I feel it in my bones.

in Random Crap

I feel it in my bones.

The rain that hasn’t come.

It doesn’t make sense but it’s true. I wake up at 2am and my hands ache and throb. I can feel my pulse in my feet. My wedding ring is too tight and slide my fingers under my pillow to unclench my fists.

It’s going to rain, I say. Like strange atmospheres building up inside me. A storm of tiny fractures inside my bones. My husband makes a half-awake noise of sympathy.

I used to think it was all in my head. An old wives’ tale. You can’t predict the weather with bones, I’d say. But my skeleton says other things.

I take two aspirin and get back into bed. My head is too full of clouds. My face burns and my hands hold a fever that cracks like firewood.

It’s going to rain, I say to my hands to my feet. It’s going to rain and then this will pass. An hour goes by and the pain moves to my legs. I want to run and stretch the pain away. I want to wrap my fragile bones in soft white tissue, like delicate China cups. I want my mother to stroke my hair and say, It’s just growing pains, like she did those years when I grew too quickly.

Then I hear it. The muffled, uneven tapping. The slow but insistent beating on the metal roof. The gentle pinging noise of the early morning rain cooling the warm metal.

I reach out to press my hand to window. It’s cold, and the coolness is a relief.

It’s raining, I sigh. It’s a relief in more ways than you can imagine. My swollen parts will return to normal soon. The damn has broken. The worry of feeling insane passes a little.  Not entirely though. Because who can hold rain in their bones? Rain that hasn’t even come? I know who. The same person who holds fog in her head. Who is come undone by the pull of full moons. Who is far too sensitive to the strange whims of a body and mind that listen too much to the world.

In some ways it’s a relief to feel the pain of coming rains. It assures me that the storms in my head are real too. And that they will, as well, pass in time. I wonder if there’s a weather pattern for depression? A barometric pressure for anxiety? A bad wind for sleeplessness and fear? I wonder why I’m so much rain in bones, and fog in thought. I wonder why distant hurricanes scream inside me and why sometimes the air grows thick and too heavy, leaving me a stranded sailing ship on a too-still sea for as long as the depression settles.

I move my other hand to the window. The heat creates an aura that surrounds it, as if I can finally see the invisible parts of me that stretch beyond the boundary of my skin. It’s raining, I whisper.

How do you do that? he asks sleepily. How do you always know?

It’s easy, I say.  Although “easy” is not the right word.

I feel it in my bones.

404 thoughts on “I feel it in my bones.”

Read comments below or add one.

  5. Beautiful, painful, magical, and true. I say magical because I suspect all magic comes with a great price.

  7. What a lovely change of pace. Not that I dislike your silliness – your silliness helps the world go around. But the depth of your bones holds the world in place.

  8. You’ve made poetry of your pain, and the rest of us are left slack-jawed and humbled. And also wishing they made some sort of cooling mattress pad for when these things happen—is that a thing? I know about the heated ones, but cooling? It seems they should be able to do both…

  11. Such beautiful prose. If Depression was a creature, it would come to you to speak of its secret beauty.

  12. This is beautifully painful and sad. I can definitely relate to the mind part in particular. But mine doesn’t go away when the rain is over. Love to you, Jenny. ♥️

  13. This is chilling and gorgeous, very well written and I recognise that feeling. I love it when it storms, back when I lived near the sea my mom would take me to the dyke so the when the wind would carry the salt over it’s top it would wipe my mind clean of the constand buzzing and wash the fog away for a bit.

  15. Beautiful. I especially like “The damn has broken.” Whether you meant “dam” or not, it’s a great sentence.

    (It was a typo…but then I liked it. A good mistake. ~ Jenny)

  19. Well put! I absolutely am affected by the weather.. often before it gets here. I can usually predict winter ..My Own Inner Farmer’s Almanac.

  22. Jenny, for me, your books, your humor, your words are the rainbow after the rain. Greatness.

  23. Whenever my severe depression, anxiety, panic, and Fibromyalgia intensely flare up (like when it’s cold and damp and gloomy and I, too, know that the rain is not too far behind), I start with my routine self-pity. Then I remind myself that Jenny probably has it even worse, with the rheumatoid arthritis on top of everything else, and she manages to keep going, and it motivates me to keep fighting against my own personal bullshit. You are sincerely inspirational, and I thank you for that.

  24. My goodness Jenny, this is just hauntingly beautiful and made me let out the cry that’s been sitting heavy on my chest the past few weeks. Thank you. It needed to happen.

  26. Long ago, I thought my elders were just saying that to make conversation. As an older person, I feel the weather, particularly the barometric pressure. It does indeed affect my body, mood and thoughts.

  27. Lovely writing. I know when a weather front is coming too…my head registers drops in barometric pressure by making my eyes cross, my tongue thick, my brain behave like it’s on drugs…and not the fun kind. It’s a struggle to function on those days and I can be seen ambulating like a drunken sailor. So weird. It can be sunny & gorgeous and when that kicks in I can accurately predict the coming change. It freaks people out, lol, which is kind of a small consolation.

  28. I want to burst into tears for those who get it, understand it and feel it. I am not alone.

  30. Strange fact. The low atmospheric pressure before the rain is what makes us ache. High atmospheric pressure is like an Ace bandage or a Copperfit sleeve that holds your body tightly. Low pressure is like taking the bandage off and everything hurts. What I’m saying is that we probably all need to mummify ourselves with bandages before the rain so that we can just enjoy it and not be sore.

  31. This was a healing balm. And do you realize you’re moving from prose to poetry? Hopefully another gift to offset the anguish. I’m wishing you all the very best, and that you continue to persevere through the pain.
    If we could we would take your pain away, and the pain of those who gather with us here to read your words.
    ❤️

  33. I suspect “The damn has broken.” is a typo.
    Please don’t change it.
    It resonates.
    I appreciate you.

  34. This is so beautifully written! I believe every word of it. I feel the barometric pressure rise and fall in my brain and the weather changes in my spine.

  35. I, too, wake in the night to listen for the rain to fall on the skylight in my bathroom. And the cold means I have skinny fingers and my rings a are all loose. TheEngineer has been gone more than a week, he’ll be home tomorrow then leaving again Sunday…too much, too much! Blessings on you, Jenny.

