At the end of the first week of my second year of university, I called my mom and told her I didn’t think I would be able to make it to the end of my school year. I was heading out the door to cover my first journalism event and had spent the afternoon frantically calling doctors, pain clinics, support groups – anyone who could help me find strength to carry on. I tearfully got off the phone with someone from a Fibromyalgia advocacy group, closed my eyes, took several deep breaths and checked for any mascara smudges as I quickly headed out the door.
I was an emotional wreck, barely able to keep myself together as I walked to the bus stop, on my way to cover an art show. Somehow I was able to make it through the night and grabbed a taxi home as soon as I could make an excuse to leave. I avoided my five other roommates as I navigated my way through the tiny house to my bedroom where I promptly collapsed on the bed, exhausted in every way imaginable. I think it was this night, or another similar, that I discovered a bible verse that became my safe haven and comfort through the trying year ahead.