For those of us living with post-viral Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS), mindfulness can be an invaluable tool. When energy feels scarce and symptoms overwhelming, mindfulness offers a gentle, non-judgmental way to relate to our experience. It’s not about forcing ourselves to be positive or ignoring the very real challenges we face, but about creating space within our hearts and minds for what is happening right now. It’s about simply being present with our thoughts, emotions, and sensations without adding layers of frustration or resistance.
I remember early in my practice when I first realized how much energy I was spending resisting my illness. I fought against it, mentally and emotionally, with every fiber of my being. That resistance, though understandable, made me sicker. But over time, through the teachings of mindfulness, I began to soften that resistance and learned to sit with my experience as it was—without the layers of anger or frustration. That shift changed everything.
One of the most beautiful things mindfulness teaches us is how to cultivate self-compassion. It allows us to look at ourselves with kindness, to acknowledge that we are doing the best we can, given the circumstances. Chronic illness can often bring feelings of isolation, inadequacy, or even guilt. But through mindful awareness, we can learn to treat ourselves as we would a dear friend—with warmth, understanding, and patience.
In my own journey, self-compassion became a practice of offering myself a soft place to land amid the storm of chronic fatigue. I learned that it was okay to have limits and that pacing was not a failure but an act of wisdom. Through mindfulness, I could honor the ebb and flow of my energy without judgment, allowing myself to rest when needed and cherish the moments of peace when they arose.
The spiritual path of transforming suffering into enlightenment has been a guiding light for me over the years. Drawing from the teachings of Buddhist masters like Dodrupchen Jigme Tenpe Nyima, I’ve come to see how our relationship to suffering—and to happiness—shapes our inner world. For so long, my relationship to ME/CFS was fraught with resistance, and that resistance was its own kind of suffering. But through mindfulness, I’ve slowly learned to soften into my experience, to meet it with equanimity, and to allow each moment to become an opportunity for growth.
Mindfulness is not a cure for chronic fatigue syndrome, but it offers a way to live with greater peace and resilience. It is a daily practice of acceptance, of meeting ourselves where we are, and of nurturing a sense of compassion for the journey we are on. Whether you are new to mindfulness or have been practicing for years, there is always room to deepen this practice, to cultivate a gentle presence that supports healing, both emotionally and spiritually.
For me, the journey is ongoing, but each step I take is filled with the intention that this path is not just for my own peace and well-being but for everyone whose lives I touch. Together, as we cultivate more mindfulness and self-compassion, we build a bridge toward greater understanding, peace, and inner liberation.
A Haiku on Self-Compassion
In stillness, we rest, Soft whispers of kindness grow, Healing in our hearts.
I hope these words bring solace, support, and a reminder that we are not alone on this journey. Together, we are cultivating a way of being that embraces both the challenges and the beauty of life, one mindful breath at a time.
When post-viral ME/CFS first appeared in my life over 30 years ago, it was like a sudden, uninvited guest that turned everything upside down. The plans I had carefully laid out—the career, the teaching, the travel—came to a screeching halt. My body, which once felt like a reliable vehicle for my ambitions, became a source of constant limitation.
For many people today, especially in the aftermath of COVID, the experience of long COVID or post-viral ME/CFS can feel like a similar trainwreck. The life you knew, the expectations you had, are suddenly out of reach, and you’re left grappling with a new reality—one that modern medicine often struggles to explain, let alone resolve.
I remember the early days well. The confusion, the depression, the overwhelming frustration that came with the unrelenting fatigue. In the beginning, it was hard to see any way forward. It felt like I was being asked to surrender everything I had worked for, again and again. Every time I hit a new limit, I had to lower the bar, lower it again, and lower it even further. It was a painful process of letting go, not just of my physical abilities, but of my identity and the future I had imagined for myself.
But over time, and through countless moments of surrender, I began to see that while the path I had planned was no longer possible, there was another way forward. It was a quieter path, more inward, but it was no less valuable. Writing became my outlet, my way of contributing to the world, even while living in solitude and spending much of my time in bed.
For those of you reading this who are newly facing the reality of post-viral ME/CFS, I want to acknowledge that this is not an easy journey. It’s okay if you need to take breaks, both from reading and from the mental and emotional load of processing what this diagnosis means. Be gentle with yourself, and if you find the post too long, take it in pieces, come back when you’re ready. The key is to pace yourself, in life and in reading.