  36. Wow. Currwntly going through finals week, and it us a lot of being in my head and cramming it full of things I “shoukd” know and really do, but recalling it all at once is a chore. This post made me stop and remember to reconnect to my body again, because my body knows what to do. It is enough.

  37. Wowza. I feel it, too, like slow and heavy crushing. And it’s always better once the front wrestles through.

  38. I get severe headaches when it’s about to rain or snow. Apparently I’ve been that way since I was a baby. My mom used to call me her little barometer since I always got crabby before a storm. It’s not all in your head.

  39. Beautiful. My sinuses predict weather changes. I get migraines. But I put marijuana salve on my forehead, hairline to eyebrows, temple to temple – it helps. Sometimes, it takes two applications – the change is more severe then. My mom laughed once, when, while visiting I told her that it would rain in 12-24 hours. It did, 13 hours later. While the symptom is not great, I feel like I’m more connected because of it.

  41. Ah, Jenny. This is your fiction voice. I know you’re writing non-fiction here. (A non-fiction I can relate to. My bones talk to the weather, too, without my permission, and rarely with a followup apology.) But the voice? It’s your fiction-writing-voice showing up on the page to remind you that it not only exists, but is well-formed and eager to land on the page. Perhaps your bones know this too, and they just cleverly reminded you that you have everything you need to write a novel. Or ten.

  43. Love your writing. :o) Sad that pain is the precursor of weather. You should probably stay away from The Viking though because he’s my Eeyore and rain just follows him around. You are amazing, Lady. :o)

  45. I am so thankful for you to be able to put the things I feel into words. It’s like the voice inside has an outlet.

  46. Your capacity to feel is what draws me to you and is why I believe in you so deeply. The world is a much brighter place simply because you are in it. You are the perfect mix of humour and heart, and I could not love you more than I do right now.

  49. Damn arthritis and damn depression. I haven’t suffered a bout of depression, I mean serious clinical depression, since they found the right medication for me. That was in 2011. I feel so lucky. I get debilitating headaches any time a front moves in. My knees also ache a bit but the fronts that include moisture are worth the suffering. Dry seasons inevitably mean fires will break out in the summer. I hate to see my beautiful state ravaged. Bless you and everything you write. I find such inspiration in your words.

  51. My grandmother called herself a “weather witch,” for what I believe were similar symptoms. I believed her and I believe you. Thank you for putting it so beautifully.

  53. This post was REALLY well-written. Although I don’t have to face the kinds of physical problems you face, I do face the psychological ones. And I understood completely what you meant.

  54. My rheumatoid arthritis lets me know when rain is coming. Or snow. Or any barometric changes. But normally I do not phrase it as beautifully as you do. My pain comes with excessive cursing.

  55. Hauntingly beautiful🌹
    Thank you for, your books & blog.
    For putting our fears, depression, anxiety & pain
    pain, into words🙏🏼

  56. I feel the rain the same way that you do. Thank you for putting it into words so beautifully.

  57. My anxiety goes through the roof when there is a sudden drop in barometric pressure. It’s totally real and the people who truly love me know that I’m a walking barometer. My doctor has even confirmed that it’s real and people are affected in different physiological ways by the weather.

  59. Thank you, Jenny. My soul speaks the same language. May peace wash over and comfort you, and soak in deeply, all the way down to your very bones. ♥️

  62. It took me over 28 years to find out that my ongoing health struggles were undiagnosed, untreated Lyme disease. My diagnosis was upsetting, but gives me hope for improved health in the future. Perhaps you already know the root cause of your issues. Perhaps not. Whatever the case, I wish you success in dealing with it. I appreciate the blogs on coping, but wish you didn’t have to suffer so much.

  63. Thank you, Jenny. God, it is so amazing to read these words that say exactly how I feel. You are a strong and beautiful woman and thank you for sharing your gift with us. It means more than you could ever know.

  64. This blog/short novela (?) is one of the best pieces I’ve read anywhere in a long time. I completely see and feel your imagery. Beautiful, Jenny, beautiful.

  65. I’m so happy you write, Jenny. I often feel like I am there when you describe something, but that was really something else. Lovely and personal.

  66. Well said Jenny! I’ve got Rheumatoid Arthritis too and feel the exact same way. I always tell folks that being able to painfully predict the weather with my screaming joints is the worst superpower ever. I’d rather be able to talk to animals or something.

  67. Yup, It is a real thing. That old wives tale of grandpa’s big toe twitching when it will rain. or was that a Berenstain bears book? Anyway, I feel in in my ankles and hands also.

  69. So beautiful. So true. For me it is full moon and storm and snow and too hot that fills my body with forebodings and a sense of impending doom. And yes, i think there is a tidal wave to which my mood, my brain responds. It has to do with building or tearing down, with loving or hating, with reaching out or rejecting.

  70. Sounds like a passage from old American Indian folklore, from the days when land, wind, the moon and stars were all revered. And the rain!

  72. Thank you for sharing. I, too, can feel when the rain is coming…I can even smell the rain before it arrives. I would be inside at work and tell them ‘it is going to rain’ and they would look at me like I was crazy.

  73. So amazingly true and heartfelt. I hope you find comfort with all of us who are also lighting rods for the weather and illness

  75. Happened to be listening to “Fix You” while reading this. Makes it even more painful/beautiful. I think about how many people don’t realize the connection, and therefore don’t appreciate the release, but I’m sorry you suffer this pain.

  76. So amazingly true and heartfelt. I hope you find comfort with all of us who arr also lighting rods for the weather and illness

  78. I don’t feel the rain in my bones, but I can always smell it coming. It is much more pleasant than the sense of impending doom I’ve been feeling lately.

  79. Oh honey this touched me so deeply. I hope things are better now. I pray this passes. I want you to feel better. Your 3 books saved me. I wish I could do something to help you… <3

  80. Thank you for explaining to the world what most of us have no words for. I feel other people’s pain in my bones but worse I feel the pain of animals. The ones who have no voice. People tell me I’m over reacting and it’s not real but I feel the pain and I can’t stop it.

