Some mornings just don’t start out the way we hope—and today was one of those mornings.

Living with a mix of arthritis, carpal tunnel, and nerve damage means that I never really know how cooperative my hands will be when I wake up. Will I have grip strength today? Will I drop everything I touch? Will my arm randomly spasm and throw something across the room? The mystery is… not so fun.

This morning, I began the day by dropping an entire bottle of methotrexate.

For those unfamiliar, methotrexate isn’t something you want floating around on your floor—especially if you have pets that might inadvertently come into contact with it. It’s toxic and can cause serious health issues if ingested or absorbed through the skin. You’re not supposed to touch it bare-handed unless it’s prescribed to you, as even minimal exposure can lead to complications. Breathing in the dust? Also not ideal, as it poses a risk not only to you but also to anyone else in the vicinity, including children and vulnerable adults. Therefore, it’s crucial to handle methotrexate with extreme care, ensuring that it is stored safely and any spills are cleaned up promptly and properly to prevent accidental exposure.

So, the dogs had to go straight into the pen (much to their dismay), and I had to make my slow, stiff descent to the floor. Crawling around to carefully gather each bright little pill, one by one, felt like something out of a dramatic indie movie—except with far more muttered curse words and a lot more pain. I could almost hear the soundtrack swelling with each agonizing movement, punctuated by the sound of the dogs whining softly from their cage, as if they sensed my struggle.

As I painstakingly retrieved the runaway tablets, I couldn’t help but imagine the scene from an outsider’s perspective: a middle-aged person, awkwardly navigating the floor on all fours, wincing at every twinge in my back, surrounded by a cacophony of dog barks and the soft clattering of the pills. It was not a glamorous moment, but there I was, completely immersed in the chaos.

Once they were safely back in the bottle, I let out a heavy sigh, a mix of relief and frustration. That was a mess. That was my mess. And my reality. It wasn’t just about the medication; it was the little messes of life that tend to accumulate, often overlooked until they spill over. I sat there for a few moments longer, surveying my chaotic surroundings—the overturned bottle, the curious dogs still peering at me through the pen bars—and I chuckled dryly at the absurdity of it all. What a way to spend a morning.

My husband got down on the floor with me and was surveying the area to ensure I did not miss any spots. He looked at me and said, “You are going to have to stop opening the bottle in your hand and put it on the counter to open it.”

Bless this man for his concern and support, but he has no idea how challenging that simple act can be for hands that don’t cooperate as they should. The struggle extends beyond just opening a bottle – it often highlights the daily difficulties I face. I have certainly tried to follow his advice before, attempting to place the bottle on the counter to get a better grip, but that often ends up being more of a struggle. My hands just don’t have the strength or dexterity needed for such tasks.

Every day presents new challenges. Tasks that seem so trivial to others can quickly become overwhelming for me. The frustration of needing to ask for help or feeling dependent lingers in my mind. It’s not just about opening a bottle; it’s about navigating a world that sometimes feels designed for those with effortless mobility. Through all of this, I appreciate the sweet intention behind his advice, even if it doesn’t always translate into a feasible solution.

I eventually got up, made my way to the kitchen, grabbed my mushroom coffee, took my meds (the ones that stayed in the bottle), and slid a compression glove onto my weak hand. It’s something I do most days now. A little armor for a warrior whose battle isn’t always visible.

If you’ve ever dealt with chronic pain, autoimmune flares, or nerve issues—you know how something that might seem small to others can feel immense to us. It’s exhausting, it’s frustrating, and it’s so often invisible.

So here’s your gentle reminder: if your body isn’t cooperating today, you’re not alone. If you feel like the world expects you to function “normally” despite the abnormal mess your body throws at you—I’m right here in the thick of it with you.

I truly hope your day started better than mine. And I hope this isn’t a precursor to the rest of my day… but hey, if it is, at least I’m already wearing the damn glove.

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What Helps When Days Start Like This

Here are a few things I’ve found helpful when mornings feel like a battle zone:

🌿 Take a moment to breathe. Whether it’s two minutes or ten, stop and check in with yourself. Let go of what went wrong and just breathe.

🧘‍♀️ Stretch gently. Even if it’s just wiggling fingers or rolling your shoulders, tiny movements matter. It reminds your body you’re still in there.

🖐 Wear your supports. Compression gloves, wrist braces, heating pads, or topical salves—whatever helps reduce pain and increase function, don’t wait to reach for it.

🍄 Fuel gently. Warm drinks like herbal tea or mushroom coffee, easy snacks, or a smoothie can help shift your energy. Don’t skip the nourishment, even when everything feels off.

🧠 Adjust expectations. Let go of the pressure to be productive or perfect. Today might look different—and that’s okay.

💜 Be kind to yourself. Write it out. Cry if you need to. Put on your favorite playlist. Watch a comfort show. You’re allowed to care for yourself deeply when everything hurts.

🐾 Snuggle your pets (after the meds are cleaned up). Their comfort is healing. Let them remind you that rest is sacred too.

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Hard days come, and sometimes they hit before our feet even hit the floor. But we don’t have to pretend we’re okay when we’re not. We just have to keep moving—at our own pace, with our own kind of strength.

Much love and many blessings,
Mrs. B