Catharsis.

So, another long gap has formed in my blog posts. At least this time I have a valid excuse. I've had another crash.

I've been working up to this crash since last year, as I've been burning the candle at both ends and haven't taken enough time to rest and recover. If I were my own client, I'd be cross with me. So now I am on rest detail, and have been for several weeks now. I took a pitstop in my rest to go on holiday, but it turned out that even holiday was too much for me. So now I'm back on the sofa.

I've never been great at resting. It bores and frustrates me. I don't have the mindset for a chronic illness, and that is one of the biggest hurdles I face in my day to day life. So now I am on the hunt for cathartic activities. Blogging was supposed to achieve this, and it probably would if I could remember to do it from time to time. I've also started writing a book. Well, a couple of books really. But I used to write all the time, and I can't help thinking that being able to get the words out of my like I used to would really help. So once again, I turn to my blog for cathartic outlet.

I need to be less afraid to share what and who I am with those of you who are interested enough to read my blog. Sometimes I am worried that if I admit to the other facets of me, those of you who see me purely as a professional will suddenly think that perhaps you shouldn't be seeing me at all. But an important part of my rehabilitation process is to stop being the social chameleon, stop hiding parts of myself from other people, and just relax and not worry about what people think. No man is an island, and if I'm honest I am totally land-locked. I'm a faddy person, who likes to dabble in everything.

And you know what? I like me. So from now on, I invite you all to like me too. Not just the me who likes holistic therapy and bunnies, but the me who likes to dress up as a fairy and run round the Welsh countryside, the me who has a shameful addiction to Take Me Out, and the me who really loves the novels of Janet Evanovich.

And then, when you've decided whether you like me or not, why not decide whether you're ready to let other people like you, the whole you, and nothing but the real you.

TMI.

Oh dear.

My blogging skills really have been abysmal recently, and for that I apologise. I have a list of excuses as long as my arm, but ultimately it all boils down to one thing. Fibromyalgia got in the way. Again.

The last few months have been incredibly hard work (the winter always is, as any chronic pain sufferer will tell you) and I have barely had the wherewithal needed to read blog posts, let alone write them. I'd also been considering moving my blog to Wordpress as so many people dislike commenting on Blogger posts. We'll ignore the fact that I like Blogger for making posts - I have too much desire to make other people happy to consider what works best for me. Anyway, after receiving a comment on my last blog post (from last year *hangs head in shame*) I realised that if people want to comment on my Blogger blog then they will find a way.

And, goshdarnit, I like Blogger.

So now that I've made that decision, there is no excuse to stave off blogging more regularly than I have achieved earlier in this year. Except for laziness, but I'm working on that. This means that I should really get my act together and start blogging, whether I feel inspired to write a huge long explanation of how to find your perfect manicurist, whether I want to keep you up to date with developments in my business, or whether I simply feel the need to ramble about the new pair of shoes I bought for my sister-in-law's wedding. Okay, I'll spare you the latter, even though they are really, really impressive shoes.

The reason the post on my last blog post nudged me into action again (thank you Illy - I needed it!) was because she wanted to share with me an award.

This is the TMI award, given by bloggers who share every detail to bloggers who share every detail. The beautiful and lovely Ileandra Young chose to pass the award on to me because of the level of detail that I am willing to share with anyone who wants to know about what it is actually like to have a chronic pain condition, and the "grace" with which I handle a difficult subject. I'm not sure any fibromyalgic can really be considered graceful, but I'm happy to grab the compliment and run with it.

The rules of accepting the award are as follows:

1. Thank the person who presented you with the award.

2. Link back to the blogger who presented the award to you.

3. Share an awkward, intimate or embarrassing story in 250 words or less.

4. Copy and paste the blog award onto your blog.

5. Present the blog award to 5-10 deserving blogs.

6. Let them know they have been chosen by leaving a message at their blogs. 

Thank you again to Illy - a woman so lovely, loving and loved that I am always baffled by the fact that she has time for me. And in case you missed the hint earlier, her blog is here. Go visit her and tell her she looks nice today.

For some reason, the only answer to rule 3 that leaps to mind is what happened to me on holiday a couple of years ago. I was boating with my lovely husband, and although the pain was easing (as is the magic of boating) I was feeling tired from all of the fresh air. And then we got lost trying to find our way back from the pub where we'd had dinner, so by the time the boat was in sight I was well and truly devoid of energy. My legs were buckling, but I forced myself on valiantly. And as Robin stopped to open the flap and let us into the boat, my legs gave out altogether. I collapsed in a heap on the towpath, my entire body seizing up with pain. I didn't have the strength to twitch my fingers. Tears rolled down my face with the agony, and I concentrated every last ounce of strength into making sure I simply kept on breathing. At that moment, the man in the next boat emerged, heading off towards the elusive pub. He looked at me, barely conscious, lying on the towpath crying, and asked if I was okay. Robin told him it was a pre-existing condition, and he made a 'huh' noise, stepped over me, and walked off down the path. To this day I wonder what went through his mind as I lay there unable to speak or move out of his way. Had he realised that this is what chronic pain looks like at its worst, or did he just assume I was drunk and stupid? I guess I'll never know.

And this is where I run into trouble. I don't really follow that many blogs, preferring to read the odd post in most cases, and Ileandra's blog is the only one I can think of off the top of my head that really offers any scope for the TMI award. So I am going to do something a little cheeky and defer my sharing of the awards until I find someone truly deserving. And when I do, I shall share it with you. 

If I don't share TMI first.