Tearing off my bandage

Dear purple butterflies,

The story I am about to tell you is a sensitive one. It is not something that I like to

remind myself about anymore. In 2011, I was attending Texas A&M obtaining my teaching certificate in Art K-12. I was maintaining a 4.0 g.p.a., substituting full time while suffering from Fibromyalgia. I should point out that during this time, I was not going to the best doctors. They were not listening to me, and even worse, I still didn’t have a name nor answers for my pain. I’ve learned my lesson since then. I’m very picky about the physicians I see.

I distinctly remember thinking that I should have listened to my mother all along.

My mom had suggested for me to take up teaching, because teachers were needed. She was a teacher for over 40 years and always thought I would be a good teacher. As for my past education, I had an Associate of Applied Arts in Computer Animation/ Multimedia in 1996. To compliment that degree, I went on to get my Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration from Ringling School of Art and Design in 2001. Looking back, I can laugh at how when we’re young we think we know more than our parents. As far as my time at Texas A&M, all that was left was to finish my teaching internship, and one more class!

As the days carried on, my pain level was increasing as were my work hours.

Exhausted, ankles swollen, barely able to walk or talk, I soldiered on. Dale would bespeechless at the sight of my legs. From the very beginning, he was my biggest cheerleader to continue my education. Now I found him begging me to consider other options. I was stressed, and in pain. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that one causes the other. I went to bed in tears. I prayed for answers. I talked to my friends and my parents for their opinions. It wasn’t a decision that I made lightly at all. Ultimately, I had to quit school and substituting due to Fibromyalgia. What kills me the most about leaving the teaching world is that I was a good teacher. The kids I taught were really learning. Two children approached me the day before and told me how much they loved having me as a teacher.

My heart was broken to realize that I would not be returning to the classroom. It would be a couple more years before I would learn and curse the name,Fibromyalgia. I went through a huge depression until I decided to start writing my book as a form of therapy. Every now and again, Dale and I will talk about what happened. I will tear up and let myself have a good cry. It’s the healthy thing to do, but I have to move on to bigger and better things! Presently, I decided to open this website to share my story with you, because I know I am not alone out there. My blog is also a form of therapy, maybe someone can use my tale as a form of comfort. Most importantly, I wanted to post it to raise awareness for Fibromyalgia!

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Till next time purple butterflies! Be well!


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