Living Through an M.E./CFS Crash: My Honest Experience

I’ve been debating whether to write this post, because honestly, when you’re in the middle of a crash, the last thing you feel like doing is talking about it. But one thing I’ve promised myself with this blog is honesty. And right now, honesty looks like this: I’m struggling.

What I Mean by “Crash”

If you live with M.E./CFS, you already know. But for anyone reading who doesn’t, a crash isn’t just being “extra tired.” It’s like your body has pulled the emergency brake. Everything slows down. Energy disappears. Even the simplest tasks feel impossible.

For me, it shows up as:

Bone-deep exhaustion. Not fixed by rest.
Brain fog. Words jumble, thoughts vanish, concentration evaporates.
Pain and sensitivity. Muscles ache, sounds and lights feel too loud and too bright.
Loss of routine. The rhythms I usually rely on just crumble.

How It Feels Right Now

I’ve had to let go of so much — cooking, working at my usual pace, even some of my creative projects. The laptop stays shut more than it’s open. Days blur together. I swing between frustration (“I should be doing more”) and acceptance (“this is my reality right now”).

It feels like life shrinks during a crash. The world gets smaller. And that’s hard when you’re someone who likes to keep busy, create, and feel productive.

The Mental Side No One Talks About

Crashes aren’t just physical. They mess with your head.

Guilt creeps in: “I’m letting people down.”
Fear whispers: “What if this never lifts?”
Self-criticism shouts louder than it should: “You’re lazy. You’re failing.”

I know those thoughts aren’t the truth, but they still show up. And naming them is part of defusing them.

Finding Pockets of Comfort

Even in the middle of a crash, I try to notice the small things that bring me comfort:

A quiet cup of tea.
A book I dip in and out of, even if I only read a page.
Listening to birds outside the window.
A cat purring cutting through the fog.

They don’t “fix” the crash, but they remind me there’s still life happening, even in the slowdown.

Final Thoughts

I don’t have a neat bow to tie this post up with. The truth is, I’m still in the crash. I don’t know when it will lift. But I wanted to write this because I know someone else out there is probably in the middle of theirs too.

If that’s you: you’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re not failing. You’re just in survival mode — and that’s okay.

For now, I’m holding onto patience, gentleness, and the hope that better days will come again soon.