Book Club: But My Pages Are Blank

Some days, everything feels impossibly heavy. Not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It’s the kind of heaviness that seeps into your bones, into your breath, into the tiny spaces between thoughts.

Today was one of those days.

I spent over an hour and a half—an hour and a half—trying to put together a simple grocery order online. Something I used to do without thinking. Something that shouldn’t have been hard. But there I was, confused, overwhelmed, my brain looping, my frustration rising until I finally gave up. No groceries. Just exhaustion. Just defeat.

I used to be someone who could multitask effortlessly, who could keep up with conversations, current events, work, friendships—life. I used to play video games, paint, handle the day-to-day chaos like it was nothing. But chronic pain… it changes you. It’s not just the physical pain—it’s the way it rewires your mind. The way it robs you of focus, memory, energy, patience.

Last night, a friend and I were chatting and they brought up the news—something happening in the world that I hadn’t heard about. I stopped watching the news a long time ago because my heart can’t hold that weight on top of everything else. They got frustrated. Not cruelly—just…humanly. And I felt like I let them down again.

Today, they wanted me to play a video game. I wanted to say yes—I do want to play. I bought the game. But I only get a few good hours each day, and when I have them, I want to paint. I want to create. I want to feel like I’m still me. I can’t split myself the way I used to. I can’t bounce between things without losing something in the cracks.

Even the smallest things overwhelm me now. My car has been full of picture frames for weeks because I can’t bring myself to unload them. The thought alone exhausts me. My body doesn’t cooperate. My mind doesn’t cooperate. Some days, food makes me nauseous just from the effort of deciding what to eat.

And then today, my friend said something that stuck with me. They said it feels like being in a book club where nobody read the book. They didn’t mean it to hurt, but it landed—because that’s what this life feels like sometimes. Like I’m a ghost in the room, present but not really there. Watching life instead of living it.

But here’s the thing:

Even ghosts can find their way back.

Even when the weight is unbearable, even when I feel like a shadow of myself—I’m still here. And you are too.

I don’t have the answers. I don’t have a five-step plan to fix it all. But I know this: if you’re breathing, if you’re reading this, if you’re somehow still finding the strength to keep going through the impossible—you are not alone. This pain can hollow us out, but it doesn’t have to define us.

We keep going. We rest when we need to. We ask for help. We fight when we can. And sometimes… we simply breathe. And for today, that’s enough.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky