Quick note from me before Sha's words start. Yesterday's float came with a bill, and she's been paying it all day today: bed-ridden, constant retching and vomiting, pain that wakes her up in tears, on top of everything else. She wrote this yesterday, in the happiness that followed Thursday's time in the pool, before any of that kicked off, and wanted it posted regardless. So, posted on her behalf while she's out for the count.

KOKO.

#TechGuyPaul

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Friday 19th June 2026 - The reflective calm afterwards

What can I say after yesterday's emotion. Some days arrive already carrying the weight of the one before, and today was exactly that.

I woke up and knew immediately. The ME/CFS fatigue was there before I'd even opened my eyes properly, that bone-deep exhaustion that isn't tiredness so much as your whole system running on a generator that keeps cutting out. Layered over the top, the FND, electric misfires, signals fizzing and getting lost before they land. I couldn't settle, couldn't sit still. My mind was racing, not with thoughts exactly, more like static. Tremors. Twitches. Every wire live.

FND isn't psychological, even though emotion clearly feeds it. It's the wiring getting crossed, not the thinking going wrong. Today, after yesterday, there was a lot of signal to carry.

Then there's the fibro, because apparently one condition was never going to be enough. It means my pain system runs the volume up too high, so what would be mild discomfort for someone else lands as real pain. Today the dial was maxed. Big emotion and bad sleep are basically fibro fuel. ME/CFS, FND and fibro don't take turns. Today they all turned up at once, and they were loud.

Changes in my mental and emotional health hit my body directly. They're not separate things, my emotions live in my body, and my body makes sure I know it.

Pacing isn't just physical, I'm learning that emotional pacing matters just as much. Giving yourself permission to feel something, then consciously, gently, coming back down. Not filling every moment with stimulus and connection, however joyful, without building in the quiet. The float in the shallow pool, with nothing asked of me at all.

And then there was Paul.

He could read me, even before I could read myself. He didn't panic, didn't fuss, just talked me down, steadily and quietly. By mid afternoon something had shifted. I wasn't unhappy, I want to be clear about that, I was just flooded, full to the brim with everything yesterday had meant.

Calmer came slowly. But it came.

My pain levels increased hugely today, a reminder that the body keeps its own score.

Top tip, entirely free of charge: do not wear bikinis with shoulder straps or knotted ties when fibro has made every point of pressure feel like a protest. The purple bikini, no straps, no fuss, no argument, will absolutely be a staple for the rest of this holiday.

We found a pool. Shallow, toddler-deep honestly, but adult only, peaceful, dotted with floating beds. In the water, supported completely, the weight I carry every single day just lifted. I floated. I felt held. And in that small, sun-warmed, shallow pool, I had something I don't get very often: a little independence.

That's worth naming. For anyone who lives with these conditions, or loves someone who does, independence is not a small thing. The ability to exist in your own body, in your own space, for a little while, without needing someone right beside you watchful and ready, that's restorative in a way that goes far beyond the physical. It tells your nervous system: you are safe, you don't have to brace.

I want Paul to enjoy this holiday too. If you're caring for someone, your time out matters just as much as anyone's. Knowing I was safe, happy, relaxed gave eagle-eyed Paul room to actually relax himself, and watching him exhale properly was one of the best things I saw today.

I'm still surprised by how emotional I am tonight. Same wiring as this morning, just a different signal. Wired for the bad days, apparently also wired for floating in a pool in the afternoon sun.

Keeping food down this evening is tough, and I'm wrung out in that deep, total way that follows a day of high neurological demand. But I am so very, very happy. Yes, all the Ellyllons have joined the party today. They've unpacked their bags and made themselves completely at home.

And sometimes, on the days when the hard and the beautiful arrive together, tangled up and inseparable, that happiness is the most honest, most hard-won thing you can feel.

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Three Good Things Today

1. Calm came after the storm. It always does, even on the mornings when I've completely forgotten that it will.
2. The purple bikini and that ridiculous, perfect, toddler-deep pool. Floating, properly floating, with nothing asked of me at all.
3. Paul's face when he could finally relax. That one goes straight to the top of the list.

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Today's Mantra 💜

"If my body needs the shallow end tomorrow, that is exactly where I will be."

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For anyone living with ME/CFS, FND or Fibromyalgia, or loving someone who is, I see you.

With love, Sha 💜
aka The Wheely Happy Aardvark

#WheelyHappyDays #KOKO #FND #MECFS #Fibromyalgia #ChronicIllness #SpoonieLife #InvisibleIllness #DisabilityBlogger #TenerifeAccessible #CarersMatter