Surrendering to a New Reality
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was surrender—over and over again. Post-viral ME/CFS teaches you that you can’t control everything, no matter how hard you try. Every time I felt like I was getting close to managing the illness, there would be a setback. My energy would crash, and I’d find myself in bed for days or weeks at a time. At first, it felt like defeat. I had to give up so many aspects of life I’d taken for granted.
But over time, I realized that surrendering wasn’t about giving up. It was about accepting what is, rather than constantly struggling against it. The more I fought the reality of my illness, the more frustration I experienced. Letting go didn’t mean that I had to stop hoping or working toward better health, but it did mean that I had to stop resisting what I couldn’t change in that moment.
Surrendering, in this sense, became a way to make peace with the limits of my body, to find moments of ease even when everything else felt out of control. It was an ongoing practice, one that I still revisit, especially on difficult days.
Navigating Others’ Reactions
In addition to learning how to surrender, one of the most difficult challenges I faced early on was dealing with other people’s reactions. In those early days, many people didn’t even believe post-viral ME/CFS existed. I heard things like, “You just need to drink more coffee,” or, “Have you thought about taking naps?” Even when I was officially diagnosed as disabled by the government, my own mother thought I was just lazy and needed to be more active.
This kind of misunderstanding, disrespect, and dismissal is, unfortunately, a common experience for many who suffer from post-viral ME/CFS. Family, friends, and even doctors would question or deny my experience. I’ve heard stories of doctors telling their patients not to even talk about ME/CFS because it “doesn’t exist.” It was often treated as a garbage-pail diagnosis, or dismissed entirely.
While there is more understanding of post-viral ME/CFS today, the stigma still remains. Making peace with this aspect of the illness has been a long journey. What helped me most was cultivating compassion, not just for myself but for others. As Jesus said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Having compassion for the people in your life who may deny or diminish your experience is a key part of finding peace.
An Evolving Perspective on Post-Viral ME/CFS
In the early days of my journey with post-viral ME/CFS, I found myself going through what felt like the stages of grief as described by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. At times, I thought I might be dying, and I cycled through stages of anger, grief, depression, and confusion. Acceptance didn’t come quickly, and it took years of processing and reflection before I could reach that place.
One of the major steps toward acceptance came when I read How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard. This book resonated deeply with me, and for the first time, I felt like someone truly understood what I was going through. Toni’s reflections on illness gave me a new sense of validation and self-respect, and her practical tips helped me develop a healthier way of relating to my experience. I highly recommend this book to anyone struggling with post-viral ME/CFS.
Then, during a meditation class organized by students of Sogyal Rinpoche, based on The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, I began to find deeper peace. It was around this time that I discovered a Tibetan sutra titled Transforming Suffering and Happiness onto the Path of Enlightenment. This teaching profoundly shifted my perspective once again.
As I read the sutra, I realized that my anger, frustration, and negative emotions were not only draining my energy but also exacerbating my symptoms. It became clear to me that these stressful emotions were making my condition worse, and that when I was able to relax, let go, and find inner peace, I had greater capacity and longer periods of activity without crashing—or without crashing as severely. This was an important revelation: cultivating acceptance, forgiveness, and inner peace didn’t just feel better, it actually minimized my symptoms.
Shifting Perspective: The Sutra That Changed Everything
One passage from the Tibetan sutra resonated deeply with my experience of post-viral ME/CFS:
“Whenever we are harmed by sentient beings or anything else, if we make a habit out of perceiving only the suffering, then when even the smallest problem comes up, it will cause enormous anguish in our mind.”
This teaching hit home because, for a long time, I had been focusing only on the suffering. Everything in my life had become an enemy—my body, my circumstances, even the people around me. The more I centered my awareness on the pain and limitations, the heavier everything felt. Even the smallest setback would feel unbearable.
The sutra showed me that the more we focus on suffering, the more it grows and colors everything we experience. By recognizing this, I began to understand that shifting my focus away from the suffering and toward acceptance could help me find peace. It wasn’t about denying the reality of the illness, but about no longer letting it dominate my entire perspective.