  81. What a beautifully written “stream of consciousness.” It seemed quite poetic to me. 👏👏😘🐾
    I will also say that it is not only you. I feel the coming rains in my knees and hips and neck – all those places my osteoarthritis is worst. I also feel the cold weather in those same places, plus my fingers, wrists and toes. While it is so incredibly painful, I “grin and bear it” hoping for a soon relief. But what I ABSOLUTELY CAN NOT abide with is the change in barometric pressure. This ALWAYS brings crushing migraines – crushing my mind and spirit while feeling as if my brain will continue to swell until my skull begins to fracture under the pressure and seep grey matter between my fingers which I press into my eye sockets and the ice packs I press against the back of my skull and my forehead. And just when I have adjusted to the barometric pressure change like a passenger in an aircraft adjusts to cabin pressure, the barometric pressure returns to its original measure, and the migraines begin again, adjusting the other direction. You are not alone my Beloved. You are not “crazy” to believe that the atmosphere of this world is in constant war against our bodies. For anyone blessed to be without these ailments, you will never understand. But for those of us who do live in atmospheric turmoil, the struggle is real and it is painful as hell. My neurology appointment for my migraines is tomorrow. He will undoubtedly prescribe more bullshit medications (I’ve tried them all) when all I really want is an atmosphere pill. Why can’t they make one of those? Alas, the point is the atmosphere is making us miserable and that is the sad truth. Hang in there Precious!

  83. You are an awesomely beautiful writer. I’m sorry you’re in pain but the way you write about it almost makes it seem like a gift (although I know it’s not).

  84. Wow…such a gift and yet such a painful burden. Can you imagine how revered you would be in ancient times?! My son and I can both smell rain coming and people have often said we’re crazy.

  87. I’m with you 100%. My legs, knees, hands all hurt so bad last evening I thought I would go crazy, could not get comfortable. However, I was lucky and our rain started in the evening so I was able to get sleep. Hang in there! Also love your blog and books!

  89. I have MS so my weather prediction system is ‘the body electric’. Strange pulsing, almost
    humming like a tuning fork. Also ‘formication’—the sensation of ants crawling on you. All
    of this weather witching is an expression of barometric pressure and inflammation.

  90. In the same way that I believe that everyone and everything that God created is connected by a thousand small strands of love and hate and that all our atoms are wrapped up in each other I know what what you are feeling is true.

    Maybe I know it is true because some part of me that is still a part of you feels what you feel, or maybe because I also sit in the quiet parts of the night where I can finally sort out the sounds of life awake and the sounds the world overwhelms me with and subtract them so that I’m only left with the sounds of ME.

    I’ve been sitting many days recently in the muggy Texas winter and predicting the weather with my bones and intuition. I often wonder if the scrying bones that old women carried in bags to toss and tell the future were cleaned from the graves of women such as ourselves. I think I’d be ok with that. I like the idea of sharing this odd connection to the world that I have with those who have a quiet in their head I will never know.

    So the next time you press your hand to the glass, know that I and a thousand women and men like me are pressing our hands just the same and that we are all connected. You are less alone than you think.

  92. I feel this in so many ways. A rain is going to come. A storm is going to break. But it hasn’t yet. And I don’t know if I can bare the swollen waiting much longer.

  94. So beautiful. I feel the rain too. In the shoulder I broke when I was only 4. Everytime. It sucks, but I know I’m lucky. My Dad would feel it too, in his knees, my Granddad in his hands, my Grandma in her hands and shoulder, my aunt in the foot she broke in a car accident over 10 years ago. I still get around, the pain is minimal enough that it’s more along the lines of a nuisance. My grandparents become almost stationary, the pain is too strong for them to push through it. My aunt wants to sit, but she can’t…there’s work to be done.
    But it does pass. So far it always passes.
    (I’ll be honest, sometimes I welcome it, because at least it’s feelings.)

    A beautiful description Jenny of a phenomenon that I’ve always found impossible to describe.

  96. Your writing is lovely. But here’s an explanation for the pre-rain aches I got from my chiropractor: the low atmospheric pressure before a rain allows additional fluid to flood your joints and put pressure on your joints from the inside. When the weather is clear and the air pressure is higher, its pressure on your body equalizes the inside/outside your body pressure balance so that joint fluid is at a normal level so no pain. Hope that helps. Also, you can be more sensitive to bone pain if your vitamin D levels are low. It’s almost impossible for adults who spend so much time indoors to get enough vitamin D from sunlight, especially in the winter, so you may want to get yours checked. Taking vitamin D supplements helped my aches and pains tremendously but, of course, check with your doctor first. Take care.

  97. You articulate this so precisely and your words, so haunting. When the barometric pressure drops below 30, I know the day is going to be painful, difficult, and long. So many of your entries are like reading my soul. As ever, thank you.

  98. What I do not understand are the people who do not understand. When a high/low pressure front moves through the area I get migraines. I feel it in my brain. And my eyeballs. Oh, man, the eyeballs.

    We are the world.

  100. I can feel pressure changes in my once broken ankle. It’s such an old injury I have trouble remembering which one it is until it’s about to rain.

    About a decade ago, someone broke the weather and we were switching from mid 70s and sunny to 40s and raining every three days. Only time it really bugged me and started to be a constant grinding.

  101. It seems like these things go together, the physical and emotional aches. It seems like they feed each other, and then they feed the creativity. Such a tumultuous circle and the most delicate of balances. Thank you for putting it into words so beautifully. I hope you get some rest tonight.

  102. this is what I wrote in the quite hours of the night… So many things screw up my sleep, pain,the heat and humidity, pain…been awake since 2 am…it’s 3:45 now, I would love to be asleep…
    There is something about these very silent hours of the night..the hum of the fan, the sleeping dogs…I feel very isolated and alone. These are the secret hours when my mind is actually quiet. I sometimes will read, or sketch, or play stupid games on my tablet. It sometimes seems these quiet silent hours are my time free from pressure, no need to worry about laundry, or that the floors need sweeping. This is the time I am free. I’d be outside walking in the dark if not for my hip to trip me, or the dogs to wake Jamie knowing I should not be outside at 3 am. Is this the wild child in me, that wants to roam outside under that bright moon, some primal need to smell and touch the night? Yet here I sit looking out my open window longing to venture out there. I’d like to visit my horses in the dark, the curiosity of soft noses, why are you here? Do you have food?…
    The things you think of in the wee hours of the night, the silly things you write and release into the electronic void out of loneliness.

