Living with ME/CFS can feel like moving through a world where energy is always scarce, even after sleep or rest. Each day often starts with a level of fatigue that others might experience only after running a marathon, and even the smallest tasks—like taking a shower or answering a message—can lead to overwhelming exhaustion known as post-exertional malaise (PEM). This exhaustion isn’t just tiredness; it’s a deep, often immobilizing weariness that can affect every system in the body.
For many, symptoms extend beyond fatigue and include pain, cognitive difficulties often called “brain fog,” sensitivities to light and sound, sleep disturbances, and immune symptoms like swollen glands or a sore throat. Some people describe their experience as feeling trapped between a desire to live fully and a body that constantly enforces limits. Social and professional isolation can add to the challenges, as ME/CFS often means saying “no” to friends, work, and daily activities that once brought joy and connection.
This condition varies greatly, so while some may have more freedom on “good” days to engage in gentle activities, others may find themselves mostly confined to bed, carefully rationing energy just to make it through each day. The need for pacing—moving through life in a slow, intentional rhythm—is key to avoiding painful crashes, yet it can feel isolating, as others may not understand the invisible boundaries ME/CFS places on energy.
Healing Through Rest: How the Parasympathetic Nervous System Can Support Recovery from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
In the aftermath of the recent hurricanes, Helene and Milton, I’ve felt post-exertional malaise weigh heavily on my body. The fatigue has been more than just physical—it’s emotional and mental, a deep, enveloping weariness that reminds me how fragile recovery can be. As I continue to mend from both the storms and the physical toll of chronic fatigue syndrome, I’ve found myself needing to return to the gentle practices that once brought me peace. The practices that help restore balance to my overstimulated system—those that invite rest rather than force recovery.
Living with chronic fatigue syndrome is like walking on a delicate thread between exhaustion and healing. In these moments, the body feels like a battleground, constantly stuck in “fight or flight.” What I’ve learned, though, is that there’s another way—a softer, quieter way to approach healing. And this way begins with the parasympathetic nervous system.
The Parasympathetic Nervous System: Our Body’s Quiet Healer
The parasympathetic nervous system is often referred to as the “rest and digest” system, the opposite of the “fight or flight” response that dominates so much of my life with ME/CFS. While the sympathetic system pushes us to react, defend, and survive, the parasympathetic system invites us to slow down, to breathe deeply, to recover. It lowers heart rate, softens the breath, and gently restores the body to a state where healing is possible.
For those of us with chronic fatigue, the parasympathetic nervous system is like a refuge, a space where our bodies can finally stop fighting and simply rest. But tapping into this refuge doesn’t come easily. It requires intention, mindfulness, and the willingness to let go of the push to “do” and embrace the power of simply “being.”
Practices that Invite the Body to Rest
Over time, I’ve gathered a small collection of practices that help me reconnect with my parasympathetic nervous system. One of the most powerful has been breathwork. By consciously slowing my breath—drawing in air slowly, holding the quiet pause between, and then releasing—I can feel my body begin to soften. It’s like a signal to my nervous system: “It’s safe. You can rest now.”
Yoga Nidra has also become a vital tool in my recovery. It’s a guided form of meditation that allows me to rest deeply while staying present in the body. In this state, my body heals while my mind remains aware, a powerful reminder that rest is not the same as sleep. Restorative yoga, too, has been a way to surrender fully, each pose an invitation to soften into support, to let my body be held by the earth.
And then there’s the Feldenkrais Method—gentle, mindful movements that teach me to listen to my body without forcing anything. These movements may be subtle, but they remind me that healing isn’t about big gestures or grand efforts. It’s about the small, quiet acts of listening to what my body truly needs in each moment.
Learning to Listen
As I move through these practices, I often find myself returning to Rilke’s words: “I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don’t know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?” Like Rilke, I am circling around the wisdom within me, learning the language of my body’s needs.
Some days, I feel like the storm—torn by fatigue and pain. Other days, I am the quiet center, the stillness amidst the chaos. I am learning that healing isn’t about becoming something new or different. It’s about softening into who I already am and trusting that my body knows the way forward.
An Invitation for Beta Testers
If this resonates with you, I’d like to invite you to help beta test a new GPT model I’m developing. This model is designed to act as a relaxation coach, guiding you through practices like breathwork, Yoga Nidra, and gentle movements to activate the parasympathetic nervous system. It’s a tool I’m hoping will help others find the same peace and healing that these practices have brought me.
This model is still in development, and I’m looking for a small group of people willing to try it out and provide feedback. If you’re interested, please reach out to me in the comments section with a few sentences about why this model interests you, how it could benefit your journey, and why you’d be interested in providing feedback. Your thoughts and insights will be invaluable as I continue to shape and improve it.
Thank you for walking this journey with me. In the quiet, I’m learning to heal. May we all be well and safe. 🙏❤️🙏
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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