Vacations are supposed to leave you refreshed, recharged, and ready to face the world again. For most people, coming home means unpacking, maybe doing a little laundry, and basking in the happy glow of new memories. I live with fibromyalgia, so the end of vacation means I need a vacation from my vacation.

I love vacations; it’s kind of a given since I grew up in Hawaii, one of the best vacation spots, in my opinion. I love that vacations give me the chance to break free from my daily routine. But it also means that because my Fibromyalgia  (and CFS/ME, Restless Leg Syndrome, and IBS) have further progressed, it takes a physical toll on my body. 

This last vacation was no exception. My husband and I took our youngest to Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a soccer tournament. We would be gone for 5 days, staying in a small hotel room (the only accommodation that wouldn’t cost an arm and leg), and the journey there would take 6 hours (7 if we stopped for food and potty breaks). For me, sitting for long periods of time isn’t ideal and my body will let me know that it’s not happy.

But, we did make it in under 7 hours, even with a late start (Hubby wanted to leave at ten in the morning, but we ended up leaving a little after eleven, lol).

I didn’t take many pictures, mainly because I forgot (thanks to Fibro Fog), but I did take this one from our hotel room balcony.

It’s called Ski Town Center right next to the gondolas that run up and down the mountain. There were a lot of restaurants, a few stores, and an area for outdoor movies and concerts.

We spent the next few days harassing Siri for directions to soccer fields, places to eat, and even a miniature golf course (gotta keep my son and his friends out of trouble in between games, ha!), and of course, sitting on the sidelines, cheering on our son in the constantly changing weather. But, despite all that, Fibromyalgia isn’t a polite travel companion.

It doesn’t care that I paced myself, took naps when I could, or made sure I packed my comfiest walking shoes. With the disrupted sleep, extra walking, fluctuating weather, and all-day activity eventually catches up to me. The day after we got home, my body was hit with full-body aches, a pounding headache, and fatigue so deep I couldn’t keep my eyes open; the indention on my side of the mattress is now deeper than it’s ever been, lol.

This is the part of travel people don’t often see. There are no Instagram pictures of me curled up under a weighted blanket, muscles burning like I’ve just run a marathon. No one takes snapshots of the heating pad I keep shifting from my shoulders to my lower back. There’s no scrapbook page because the mental fog made me forget to take the hundreds of photos I should’ve taken but didn’t.

Recuperation, for me, is essential. It’s a slow process of giving myself permission to stop. I have to trade unpacking for resting. The world can keep spinning; I need my body to catch up first.

I’ve learned that pacing myself after vacation is just as important as pacing myself during it. It means listening to my body instead of pushing through just because “vacation is over” and life says I should get back to normal.

And here’s the thing: recuperating is not a failure. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have gone. It means I chose the experience of watching my son play the game he loves,knowing I’d have to pay for it later—but deciding it was worth the price. That’s a balance only I can decide.

Fibromyalgia may slow me down, but it doesn’t stop me from living. It simply requires me to live differently, with more intention and self-compassion. My post-vacation recovery might take days instead of hours, but every moment of rest helps in the life I want to keep living—one trip, one flare, one quiet day at a time.