  104. this was my night last night, the heat was oppressive and uncomfortable..
    So many things screw up my sleep, pain,the heat and humidity, pain…been awake since 2 am…it’s 3:45 now, I would love to be asleep…
    There is something about these very silent hours of the night..the hum of the fan, the sleeping dogs…I feel very isolated and alone. These are the secret hours when my mind is actually quiet. I sometimes will read, or sketch, or play stupid games on my tablet. It sometimes seems these quiet silent hours are my time free from pressure, no need to worry about laundry, or that the floors need sweeping. This is the time I am free. I’d be outside walking in the dark if not for my hip to trip me, or the dogs to wake Jamie knowing I should not be outside at 3 am. Is this the wild child in me, that wants to roam outside under that bright moon, some primal need to smell and touch the night? Yet here I sit looking out my open window longing to venture out there. I’d like to visit my horses in the dark, the curiosity of soft noses, why are you here? Do you have food?…
    The things you think of in the wee hours of the night, the silly things you write and release into the electronic void out of loneliness.

  108. You are what beautiful is. You may not know it You may not feel it. But you are. Sure as the sun will rise in the morning. You are….and I – all of us that support you – are better people for it being a part of your world; your tribe.

  109. It is raining in my soul, but outside is sunny. I feel lost and bruised and like everyone decided they are the new normal and my instincts are just crazy.

  110. I feel the rain too. I can feel other storms brewing as well. Upset family member. Bad news coming..I always know that something…I do not know exactly why or how..but something is coming.
    I hold my berth until it shows its face. Them I battle. The worry the anxiety. That seeps out of every pore.
    I understand. I feel the rain too.

  113. It’s true. Not just rain, but when a low pressure system comes in and the wind is blowing and the clouds are gathering but there is no rain, just a change, you can feel it. Or I can feel it. I wish it would rain. Gray clouds and gloomy weather without rain is pointless.

  116. I smell snow and sometimes feel rain coming. But I also know who is calling and who is at the door before we answer. Sometimes the “gifts” we have are not wonderful, and sometimes they are. It is what makes us who we are.

  120. I am staggered by the beauty of this. Poetic writing like this is what drove me to a Master’s Degree in English. And make no mistake: this is poetry.

  124. This was such a solace to read today as things are very dark for me right now. Thank you.

  125. I feel it in my joints. They say it’s something to do with the change in barometric pressure.

  127. I used to laugh at my Baba, then my mom when they’d talk about “feeling the weather” in their bones. I’m not laughing anymore……..still waiting for a diagnosis on what “it” is, but boy do I feel the weather in my bones now.

  129. It’s actually not a myth – it likely has something to do with the change in air pressure before rain. <3

  130. This speaks to me so much….I feel the same way. I also have severe RA and chronic major depression. I also live in Central Texas and I could so feel the rains last night and today also. I have been out of sorts all day, in pain and struggling to interact positively with my co-workers. Thank you so much for your words!

  131. It’s beautiful, to me, how you put words to the feelings that pool in my soul. I can’t find the right phrases to unlock the damn and everything settles into a black sludge. That you for allowing your words to serve as the key for so many. ❤️

  132. The buzz of my anxiety. All built up a dam that just won’t burst. Everything in my head goes so fast and I can’t think. But if I just keep moving just keep busy it will crash. It when it does I can sleep, I can shut down and take the time to recharge. Get strong again so I can face the world.

  133. No jokes needed. No funny one-liners. Just a honest comment…that was beautiful. So beautifully told.

  134. Upcoming weather used to cripple me and on occasions it still does but I found that if I sleep on dog cooling mats with a gel inside I can usually make it thru with less pain. Those mats are fabulous made for old arthritic dogs but that’s what I am too so I have them on chair and my side of the bed

  135. Oh, to wax poetic as Jenny and the moon do. Just beautiful, this. Sorry (?) you’re so physically in tune with the weather. gentle hugs

  138. BEAUTIFUL, haunting poetry of the soul. You also have sunlight and warm breezes running through your veins and you inspire and bring hope to so many, even when you feel the rain coming. <3<3<3

  139. So beautiful and poetic… it made my heart soar with gratitude. And I also commiserate, as migraines hate weather changes (barometric pressure, precipitation, and pretty much anything else that changes) and chronic migraines are a bitch. They bring on depression and massive anxiety

  144. There is so much strength in this, so much hope. The pain and sadness that is there is like a lens that consontrates the beauty and shines so much light.
    You are wonderful, never forget that!

  145. This is poetry- hauntingly beautiful, vivid and intimate in a way that made my chest tighten and my heart hurt.
    You recounted so many nights for me- hours made up of seconds that must be counted down, one by one, in an attempt to stave off the painful thoughts that make me want to fall asleep and not wake up.
    I know I’m flirting with emotionalism here, and I’m blessed that my pain doesn’t manifest itself physically. But this isn’t meant to be about me. It’s to tell you that I get it, that you are most certainly not alone, and that I so admire you for having the courage to feel to the extent you do, even when it physically hurts. There are so many people who will do whatever it takes to do anything but.
    And there is something beautiful happening here too, right?
    Because if we let ourselves feel pain to this extent, we most likely feel joy with the same intensity… when the rain finally passes.

    “It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply.” – David Jones
    “It’s hard to sleep when your heart is at war with your mind.” – r.h. Sin

  147. Living by lake superior where the weather changes with the wind,I feel your pain. When snow or rain is coming my back aches and tightens to the point it’s hard to stand. Then the wind will shift and the pain eases to a more manageable level. My anxiety is like that. There are days the stress and anxiety is so bad it’s hard to get out of bed.the trials of being a parent to a child with asd is to much to hard. Then the wind changes and everything is manageable,his joy and simple pleasures make me see the joy in the small things.