The true transformation came not only by making peace with suffering but by learning to approach both suffering and happiness with the same equanimity. I had to remind myself that when I’m unhappy, this too shall pass, and when I’m happy, this too shall pass. This reminder became a useful way to stay balanced through the ebb and flow of life—the good days and the bad days, the good months and the bad months.
Additionally, I found comfort in William Blake’s words: “He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.” It reminded me to appreciate the little moments of happiness, to savor them without attachment, knowing that they, too, are fleeting. This perspective helped me not to be disturbed by the constant changes and to find a sense of peace amidst it all.
Discovering a New Path: Writing as Healing
As I continued to navigate the ups and downs of post-viral ME/CFS, I eventually found a new passion that helped me stay connected to the world and give expression to my inner journey: writing. Although much of my life is spent in solitude, and my physical abilities are limited, writing has become my outlet, a way to contribute and share what I’ve learned.
Through writing, I’ve been able to explore the lessons of impermanence, forgiveness, and acceptance, not just for my own growth but as a way to offer encouragement to others walking a similar path. Chronic fatigue may limit what I can do in the physical world, but it has opened up this creative space where I can still connect, reflect, and contribute.
In this way, writing became not just a coping mechanism but a practice of karma yoga, an offering. It’s a way to kiss the joy as it flies, even amidst the challenges of chronic illness, and to embrace each moment—whether in suffering or happiness—as an opportunity for growth.
🙏🕊️🙏
“He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.”
Reminder: If reading this post becomes tiring, remembert to pause and rest. Pacing applies to all activities, even the ones we love, like reading and learning. Come back to this post later if you need to. Practicing pacing, even in small moments, is an essential part of living well with chronic fatigue syndrome.
Introduction
There’s a rhythm to living with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), one that demands a delicate balance of energy. Most of us who live with this condition become intimately familiar with pacing—learning how to manage our energy, smoothing out the hills and valleys of our strength. Through pacing, I’ve learned to minimize the crashes that come when I push myself too far. But even with this practice, there are moments when I consciously decide to overdo it.
Sometimes, there’s a powerful desire to break out of the limits that CFS imposes. It’s a rebellion, a brief escape. I know when I’m pushing too far, but I choose to embrace life fully for a day or two. I let myself feel that temporary energy, even though I know I’ll crash later. It’s a conscious decision to say, “I’m going to enjoy this moment, and I’m willing to pay the price.”
For anyone with CFS, this might sound familiar. We know pacing is vital to managing our condition, but there are times when the joy of overdoing it feels worth the consequences. And yet, when the crash comes—and it always does—the body demands recovery. This is where the real work begins, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
The Second Arrow: Witnessing the Mind’s Reactions
When I crash, the body does what it needs to do to heal, and I’m forced to stop. But I’ve learned over time that what really intensifies suffering isn’t just the crash itself—it’s the mental and emotional turmoil that can follow. This is where the teachings of vrittis and pratyayas have been so transformative for me.
In simple terms, vrittis are the fluctuations of the mind—the rising and falling thoughts and emotions. Pratyayas are the seeds that drive these mental fluctuations, often based on past experiences, memories, or attachments. Together, these create the mental chatter that, when left unchecked, can deepen the suffering of any crash.
Buddhist teachings describe this extra layer of suffering as the “second arrow.” The first arrow is the unavoidable pain—whether physical, emotional, or otherwise. But the second arrow is the mental suffering we add on top of that pain: the self-criticism, the frustration, the inner dialogue that says, “Why did I overdo it? I knew better.” This second arrow is where much of the suffering lies.
But by the yogic practice of witnessing the vrittis and pratyayas, I’ve learned to avoid that second arrow. I observe the mental fluctuations as they come and go, without attaching to them, without allowing them to define my experience. I become the seer—the witness—and in doing so, I find that even during a crash, there is peace to be found.
Pacing and the Conscious Decision to Overdo It
Pacing remains the cornerstone of managing chronic fatigue syndrome. It’s about knowing your limits and respecting them, smoothing out the ups and downs of energy. But what happens when pacing fails? What happens when you make the conscious decision to overdo it, knowing full well that you’ll pay for it later?
