What hurts more than the pain… is being misunderstood

Living with fibromyalgia is one thing.

Trying to explain it to people?

That’s something else entirely.

It’s already a lonely road when you’re chasing purpose.

When you’re disciplined. Focused. Different.

I’ve always been wired that way… to redirect, to lock in, to keep going no matter what.

But fibromyalgia?

That changed the equation.

Because now it’s not just about ambition or focus.

It’s about managing something most people don’t even understand.

And truthfully?

Most people don’t try to.

They hear “fibro” and think:

“Oh, you’ve got some pain.”
“You’re just having a rough day.”

But they don’t ask:

“How are you really dealing with this?”
“What’s your mental like?”
“What do you actually need?”

And because they see you walking…

Smiling…

Still trying to live your life…

They assume:

“It’s not that serious.”

That part?

That’s frustrating.

Sometimes it’s more than frustrating.

Sometimes it makes me angry.

Because I want people to get it.

I want them to understand what this actually is.

But you learn quickly:

You can’t force people to care.
You can’t force people to understand.

And when it comes from people close to you?

That hits different.

I’ve had family talk behind my back about it.

Question if it’s real.
Use it against me.

Even in situations involving my son.

That kind of misunderstanding?

It doesn’t just hurt…it isolates you.

But at the same time…

I’ve seen the opposite.

I’ve seen what real support looks like.

My wife, Kelly.

If I’m being honest?

I don’t know where I’d be without her.

When we met, my fibro felt manageable.

But after we got married and moved in together…

My health declined.

Fast.

And on my worst days?

She’s there.

Helping me get up.
Helping me walk.
Pulling me out of the studio when I can’t move.

And the wild part?

She’s dealing with MS herself.

I was scared of what it would mean to support her through that.

But she’s been supporting me through this.

That’s love.

That’s real.

And then some people don’t even live near me.

Friends from different states. Different countries.

People who check in. Ask questions. Care.

It’s crazy how sometimes…

People who barely know you show more concern than people who’ve known you your whole life.

That teaches you something.

It teaches you who’s really there.

And who isn’t.

Do I feel alone?

Yeah.

I do.

But if I’m honest…

I’ve always felt that to some degree.

Being a Black man.

Moving different. Thinking different.

Not fitting the mold people expect you to fit.

Fibro just amplified it.

Now it’s not just:

“Be strong.”

It’s:

“Be strong… even when your body won’t cooperate.”

So I’ve had to get intentional.

About who I talk to.
Who I open up to.

Who actually has the emotional depth to hold what I’m carrying.

This ain't for the weak, bruh.

Because not everybody can.

And that’s okay.

But I can’t pretend they can.

Not anymore.

Even in my relationship with God…

There are moments where I ask:

“Where are you?”

I need to feel You.
Not just believe…feel.

Because some days…

It feels like all I’m doing is managing symptoms.

Not living.

Not enjoying.

Just… managing.

But even then…

I remind myself:

You’ve got to dance through the struggle.

You’ve got to find love in the darkness.

Maintain that love frequency.

Not just as a quote.

But as a way of living.

So yeah…

It gets lonely.

But I’m still here.

Still showing up.

Still choosing to love… even in it.

The pain is real, but being misunderstood while you’re fighting it? That’s a different kind of battle.