When extreme fatigue takes over, it can be impossible to keep going, even when you’re surrounded by the beauty of nature. I will never forget that day, that overwhelming extreme fatigue that settled over me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that simply calls for a nap or a good night’s sleep. No, this was something deeper, more primal—a fatigue that rooted itself in my bones and drained every ounce of my energy, leaving me with nothing but the faintest spark of awareness.

I had arrived in the mountains to meet up with my boyfriend (now husband). Feeling the pull of the mountains and the crisp mountain air that always brought a sense of peace brought me the calm I had been craving. The sun was shining, the sky a perfect shade of blue, and the rugged landscape welcomed me as it always did. Craig and his friend were not in camp, so I had some time to myself, and I decided to walk.

But as I walked, I could feel something shifting inside me. Each step became more labored, and the world around me seemed to blur at the edges. My body, once eager to walk and enjoy the mountains, now felt like it was made of lead, and my legs, once steady, began to falter. All my mind could think of was sleep—but there was a strange, uneasy twist to it, an almost imperceptible ache in my stomach, a quiet alarm my body didn’t fully understand.

By the time I reached a spot between two sagebrushes, it was clear that I wasn’t going to make it one step further. My body had taken the reins, and there was no turning back. It collapsed to the ground, right there, between the sagebrush. I thought about calling out, but the words felt too heavy on my tongue, and there was no one around.

And so, there I was, lying in the mountains completely alone with the whisper of the wind, and an overpowering, insistent need to sleep. It was extreme fatigue, the kind that makes everything feel distant and blurry, as though nothing else in the world matters except the urge to surrender to sleep. Beneath that fatigue, there was that subtle, nagging abdominal discomfort—an early signal of something else my body was quietly battling, though I didn’t yet know what it was.

I closed my eyes, unsure if I would ever wake up, but sleep was all I could do. There was no fight left in me, no energy to push forward. I simply had to surrender to it. I remember thinking—strangely, almost distantly—that perhaps this was it. Perhaps I would fall asleep right here, in the middle of the mountains, between the sagebrush, and never wake up. It felt like an end, but even then, sleep was still a necessity I could not escape.

I could have stayed there forever, in that quiet surrender, but eventually, the pull of the world around me softened. I woke up, groggy and disoriented, to find that the world was still turning, the mountain air still fresh, and the sun still shining. But I had learned something in that moment, something profound about the depth of extreme fatigue and the necessity of rest. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that could make you lay down and close your eyes; it was the kind of fatigue that takes everything from you and leaves you with nothing but the quiet urgency to surrender to it.

Living with extreme fatigue has been a lifelong companion for me. Some days it creeps in quietly, other days it hits like a wave I can’t escape. Over the years, I’ve learned that while rest is essential, there are tools that can help me navigate these overwhelming days. My MS doctor prescribed a medication I can take on those particularly difficult days—those days when I need to function, when fatigue threatens to completely take over. It doesn’t erase the fatigue, but it gives me a chance to participate in life, to keep moving forward, and to honor the things that matter.

Recognizing that fatigue can be both persistent and manageable in different ways has been a vital part of my journey. Some days require surrender, while others allow me to engage, even if only a little. It’s all part of learning to live alongside chronic illness and extreme fatigue, and it’s a reminder that we don’t have to be completely powerless in the face of our bodies’ limitations.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned there was more to the story. I discovered I was allergic to sagebrush, and for me, the first symptom of an allergic reaction isn’t sneezing, itching, or watery eyes—it’s an overwhelming, deep, all-encompassing fatigue. Interestingly, taking Benadryl at that first sign of fatigue actually wakes me up, instead of making me sleepy. The second symptom that often follows is abdominal pain, a sharp, insistent signal that my body is reacting even before the more obvious signs appear. That day, my body was battling not only the extreme fatigue from what I would later learn was MS, and from the chronic fatigue syndrome I already knew I had, but also the hidden, powerful effects of an allergic reaction I didn’t even know I was having.

This experience taught me something profound about the layers of extreme fatigue that can accompany chronic illness. It may be one thing or it may be a combination of factors—physical, environmental, and emotional—that converge, amplifying the exhaustion. Recognizing triggers, like my sagebrush allergy, became a vital part of managing my energy and understanding my body’s limits. It’s a reminder that extreme fatigue is often more complex than it seems and that learning to listen to our bodies is an ongoing journey.

Living with a chronic illness means navigating challenges that others may never fully understand, and few are as universal—or as isolating—as the experience of deep, unrelenting extreme fatigue. Whether your exhaustion stems from lupus, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, MS, or another condition, I want you to know that I understand. I know how it feels when your body betrays you, when the fatigue is so profound it takes over everything, leaving you with little but the quiet need to rest.

If you are dealing with extreme fatigue, I understand. We’re kindred chronically ill spirits.

Ignore those people that say things like:

• “I get tired too.”
• “Have you tried exercising? It might give you more energy.”
• “You need to push through it.”
• “You just need to get out more—it’ll take your mind off it.”
• “Maybe if you just got more sleep, you’d feel better.” (most of us wish we could sleep. Am I right?)

We’ve all likely heard many comments like that. Heck, I have even been guilty of saying some of them to my chronically ill daughters. I’m so sorry.

What about you?

I’d love to hear your story. Your story matters, no matter which chronic illness you face. Extreme fatigue is a common thread for so many of us, yet it often feels deeply personal and misunderstood. By sharing your story—be it a moment of profound exhaustion, a coping strategy, or how you’ve found strength in the struggle—you can help others feel less alone. I invite you to join the conversation. Share your journey with extreme fatigue in the comments below. Together, we can amplify the voices of chronic illness warriors and bring greater awareness to the realities we face.

For a comprehensive guide on understanding and managing MS-related fatigue, including practical tips and exercises, you can download the MS International Federation’s booklet here: Fatigue: An Invisible Symptom of MS.

Share your extreme fatigue story below.

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