  148. Jenny. I have been at the dr most of the day today w my elderly mother who is in constant sever pain. Then my son – who is bipolar, as am I – came home from school early after having been found with his belt around his neck. It’s his third attempt, or cry for help. Whichever is equally heart wrenching. My soul is heavy with the rain you speak of, that my knee and head feel when the barometer swings.Thank you for this song for us, those of us who feel too much, and who pulse with the rains and the moon.

  152. What a beautiful piece. I, too, can feel the coming rains and storms in my bones. You’re not alone, not alone at all.

  153. Perfectly said. I suffer from RA. All your words are true. My daughter now can feel it in her bones too. She’s 14. It makes me sad that I know what her future holds, the pain ahead for her. At least she will have me in her corner for advice and reassurance that it isn’t all in your head like I was told for years. Doctors told me I was crazy. My parents didn’t believe me. The pain is REAL. Too real some days. Invisible illnesses suck. If they can’t see it, it must not be real. Come live in my body for a day…

  157. As so many others have said, beautiful and haunting. And as so many others have also said, you aren’t alone, whether it’s pain in bones and joints or headaches or anxiety or depression or restlessness. I think it’s related to barometric pressure changing, but since there doesn’t seem to be anything anyone can do about it, the how and why don’t really matter as much as trusting what your own body is telling you. If it hurts, it hurts.

  158. I NEED rain to release me. It’s one step below the ocean for me, just hearing or standing in th rain. Yes, I can definitely tell when the barometric pressure changes, but the rain helps sooth my pain and relieves my anxiety, and even better if it’s a thunderstorm. I’m happy you got your rain, please send it on to Arizona, ok??

  160. Wow. Words to something I too have experienced so deeply. Thank you for sharing an eloquent expression of something so frightening, confusing,worrisome…..

  161. Beautiful and achingly mysterious. My brain immediately looks for connections. Your body can predict rain, so is it also predicting other things with its storms of anxiety and the heavy fogs of depression (as you alluded to)? At the very least, it would be nice to think that knowing what each affliction is predicting might offer just a tiny bit of relief while you’re in the midst of it — a light at the end of the tunnel that helps you get through. But of course I want to follow that line of thinking straight through to a 2-way channel of not only feeling what’s coming in your bones, but being able to somehow interact with and influence the physical world through mystical means (Wiccan, Voodoo, energy healer, etc). My guess? You already are, but maybe not always in any kind of conscious way. For sure you heal and help in myriad ways via your blogs, your books, your drawings, and countless other outlets. Maybe not in direct, conscious response to the signals that manifest via physical and mental pain, but what you do helps so many people.

  163. This is truly beautiful Jenny. I love this, the words, the poetical rythym, the haunting imagery of bones and pain and hope. Thank you. Please don’t change a single word.
    Thank you.

  165. I just walked out on the evening news and your post was like the rain to me. Beautiful. I know when the rain is coming too. Enjoy the relief. Thanks.

  166. Ah, the joys of barometric pressure impacting the expansion/contraction of tissues.

    Also, fucking beautiful wording.

  169. I am suffering from a horrible pregnancy rash and I totally understand feeling really fucking uncomfortable before it has rained. I want to rip my skin off and the only way I know it will feel better is if the rain comes! I will obsessively watch the weather radar and if I see that rain completely missing my house, I freak out.

  170. Oh my heart! This was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. I also feel it in my bones but could never have put the words to it like you do. Thank you for being a voice for so many. <3

  171. This was so beautifully written. I could see it, hear it, and feel it, like an amazing movie. At the end, I could even smell the rain.

  173. Putting love and comfort in the cosmic buffer for you to draw upon the next time you are waiting for rain.
    And on a prosaic note, my boss the jewelry designer says always take your rings off before going to bed, because hands often swell at night and it’s not good for fingers to be constricted.

  176. When I tell my doctor my RA flares before it rains, she looks at me like I’m nuts. I kinda want to print your post and frame it for her.

  177. When I tell my doctor my RA flares before it rains, she looks at me like I’m nuts. I kinda want to print your post and frame it for her.

  179. Girlfriend, I feel you. But as usual your explanation flows more smoothly than mine. Why do we have to feel so much? Also: Happy Spooniversary!

  181. “Because who can hold rain in their bones? …far too sensitive to the strange whims of a body and mind that listen too much to the world.”
    this is so sad.
    this is so true.
    you have no idea how glad i am that i found you and your strange little tribe.
    thank you.

  183. Been there and living with that. It seems like it has been forever that I can tell if it is going to rain. I find cannabis helps with the pain and aids with sleep.

  184. Yes. I know those pre-rain pains. Also poetic in analogy of an anxiety attack and the sweet release afterwards. I tell people I’m a walking barometer with my pains. Or a witch 🙂 And don’t even get me started about flying if I have a cold, sinus/ ear pains, or a tension headache = not fun.
    Last Monday night after a 10 hour work day I come home to groove to music in my kitchen while I cook dinner. To dance. To destress. To be happy. Then it hits me; a small aura on my left side. The precursor to a migraine. Blurry lights flashing but I’m not in a club. My mind and hands reach for something stable and balanced. The counter. Advil, water, the last sips of my cocktail and granola. Something about nuts and protein helps my head when I’m out of chocolate. Within an hour the sun sets and the flashes in my eyes are gone. Thankful. I escaped this time.
    Thanks again for sharing. We hear and feel you.
    The body is weird. Or blame it on allergies, the weather or the full moon. ((Hugs))

  186. I can feel thunderstorms when they reach Abilene. I live between Dallas and Fort Worth. I get a stab by pain behind one eye. Before I was 50 I got migraines as well. My daughter has the same, er, ability.

  187. I often feel this way as a person with bipolar disorder 2. I’m hyper sensitive to everything around me and my friends and family find my ability to anticipate events, ends of sentences, the weather, etc. Both cool and creepy. Thank you for illustrating your version of this so poetically. It is often lonely and sad but comforting – the knowing is sometimes both isolating and comforting. Hugs. – Ashley

  190. I often feel this way as a person with bipolar disorder 2. I’m hyper sensitive to everything around me and my friends and family find my ability to anticipate events, ends of sentences, the weather, etc. Both cool and creepy. Thank you for illustrating your version of this so poetically. It is often lonely and sad but comforting – the knowing is sometimes both isolating and comforting. Hugs. – Ashley

  191. As I sit here, aching in my bones, I can so identify with this column. And the black clouds of depression can weight me down. I enjoy reading your humour but this is the first time that I felt compelled to comment.

