Party Followup

I recently decided to revisit some of my older posts and give them a light edit. Yes, I’ve been a paid content writer for many years. And no, what you read here may not reflect the polished, multi-draft work I once submitted to professional editors. If that sounds like a disclaimer, it is. 

At times, I’m surprised by the errors and the rough structure I find. But I’ve come to see this space differently. A blog, for me, is less about perfection and more about honesty. These posts don’t go through multiple revisions or an editorial team. They are written in real time, as I am living and learning. They are often published the same day I write them.

Managing ME/CFS has meant adjusting my expectations even further. Brain fog is real, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve stepped away from paid writing. Still, the instinct to write remains. Writers must write.

So this is where I continue—sharing updates as I’m able, refining when I can, and allowing the words to come as they are.

Post Summer Party Report

I re-read a post here. It was about planning a backyard party in 2024 against my better judgment. 

I didn't want to disappoint my husband who suggested the event. I wanted our adult children to see some of their extended family. I tried to simplify the menu and routine, give explicit instructions to the guests, write myself a schedule, and pace myself. 

I framed it as a test I was to walk through. 

Now for the honest report.

It was a disaster for my health.

On paper, it looked manageable: buffet-style, food kept warm. I'd even splurged on a 3-pot warmer set. Guests would be arriving between 1 and 5 p.m. But the reality is, the timing shifted! Early guests cancelled! Swimmers arrived hungry. Out-of-town family didn’t appear until much later. Before I knew it, my head was spinning--exactly what I didn't want to happen. 

I had tried to accommodate dietary preferences, which added complexity to what was already meant to be simple. When the final dish didn’t cooperate and appliances failed, I found myself scrambling.

There’s a particular pressure that comes when people are hungry and looking at you for answers. I heard lots of, "I thought you said..."

Was I really being called on to explain myself? 

With arrival times constantly shifting, ravioli not cooking through fast enough, extension cords not working, my ire was up! Add in, me trying to act as both maître d’ and hostess while staying within my physical limits, the strain compounded quickly.

The result wasn’t just a stressful afternoon. It was a physical crash that lasted at least a week. The kind of Post Exertional Malaise (PEM) that reminds me, firmly, that good intentions do not override chronic illness. 

I went into hosting this party believing perhaps God was testing me—that with His guidance I could pull it off. I plunged ahead, which is exactly what those of us with ME/CFS are cautioned not to do. Push through. Override the signals. Trust adrenaline.

A week later, I was mostly bedridden. Completely depleted.

I had prayed. I asked the Lord for wisdom, for simplicity, for help in the planning. But prayer is not a substitute for the physical boundaries He has written into my body at this life stage. No amount of careful preparation—or sincere desire to serve—can erase the cost of overextension.

And so the lesson became clearer than the menu plan ever was: it is time to lay down hosting large gatherings in this way. 

I recall my own mom layed down hosting the entire extended family when she was about my age too. Now I see why. And I've stuck to this new rule I've made for myself more or less over the last couple of years.  

This blog post isn’t written to assign fault. I'm an overthinker and worried I'd failed. I wanted everyone to have a nice time. I got no feedback. Not one "thank you for having us."

What I got was creamed. I faced the reality of living with ME/CFS. If I host, cook and try to adapt, there is a margin I must respect. When I cross it, my body knows. I pay a price.