When I first got married, I prided myself on being a “near-perfect” wife. I cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, practically everything a 1950’s housewife would do except greet my husband at the door with a martini.
I was proud of myself for working full-time, completing graduate school and keeping my house in tip-top shape. Unfortunately, an unexpected visitor was about to ruin my trophy-wife reputation.
My diagnosis with fibromyalgia sent my world spiraling downward. Everything that gave me pride was suddenly taken from me. My full-time teaching job had to be reduced to part-time.
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