  192. This is written so wonderful. You are so correct on the feeling of the pain. I too go through that as well. No matter if it be rain or snow or strong storms. The pain is so intense it hurts beyond words at time. My heart aches for you cause I know what you are dealing with. I love going through your page and reading your posts and comments. At times it is just what I need at that moment in my life.
    Thank you so much for sharing this and other wonderful posts.
    Your truly an amazing woman.

  194. You are definitely not alone in this. I feel the rain too. So do other members of my family. I wonder how much of this is genetic. And you bring up an interesting point with the link between the weather and people’s behavior, moods, suseptibility toward drepression on relation to weather and pressure systems and the moon. I wonder if anyone has done a truly scientific evaluation of the links between these things.

  196. My dog gets anxious when the barometer moves up and down. I feel bad for her. And for you. Lovely writing too.

  197. Same here. My hands always know when it’s going to rain, and it’s a relief. Sort of.

  198. Beautifully transcribed from your bones to the page. Also? I need to start making note of what the moon is doing when I have my days where I feel myself falling to the bottom of an emotional pit. Had one right before this super moon arrived. Your post has me thinking…

  200. Thank you for that poignant post. It makes me feel better to know I am not alone in my reactions to the world. Blessings to you, Jenny.

  201. Jenny, this is IMPORTANT. Go read “Storm Warnings “ by Adrienne Rich. Then maybe the whole collection.

  202. I feel like you are speaking for me. It seems like a drop in barometric pressure triggers pain. There must be some neural misfiring when that happens because a cloud of depression falls over me & it’s impossible to find joy. I notice the same thing during migraines. Then I repeat the mantra that you taught me; depression lies, don’t give up; depression lies. When the sun comes out and the pain fades, it’s amazingly wonderful each time. I just have to be patient. I’ll keep you in my thoughts that your pain will also pass as soon as possible.

  205. This is so poetic. Would you collect this and other writings into a book of poetry?

  207. Your writing is stunning literary poetic prose. Thank you for expressing this so well.

  208. Thus a great piece, beautiful, ppetic description and most importantly sincere feelings that you were able to convey to us and put nice in writing. It is 4:30 am and I cannot fall asleep and reading this just relaxed me…

  209. I see that i made many spelling/typing mistakes in my previous post because I am holding the phone in a way that light does not bother dear husband who ” made half-awake noise of sympathy.”

  211. This right here is why so many people love you, why you have touched so many people. Your ability to put words to experiences that so many people feel are indescribable. Thank you so, so much for this post, and for sharing so many personal things with us.

  212. I honestly think you must be a sorceress: I was laying in bed crying and I heard the tap tap of rain on my skylight. I went outside and stood in the rain where the tears just blended in with the rain on my face, so thank you for that. ❤️

  214. I knew the comments would include migraineurs. My husband reacts to barometric pressure changes and had a migraine nearly every day, until…until… we followed his neurologist’s advice to consider southern California. I didn’t really want to leave friends and family in the DC area, but it has been totally worth it. He hasn’t had a migraine in over a year. And the loss of his weather predicting ability doesn’t matter here.

  215. “And that they will, as well, pass in time. I wonder if there’s a weather pattern for depression? A barometric pressure for anxiety?”
    This is it right here. What I’ve been trying to figure out. I just started journaling in an effort to figure this shit out? Is there a rhythm, a cycle?

  217. I always think of Ballybran, the planet inhabited by the Crystal Singers (Anne McCaffrey), and its terrible Mach storms. The Singers would flee the planet ahead of the Mach storms, or reside in calming baths to try to ease the agitation and pain. I often wish for one of those radiant baths.

    Thank you for your poetry, Crystal Poet.

  218. We are all connected to every part of the world and stars, this universe of ours – We are made up of this stuff after all. It just seems that some of its are more in tune, more able to perceive, but it is there for all of us. I wonder what out is that I am perceiving when my body does its off kilter dance.

  219. This is beautiful. Thank you.

    There are some people in the world who have a more connected relationship to the things that are bigger than we are – you seem to be one of them. I’ve crossed paths with a few people who just see a whole layer of the world that I’m blind to. Thanks for sharing what you see. <3

  220. Thank you for sharing this. I have been feeling this way myself – afraid that it is all in my head. Feeling my heart beat, feeling the pain that seems to move, unexplained. The clouds in my head… Being told to relax and not stress out about it. Right. Thank you for letting all of know we are not alone.

  221. There’s something about this…the way it’s written. I feel it. I teared up. It gives me the tingles. I feel every word of it.

  222. I used to get frequent sinus infections, and one of the earliest symptoms every time was a worsening of my depression, not just an increase but also a change of focus (for lack of a better way to express that). And yet I never recognized what was happening until the full sinus misery hit.

  224. Wow! That’s a great reminder that whatever else you have inside, you are an incredibly talented writer as well. Thanks for letting us see this intimate part of your life in such an elegant way. Very powerful.

  225. Oh, Jenny, I know I can’t bring pain relief to you nor can I understand anything entirely that you go through. I do, however, know we are each in our own knowingness of pain and discomfort. I hold a very large space of love and comfort for our tribe. May it be warm with peace and safety and spoons. No worries as pants are not required. Be well and loved, everyone. <3

  226. I had too many sinus infections as a kid and now I can feel barometric pressure changes in my sinuses. It never ceases to weird me out, and it doesn’t always mean rain, but it DOES mean change is coming. Your words are beautiful, and maybe I shouldn’t hate my abiity to feel change, even though it always sucks while it’s happening.

  227. Thank you for this. It’s 3am again and I’m awake wondering why it all went wrong

  228. Thank you. I spend much of my life waiting for the rain. Old pains flare up during hot summer days, and I find myself praying for condensation, either from within or without.

  229. Thank you so much Jenny! This was the most beautiful thing I have seen for ages – and I´m studying poetry for my work. Greatest writers on this planet have often been people with a sensitive body. I think it links back to times when we were stil inseperable part of the nature. I love your sense of humor, I really do, but little stories like this I value even more.

