit: An Interactive Self Care Guide

Now then. What are you waiting for? The holidays and all the fun and stress and worry and excitement they bring are coming. It’s a great time to remember how to be good to you.


Four Ways to Have More Fun—Despite Lupus

After months of working from various coffee shops, the construction in my home office is Carie Shermancomplete and I’m back at my desk. I’d forgotten how pretty my view is. But the best part? Our neighbors have a new puppy. And oh boy does that puppy know how to have a blast.

He doesn’t have a ton of toys at his disposal, but he takes what he has and he runs with it. He runs in circles. He throws his own ball and catches it. He rolls around on the ground and chases the falling leaves. He plays and plays and plays and plays. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

The little guy has made me think … what am I doing during my day that’s truly just for fun?

My favorite life coach, Martha Beck said this about fun: “Having fun is not a diversion from a successful life; it is the pathway to it.”

I’m all for that. But fun is usually the last thing on my list. So for this post, I brainstormed ways to have more fun without exhausting myself.

Four Ways to Add More Play to Your Life

1. Find creative ways to make the mundane more enjoyable. When your body hurts, exercise can be a chore. But my rheumatologist insists I exercise to the best of my ability. Using the puppy as an example of fun exercise, I came up with this: I could join the puppy in the backyard. I could rake leaves then jump into them. I could dance to my favorite song. Heck, I could run like Phoebe.

2. Ask yourself, how would my inner child approach this task? I don’t remember much about my childhood (thanks, brain fog. And college). But I have a child and know what motivates her. Recently, she loves being timed as she does a task. So this afternoon when I fold laundry, I’ll set a timer instead of my normal activity of spacing out and watching reruns. Bonus: The quicker the chores are done, the quicker I can move on to a task I truly enjoy.

3. Do what you want to do rather than what you have to do. I come from farm folk, and my need to get what NEEDS done always comes first. I put this to the test this morning, forgoing the pile of work that awaited me. I sat down and ate breakfast instead of getting crumbs stuck in my keyboard. I soaked in the bath instead of taking a rushed shower. I listened—really listened—to one of my favorite songs. Although I nearly panicked when I finally sat at the computer and saw the time, I got my work done. Dare I say that I worked more efficiently? I definitely spent less time traveling down various internet rabbit holes.

4. Look with curiosity at, well, everything! My daughter is five. Next to mommy, the word I hear most often is why. It’s seriously distressing to realize how little I know about things like clouds and rainbows. But her questions usually lead us to something fun. Another great question is what if? Recently I asked her how she wanted to spend her day. Her reply? Go to Hawaii. (I love her big dreams!) Rather than a flat no, I asked her what if we went to the library to find a book about Hawaii. It was a great way to spend a rainy day together stuck here in Colorado.

When I’m having fun, I always feel better. I encourage you to channel your inner puppy. Adventure awaits!