Grief Work for the “Old Me”: A Guided Journal

One of the heaviest, least talked about parts of fibromyalgia isn’t the pain, fatigue, or brain fog. It’s the grief.

Not grief for a person, but grief for a version of ourselves—the “old me.” The one who could stay up late and still function the next day. The one who could run errands without planning recovery. The one who worked without counting spoons. The one who felt like they belonged in their own skin.

That self doesn’t fully exist anymore. And living with fibro often means quietly mourning them, while trying to build a new self who can survive and still find joy.

Grief work isn’t optional—it’s the emotional healing that makes fibro life livable. One of the most powerful ways to do it is through journaling. Not just venting, but guided prompts that help process loss, release guilt, and create a bridge between “old me” and “current me.”

This isn’t about erasing the old self. It’s about honoring them, grieving them, and learning to carry them with us without breaking under the weight.

Here’s a guided journal framework I’ve used—and you can adapt—to work through the grief of fibro and reclaim your story.

Why Fibro Brings Grief

Loss of ability: Things that were effortless now require planning or are off-limits.
Loss of identity: Careers, hobbies, and roles shift under fibro’s weight.
Loss of trust in the body: Every flare feels like betrayal.
Loss of freedom: Choices shrink, pacing becomes survival.

These aren’t small things—they’re real losses. And they deserve the same grieving process as any major life change.

The Guided Journal Structure

This journal uses three phases of grief work:

Saying Goodbye – Honoring what was lost.
Sitting With Now – Making space for the messy middle.
Building the New Me – Reclaiming hope and identity.

Each phase includes prompts you can return to whenever you need.

Phase 1: Saying Goodbye

This is where you honor the old you. Instead of pushing grief down, you put it into words.

Prompts:

Write a letter to your “old me.” What do you miss about them?
List five things you could do before fibro that you grieve now. Let yourself feel the loss.
If “old me” walked into the room, what would you say to them?
What do you wish others understood about what you’ve lost?
Write down a memory of when you felt strong, carefree, or unstoppable. Let yourself honor it without judgment.

Why it helps: This step validates grief instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. You can’t move forward without acknowledging loss.

Phase 2: Sitting With Now

This is the hardest part—the messy middle where you live with fibro’s reality. The goal isn’t to “fix” it, but to hold space for what’s true.

Prompts:

How does my body feel today? What does it need from me?
What frustrates me most about this version of myself?
What am I proud of surviving, even in this body?
If my current self could speak to my old self, what would they say?
List three things that make today’s “me” valuable, even with pain.

Why it helps: This step creates compassion for the present self, instead of endless comparison to the past.

Phase 3: Building the New Me

Grief work doesn’t end with acceptance—it opens space to rebuild. Here you create a version of yourself that isn’t defined only by loss.

Prompts:

What brings me joy now, even in small doses?
What strengths has fibro forced me to grow (patience, resilience, creativity)?
If I designed a day around current “me,” what would it include?
Write a letter from “future me” who has learned to live fully despite fibro. What wisdom do they share?
Name three dreams or goals that are still possible—and one step toward them.

Why it helps: This step allows grief to coexist with growth, showing that fibro changes you but doesn’t erase you.

My Practice: Before vs. After

Before journaling:

Held grief silently, felt bitter at myself and my body.
Compared every action to “before fibro.”
Carried guilt for not being the same person.

After journaling:

Released tears and words that were stuck inside.
Learned to honor “old me” instead of resenting “current me.”
Began imagining a “new me” who still had worth, even with limits.

It didn’t erase grief—but it softened it into something I could carry.

Tips for Fibro-Friendly Journaling

Go slow. Even 5 minutes counts—don’t push for long sessions.
Use prompts selectively. Choose one that resonates instead of forcing all.
Voice notes work too. If writing hurts, record your answers.
Return often. Grief is cyclical—prompts can be revisited at different stages.
End gently. Finish each session with a grounding ritual—tea, soft music, or breathwork.

Emotional Side: Permission to Grieve

One of the hardest truths I’ve learned is that fibro grief never fully disappears. It comes in waves—sometimes small ripples, sometimes tidal. And that’s okay.

Grieving your old self doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful for your current life. It means you’re human. And giving yourself permission to feel that grief is one of the most healing acts you can do.

FAQs

1. Do I have to write every day?
No—use the journal when you need it, even once a week or once a month.

2. What if journaling makes me cry too much?
That’s part of grief work. Pause, breathe, return when ready. Tears are release.

3. Can I ever stop grieving my old self?
Not entirely—but the grief softens and integrates into your story over time.

4. What if I can’t write long answers?
Short phrases, lists, or even single words still count.

5. Can I do this with a therapist?
Yes—guided journaling pairs beautifully with therapy.

6. What if I feel guilty for missing my old self?
Remind yourself: grief is not betrayal. It’s love for who you were.

Final Thoughts

Fibromyalgia reshapes identity in ways most people can’t see. Beneath the pain and fatigue lies a quieter struggle: grieving the self we once were. That grief is real, valid, and heavy. But it’s also workable.

Through guided journaling, we can honor the “old me,” sit with the “now me,” and begin to imagine the “new me.” It’s not about erasing loss—it’s about weaving it into a story that still holds hope.

Because while fibro may take pieces of us, it doesn’t take all of us. And grief work is how we remember that—how we carry both loss and possibility, side by side.