  230. For over 40 years I’ve been going through the same thing. About 24 hours before it rains or snows my joints start hurting and my head fogs. Doctors say your bones don’t feel weather changes. Well, they do, as you know. Sheer relief when it starts raining or snowing because you know the pain will stop soon. I’m sorry you experience this too. Gentle hugs.

  232. I have RA, too, and can relate. Our Iowa weather is so changeable that it seems my body is in constant flux! Thank you for your words.

  233. I have been awake since 4 am crying and shaking while the overwhelm from the last week runs it’s course through my body. It makes me feel so sad sometimes that I tend to just feel too much. Your post made me feel less alone. Thank you.

  234. The ‘pressure’ changes outside when it is going to rain. That’s why people get headaches, joint aches, pain, etc. Some people are more sensitive to it than others.

  235. The weather used to cripple me and sometimes still does. I found that if I sleep on dog gel cooling pads or sit on one I don’t have as bad symptoms . I originally posted this yesterday but somehow didn’t make it to the board. I feel all your pain unfortunately it’s universal and only some have the eloquent gift to describe it .

  236. The weather has always had the power to cripple me. Depends on where it’s coming from for me coming from off great Lakes is enough to use crutches and sadly have sets and canes thru out house for these attacks. But to get some body relief I sit and sleep on dog cooling pads with gel. They offer my bones much needed relief and I ve learned to be creative since the Dr’s can’t fix me and I don’t trust them much anymore.

  237. That is so beautifully written: you are very talented. Thank you for sharing your – often zany, sometimes profound – thoughts. Reading your blog sometimes makes me feel a bit more normal! Like many people who have commented here, you probably have a super sensitive nervous system, which enables you to feel things more acutely, both physically and emotionally. Look up “MTHFR (Methyltetrahydrofolatereductase)”. It’ll make a lot of sense.

  238. You write it so beautifully. I have Fibromyalgia and depression and feel it too. My nose always feels it first for some crazy reason. Winter always brought on severe depression and by February my mantra was; Spring is on its way, it will pass. I can make it. And I do, year after year.

  239. Such beauty in your words. It finally rained (with thunder!!) here in Az. last night. The physical and mental relief from an Arizona rainstorm is something that I cannot find anywhere else.
    Thank you for posting such loveliness 🙂

  240. I feel your words and your pain in my bones. I have tried to describe the physical and emotional pain of depression to people who don’t suffer from it, but can’t seem to make them understand. I will send them to this post from now on.

  241. Thank for sharing…so beautiful and true. I’m having to change drugs for RA…I’m scared, hurting and lonely and you help so much. Hugs. Thank you.

  242. I have never commented on this site before, but this moved me to tears. I love your blog but am so shy in making any statement. Thank you for all you do even if I have never said it before. You are a very valuable part of my life.

  243. I ditto what everyone says. (How’s that for laziness?) I believe when life was slower, most people felt those rhythms of the earth. So many are disconnected from themselves and are unable to feel the flow of all life. I think we are able to because we are forced to slow down and listen and feel, and maybe our illnesses make us especially sensitive to the energy of life around us. Although I hate the pain, I do know I’m alive and do belong in this world and am a part of it.

    Also, it would be great if some of your rain could make it’s way over here to LA and douse these fires.

  244. Wow. Normally, I come here for the humour. This was so poignant and unexpected.
    Beautiful. I hope the relief comes as surely as the rain you predicted.

  246. ‘Rain in their bones’ is a beautiful phrase. The pain it brings you is not. Never move to Vancouver!

  247. OMG-such a relief to know I’m not alone. Thank you for putting words to the feelings that I just couldn’t put words too!

  250. Have you ever considered going to a traditional Chinese medicine doctor? I go to one (and he isn’t Chinese by the way), and naturally feel like most people would stand to benefit.

  251. This is absolutely beautiful and brilliant. Very little captures my attention these days long enough for me to read the entire thing. This did. 🙂 Pure poetry.

  252. I love you. Sometimes that’s all that there is to say.

    Of course, this isn’t one of those times, because my skull currently imprisons a forest of thistles, threatening to release a thorned torture upon the world. It is painful, this making a prison of one’s head-bones. But it would be more painful were the thorns out in the world. And so I carry this, until the storm breaks, and our bones are washed clean.

    (Thank you for sparking my voice. Again.)

  253. I’m sure others have posted here but the comments are at 250 and I’m a pompous autistic windbag… what you are feeling is simple maths. As the barometric pressure falls, it is pressing on you and changing your internal pressures.
    Of course you can sense that. Some of us have injuries or artificial joints and those nerve endings where those abut are changed by surgery. Damn right I have “weather-knee” I am a live animal in the world.

  254. Beartifull Written ans yes bones are accurate weather predicters. After I broke my leg the surgeon told me because of pressure changes when a storm approaches pain increases. It’s science. I have MS and usually get a migraine when a storm approaches as well as increased MS related leg pain.

  255. I love this. I’ve been having a bad week of anxiety and depression flare ups and I opened your coloring book last night, found some pages that resonate with me, and started coloring. And now you wrote this. 🙂 Thanks for putting what I and many others feel into words. It helps to know that I’m not alone.

  256. Our rains haven’t started yet. Instead we in SoCal have fire falling from the terrible wind-whipped skies; embers carried for miles and dropped. The fire in lovely Ventura is said to have burned an acre a minute as the wind pushed it. The number of people made home-less in that city alone are three times the population of my home town.
    My nephew and I had been bemoaning not seeing an “Angel Tree” anywhere this year, to gift an unknown child a Christmas.
    Now we’re going to seek out a whole family. Send rain…

  258. I am…almost…speechless. This was stunning, and heart-wrenching, and you write as if you know me. Thank you!

  260. I’m sitting here reading this wishing my burning feet away, and they won’t stop. I have CRPS and the pain is terrible. I hear your rain-pain loud and clear and suddenly don’t feel so helplessly alone. Thank you Jenny 💕

  262. Thank you for expressing so lyrically what I have felt so many hundreds of times. I feel like people like us, those who feel the world in their bones and joints, don’t really belong in this time or this place. Like we are throw backs to time when people needed that warning, but not anymore. My coworkers look at me like I’m crazy when I say a storm is coming, and my friends and family look at me with understanding, but pity. My younger daughter is developing my weather sense now that she is almost eighteen. It’s nice to know we will have another generation with us, but also not.

