Brenda Thompson Facebook ad: “The Fibro Bra Trap Nobody Checks For”

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There's never any winning with fibro. That's what I told myself for years after I stopped wearing bras. They had already scanned my back. Spine. Clean. The doctor looked at the screen and said fibro does that. Get used to it. So I got used to it. Last month a flare that started in my back put me on the kitchen floor anyway. My husband had the keys in his hand. I wasn't expecting him to take me to the ER. The scans had already said nothing was wrong. I had already stopped wearing bras. Year one. The band sitting under my breasts — the fibro hug — would light my ribs up until a flare took the rest of the week. So I took every bra out of the drawer. I thought the flares would stop. The flares didn't stop. They moved to my back. Then the scans told me the back was fine. So I called the hanging fibro, and I lived in a hoodie. I used to wear a real bra every day. I liked bras. The band sat right under my breasts. By lunch my ribs were on fire. By dinner I was in a flare. Heating pad. I couldn't stand the duvet. I couldn't stand a seatbelt. I couldn't stand Dan putting a hand on my back. So I stopped wearing bras. I stood in the kitchen. I took the last bra off. The band was gone. The ribs went quiet. I told Dan: I'm done with bras. He said good. For a while the ribs stayed quiet. No band. No clasp in my spine. I lived in baggy T-shirts. I thought the flares were over. The girls were hanging. Free. No lift. No panel. Nothing under them at all. The second I walked across the kitchen they moved. The whole weight of them pulled too hard on my skin. Then the muscle underneath, up through my chest. Into my back. So my back had to hold what the band used to hold. Nights at first. A tired back I blamed on the mattress. Then the afternoon. Then the sink. A hand under each breast, just to get the weight off my skin. I took my hands away. The pull came back. My back went with the pull. That's when I went in. Not for the hug. For the back. I thought a disc had gone. I thought something had torn. They ran the scans. Clean. The doctor said fibro does that. You'll have to get used to it. I did. There's never any winning. It's the best I endure. I'm pretty done with bras at this point. Calling the hanging "just fibro" is how I lost the next years. The girls hung. The skin pulled. My back did the job a band used to do. All day. Then the back pain wasn't only back pain. It was a flare. Full. The kind that steals the week. Hoodie. Heating pad. Sophie eating cereal next to me on the couch. I couldn't get to the kitchen. Dan going to the friends' houses without me. I'd already said yes. Then I'd text: go. The hoodie is armor. If I don't leave the house, I don't have to put a band on, and I don't have to let them hang in a parking lot. I thought I had two options. The scans had made both of them legal. Put a band back on: hug, ribs, flare. Stay braless: sag, back, flare. A few hours in a soft bra for school pickup. Off in the car before I turned onto our street. Nothing at home. Back by dinner. Hoodie already on. A cami that covered. Didn't hold the girls. Two hours at a friend's house. Then the hug. Then the drive home in a flare. I stopped picking Sophie up at the door. She still put her arms out. I told her she was too big. She wasn't. The weight shift was enough. That's a flare starting in my back. Dan hugged me one night. I flinched. My back was already in a flare. He pulled back. "I don't know if I'm supposed to touch you or leave you alone." I said there's never any winning. He nodded like the scans had been a plan. I cried in the shower so nobody would hear me. June is the one who told me. Not a doctor. The scans had already spoken. June has fibro. She stopped wearing bras the same year I did. Same hug. Same "just take the band off." We were at her kitchen table. I was in the hoodie. She wasn't. I told her the speech. Hug or sag. I picked sag. The flares moved to my back. The scans were clean. So this is just fibro. She let me finish. Then she said the scans were clean because the hanging isn't a disc. The hanging is the girls, all day, with nothing holding them, and my back doing the job until a flare starts. I accepted the band until I couldn't. Then I accepted the hanging because a screen said my spine looked fine. I hated that she said it at her table. She was already wearing the tank. I asked what she had on. Not because I believed her. Because she wasn't folded around her own back, and I was. "Not a bra," she said. "A tank. Broad panel in the front. Lifts from underneath so the girls stay put. No band under your breasts, so the hug doesn't start. No band across your back. Wide straps. Not two skinny lines on the spot the old strap used to sit. Held. Not hanging. Not squeezed." I didn't order anything that night. The scans were still in my head. Get used to it. I kept doing the loop. That's what acceptance looks like after a clean scan. The birthday was the one I thought I could still host. Our house. Twenty people. Soft bra at 11 so I'd look like her mom. Band under my breasts. Hug by noon. I took the bra off in the bathroom. Locked the door. By two the girls were hanging. By three I said I was getting the candles. I never came back. I sat on the bed. Hoodie up. I listened to them sing from the next room. Sophie came in with frosting on her mouth. "Are you sick?" I said my back. Dan uncurled me off the couch at 9. I was a question mark. He said, "Wear the bra or don't. I don't care. You can't keep disappearing." I didn't have support without a band. I had a clean scan. Last month was the keys. I had done hours hanging so the hug wouldn't start. Nothing holding the girls. Back taking the weight. The flare was already in my back when I went to the sink. I went down on the tile. I couldn't uncurl. I thought something had torn. Sophie in the doorway. Dan with the keys, saying we were going in. The scans had already been clean. I knew what they were going to say at the ER. Fibro. Get used to it. I didn't get in the car. I called June that night. I asked her to send the tank. Avouria. 90 days. It showed up three days later. I pulled the tank over my head that night. No clasp. No hook. No reaching behind me on a flare day. I waited for the hug. An hour. Nothing under my breasts. No band. No ribs lighting up. I waited for the sag. For my back to take the weight. The girls stayed. The panel lifting from the front. Wide straps spreading the weight. Nothing across my back at all. I did the dishes. I bent for a pan. My back was just my back. Not a flare cooking. Less tension through my whole body than I'd had since the scans. The girls felt like skin. Buttery. Not a choice between a band and hanging. The hoodie stayed on the hook. Sophie put her arms up at the door. I picked her up. The weight shift happened. The flare didn't. Nothing cures fibro. Nothing I've found even treats fibro. I still have flare days. There's still no winning with fibro. But the loop — hug or sag, flare either way — that loop was not what the scans showed. The scans showed a spine. The loop was a chest with a band or with hanging. I called the hanging acceptance. I lived in a hoodie. I thought I had to pick the band or the sag. The doctor had already told me to get used to both. I didn't. If you're years in, already off bras, already in the hoodie, already holding a clean scan like it's a reason to endure the hanging: I was you. I used my warning on a kitchen floor. My kid watching. My husband at the keys. The last scans already in a folder on the fridge. Don't wait until someone is driving you to the ER to hear the same sentence again. EDIT: I forgot to put the name. Inbox is blowing up asking what June had on, so I'm putting it here. The tank is from a small company called Avouria. Link below so you get the real one — there's a lot of copycats on Facebook so be careful. I think they still had a sale going last I checked. Mine came with a 90-day money-back. That's the only reason I tried it. https://avouria.com/pages/why-fibro-warriors-are-switching

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👆 The Fibro Bra Trap Nobody Checks For

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