Deep into a Fatigue Flare-Up, forced to cancel one commitment after another, it takes all my resolve not to let a cruel narrative of despair take seed. I will always be struggling, it says. I will never finish anything ever again. What’s the point of me? My gravestone will read: Here lies Rachel in her coffin of unfulfilled potential.

I can’t bully that voice out of myself. It only quietens once I stop resisting what I must do to recover – which is to submit to how ill I am at that point, remove all pressure to be well and ride out the phase with deep rest. For as long as it takes.

It’s isolating and you feel like you’re always disappointing people. If you’re lucky, those closest to you will understand. This means everything because plenty won’t. Their judgement harms you. But so does always trying to explain and justify yourself.

Once you prioritise recovery, you may find, as I do, that your central nervous system comes back into balance for a time. That is the precise point I dare to get hopeful again.  Routine activities pop back into my life as little chunks of euphoria…