For me, the key has been integrating this practice of witnessing into every stage of the process. I allow myself to live fully in those moments of overindulgence, embracing the joy of activity and connection, knowing that a crash will follow. But when the crash comes, I don’t add layers of mental suffering by blaming myself. Instead, I use the crash as an opportunity to practice witnessing—the vrittis and pratyayas are just thoughts and mental patterns, not realities. By observing them, I stay free of the second arrow.
This approach allows me to live with chronic fatigue syndrome in a way that feels less restrictive. Yes, I pace myself. Yes, I’m mindful of my energy. But even when I choose to push past those limits, I know that I can find peace in the aftermath through this practice.
The Impulse to Finish, the Practice of Letting Go
As I write this post, I feel the strong desire to finish it, to post it immediately so that it can be available to those who may benefit from it. It’s an impulse I recognize well—a pratyaya, a desire that drives me to push beyond my limits, even when I know it’s not in my best interest.
But just as I practice witnessing during a crash, I also practice witnessing this impulse. I see it for what it is—just a thought, just Mara, just another fluctuation of the mind. I don’t have to follow it. I don’t have to act on it. Instead, I can pause, rest, and come back to this post when my body is ready.
In the same way, I encourage you, as a reader, to pace yourself. This post is long, and if you find yourself feeling tired, take a break. Reading is an activity that requires energy, and pacing applies here, too. Come back to it later if you need to. Take care of your energy, just as I am doing with mine.
A Soft Rebellion, a Path to Growth
There is something liberating about the moments when we choose to overdo it, to embrace life fully despite knowing we’ll crash later. It’s a soft rebellion, a decision to live in the moment, even when we know the consequences. But with the right mindset, even those crashes can become opportunities for growth and practice.
The teachings of witnessing the vrittis and pratyayas have shown me that even the difficult moments—the crashes, relapses, pain, dysfunction, and discomfort of those moments, days, or weeks of low energy—are fertile ground for inner growth. By avoiding the second arrow, and simply observing my mind without attaching to the fluctuations, I can find peace even in the midst of discomfort.
For anyone living with chronic fatigue syndrome, I hope this reflection offers some comfort and guidance. There is no perfect way to navigate this condition, but there are practices that can help us find peace, even in the most challenging times. Whether it’s through pacing, or through the practice of witnessing, or simply by being gentle with ourselves, especially in moments of overdoing it, we can find a way to live with greater ease and acceptance.
Take your time, pace yourself, and remember that every crash, every moment of overdoing it, is a new opportunity to practice and grow. We are all on this path together, and in that, there is a kind of peace.
Facing the Storm: An Urgent Reminder to Pace and Witness
As I write this, there is a real storm brewing, both within and without. The image below is a weather map of the hurricane that may soon hit my area, forcing me to evacuate. As someone living in an RV, evacuation is usually mandatory in situations like this, and so I find myself facing the possibility of having to leave my bed in the middle of a crash caused by overdoing it.
The threat is very real, and so the importance of pacing is now at a level that I can’t ignore. I must prioritize rest and recovery immediately, because no matter what state I’m in, I’ll have to get out of bed and go to the hurricane shelter at the church next door if an evacuation order comes.
This situation has made it even clearer to me how crucial the practice of witnessing vrittis and pratyayas is. Without that practice, I would be overwhelmed by anxiety and fear right now. The mind wants to run wild with worst-case scenarios and worries, but I have been training myself to simply witness these thoughts as they arise. They are just thoughts—just mental fluctuations. They do not have to define my experience. I can stay present, calm, and clear, ready to deal with whatever comes.
So, after I finish writing this post, I’m going into massive rest and be prepared mode. The practice of pacing has never been more critical. This is an extreme red-flag situation, and I hope it serves as a reminder to all of us with chronic fatigue syndrome: sometimes, the urgency of rest is not just about avoiding a crash; it’s about survival.
Take a look at the image below—it’s a reminder to me, and hopefully to you as well, that life can throw storms at us both literally and metaphorically. But with the right practices, we can remain centered and grounded, ready to face what comes with a steady mind and a rested body.
As we face the storms within and around us, may we find peace in the stillness of our hearts. May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. May all beings experience happiness and the causes of happiness. May we all find safety, strength, and well-being on our journeys, no matter how turbulent the path. May we be guided by wisdom, anchored in compassion, and find harmony in the unfolding of each moment. And in these times of uncertainty, may we remember our interconnectedness, and may we all be held in grace and peace.
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