The following is an excerpt from a book on living with fibromyalgia entitled The Unchosen Path, written by Laurie Hope.
I found it to be helpful in my fibromyalgia journey. I hope it helps you too.

The Unchosen Path

“Everyone seeks to be happy. But when we physically feel lousy, our external sources for happiness are not so easily accessible. Sometimes the suffering of illness lies not so much in its accompanying physical sensations, but in the personal sense of diminishment and the social isolation and separation it brings. As the body contracts, life contracts as well. Nothing is left unchanged-our relationship to ourselves, our families, and our social world. Because of this, illness causes us to reprioritize our lives, separating the nonessential from the essential. Basic questions of life’s purpose and meaning take on new poignancy as we question the very value of our time here.

Illness can be a gentle nudge or a jolting wake-up call that motivates us to reexamine our lives and lifestyles. Because illness exposes our imbalances and weaknesses, it acts as a psychological magnifier that may uncover unacknowledged but deep-rooted feelings that our previously busy lives may have effectively masked. Some of these feelings may appear to be caused by the illness, but really they were there all along. Because they can no longer be denied, they can finally be attended to and healed.

Whether we accept the challenge to heal willingly or go down the path kicking and screaming, illness takes us on a descent to our depths. The path to the underworld is opened. It may not be a path we have consciously chosen, but it is the one on which we find ourselves. Here we have the opportunity to mine the gems that can only be found in the deep and dark places.

So many spiritual paths have certain austerities or sacrifices that are prescribed. Why do they do this? Maybe to cause us to wrestle with the will of the ego-to develop a spiritual muscle that will be a worthy adversary for the ego’s tenacity. A chronic illness can serve this same function. It motivates us to explore the edge between personal responsibility and God’s will. It demands sacrifice. The ego’s wishes are impersonally ignored by the dysfunctions of the body. Illness insists that we let go of innumerable desires and gives us the opportunity to develop the generosity of heart that can become our salvation.

We know by the example of many saints and spiritual masters that they are not immune to the afflictions of the body. But they also show us that there can be joy and divine realization despite the body. Drawing close to God and seeking His truth is cultivated by withdrawing from the distractions of worldly life and retreating. In some ways, an illness provides the perfect opportunity for such spiritual training: removal from ordinary society, solitude, quiet, turning inward, self-examination. If we’re lucky enough to be able to take time off from the demands of the outer world, we can use this time to learn to free ourselves from the personal patterns that contribute to much of our suffering. As our perceptions shift and our worldview opens, how we relate to our bodies and their illnesses also shifts. As we discover that our essential wholeness exists independent of the body and mind, we see that eventually all paths converge.

How we struggle with illness often reflects our spiritual struggle. When we ask, Why can’t I permanently sustain those precious moments of clarity, bliss, or health? we must remember that just as illness requires infinite patience, so does spiritual progress. As one of my teachers said, “The true spiritual path is arduous and demanding, involving one insult after another.”

Illness does not necessarily teach us anything. It can be viewed as a mere annoyance or a great tragedy. But it can also be a great teacher and provider of endless opportunities to understand the nature of reality and to develop compassion for ourselves and all others. Through unexpected discoveries I have found that the path of illness, though arduous, can be a rich and honorable one.


I used to think that I could enlighten myself out of feeling depressed. If depression is the result of a negative belief system, then it is alterable. But if depression is the by-product of the imbalanced brain chemistry of a disease process, then all my letting go and great perspective and egolessness may not change the tendency toward sadness and negative thinking. Since the enlightened transcendence of depression doesn’t seem to be my present fate, I’ve decided to practice “enlightened depression”-depression coexisting with everything else that is here; depression free from self-blame; depression free from shame; depression that does not separate me from others but rather reminds me of my common humanity. I am not depressed because I hate life-I am depressed because I love life and long for a more energetic involvement with it. This perception takes me to a more fundamental identification-myself as a life-loving creature-connected, involved, part of the unfathomable drama.


One day I was asking for guidance about what was needed for my healing and I heard a wise voice saying, “Rest.” Gently, but imperatively. Well, that’s usually the first and most obvious advice that’s given to a sick person, but not exactly what I wanted to hear. I hate resting-it feels like a waste of time. I should be engaging in acts of charity and kindness, be fighting for justice and world peace or be alleviating the suffering of others. Where’s the rest in all that? Then I realized that “rest” didn’t necessarily refer to my worldly activities. What needed rest was my mind. A good, long rest. Rest from the demands of an ego that wants to do and be good. The mind that thinks it has to be doing something is not at rest. And yet the rested mind is effortlessly inspired to right action. It may turn out that resting could be my greatest contribution.


I’ve added a second Golden Rule: Thou shalt not compare thyself. Doing so is always deadly. Not only is it disastrous to compare myself to others, but also to compare myself to a memory of my former healthy self or to an image of my idealized future self. When I catch myself comparing, I know it’s because I’m having a hard time accepting things as they are. When I remember that comparison is only a matter of relative perspective that depends on your vantage point, it becomes easier to embrace all the seeming inequities of life.


It is in the moment of the full accepting of my brokenness that my essential wholeness becomes apparent, and then it is clear that nothing needs fixing. The wholeness includes the brokenness. Not the thought that “I will be whole someday when I have improved myself or become more loving or gotten healthy.” I am whole now. As I am. Like this. And so are you. Just like you are now. When we can love our own broken or even rotten places, we can love one another as ourselves. I am not a human doing; I am a human being!


Pain usually involves contraction. Therefore, visualize expansion and limitless space. Illness involves stagnation. Therefore, visualize movement and flow. Anxiety chokes the breath, therefore, breathe deeply. Notice when and with whom you are most relaxed and choose that circumstance as often as possible.”