  264. This made me cry, YOU reminding me I am not crazy nor to be written off.
    I love the rain except for the deep pain it causes just prior.
    And nobody cares that I hurt. And I hurt. all. the. time.

  265. My husband can tell when weather is shifting. It’s in his bones but in a different manner.

  266. I too feel a change in the weather in my bones. Two days ago my hands were aching clear up to my elbows. That night a cold front came through, along with a strong northerly wind. The aching stopped.

  267. My mother had a purple birthmark on her inner arm that would totally flare up when a storm / rain was coming. We are all barometers in some fashion.

  268. O Jenny. I love you so much,though we don’t really know each other. We met briefly at a book signing where I said that I think you are a force for good in the universe. You are such a gift. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I send you healing prayers and gratitude.

  269. I am listening to Ani Difranco’s version of Amazing Grace as I read this. I just got out of the psych ward yesterday. November was a rough month. I often experience similar feelings, like I can feel the world. It’s very tiring and yet I could not rest. Now I take gabapentin and feel so slowed down. It is possible that my psychiatrist will make a change on Monday. I started using an app on my phone for nature sounds and one with delta waves. Combined with my sleep medication I sleep soundly now. Bless you Goddess of Wisdom/ Athena
    Jenny Gargarello

  270. It’s nice to know that I am not the only one who can “feel the rain”. I’ve been like that since a little kid!

  271. Thank you. Even if the rain is metaphorical, we can sense when it’s coming and it’s a relief when it passes.

  272. Pingback: The Mercy of Nature

  274. This. All of this. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia over a decade ago and I go through this every time a front comes through. It’s like the oncoming storm builds up inside me and just rages until the first drops of rain actually hit the ground.

    Can we be best friends?

  276. I think this has to be one of the most gorgeous pieces of writing you have shared with us. Thank you for that! Humans have tried to separate themselves too much from nature and they miss the signs. After having surgery on my leg a year ago, I too feel the weather – I’m just not very good at it yet. Hope some of the pain has gone <3

  277. A variety of medical conditions contribute to my status as a reliable human barometer, as well. My son refers to ‘The Mommy Forecast’….generally more reliable than official weather reports, too. At least there is some usefulness to it, sometimes — that’s the polish I have to take to the silver lining of how often I feel even worse because some combination of what’s wrong with me always reacts badly to nearly every kind of air.

  278. bring your rain to my hometown Ventura, California. But I know what you mean, the lack of moisture in the air is making my body and mind different.

  280. Thank you Jenny, I cried, because you understand this pain.And now I don’t feel so alone.

    D Huf

  281. So, hi. I don’t realistically hope that you’ll see this and respond, but I’ve followed you for years, bought your books for myself and my friends (and recommended them to my library). I’ve had my own struggles with mental health and I’ve found your honesty and forthrightness incredibly empowering. I’m sorry that you’ve suffered so much, but I have found your writing, on my own account and the friend I’m about to describe, immensely inspiring. So to the point…

    I’ve got a very dear friend in crisis right now — I called in EMS/psych services earlier this week because all the help I and another friend had been trying to give her for months seemed only to be enabling her denial and deeper disintegration. It sounds like you’ve had amazing support, even through the darkest times, from your husband and family. My friend has had no family support since her mom’s death 5 years ago. She has, well before that but far more seriously since, been dealing with anxiety & depression and similar hiding-under-the-blanket impulses that you’ve described in your blog and books. We’ve tried to help her, but I finally realized over the last few months, but more intensely a few weeks ago, that it was necessary to call in professional help. So I basically called the cops on my best friend in the hope that the official system could force her to accept the help she’s been unwilling to seek for herself.

    Honestly, I don’t know what I’m asking of you. We’re in Austin and you’re near San Antonio, so a bit of me hooked you might know of public/social resources I can contact, because my friend is basically without income or (legally related) family support. She’s been a dear friend of mine for 15 years and, as far as I’m concerned, she’s my sister. Her actual blood-related family basically dropped her when her mom died 5 years ago.

    After my call to the crisis line, who convinced me it was appropriate to call in EMS, she was hospitalized two days ago for malnutrition and is due to be transferred to a psych facility as soon as she’s medically stable, but I have nO idea what to expect from there. I know this is incredibly presumptuous, but if you know of any public/private resources available to the indigent in Austin, I’d be immensely grateful for any direction you can suggest. My number is 512.426.8277.

    Whether you even see this or if you are able to suggest resources or not, I want you and anyone who reads this to know that you have been an inspiration and a comfort to both of us. You have helped me to reach out for help for myself when I was afraid to admit weakness. Your blog, your books, your beautiful drawings have all provided a space in which I could approach my friend and get some revealing answers. It took me far too long to pull the trigger and call in professional help for her (or myself), but I don’t think I’ve had had the courage to do so without the honesty and frankness you’ve brought to the public discussion of mental health. And I know from her response to the blog posts I’ve shared and the books I’ve gifted that she felt connected, comforted and inspired by you.

    Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know if my intervention will save her, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have found the courage to try without your honesty. You’ve made a significant difference in this insignificant corner of the world. I hope that when next you hit the sloughs of despond you will have seen and can remember this. much love to you and yours

  282. I still do not know how this works, but you are not alone in this strange phenomenon… I have been reading your blog ever since I read furiously happy, but never replied before.

    It doesn’t snow often in the Netherlands, but when it is going to snow, I always know. Up to the part where I was eating icecream with my mother, on a very sunny and warm day in may. And I said, we will probably be free from school due to the snow tomorrow. And we were.
    Anyways, snow gives me huge headdaches. But they are often gone once it actually arrives. Don’t ask me why, it just happens.

    And as I am writing now anyways, I want to thank you for being such an awesome person and such a great writer. I loved your books and I can’t thank you enough for creating ‘You are here’, which has helped me get my feet back on the ground in bad moments a number of times now. Depression can hit you like a suddenly erupting volcano. But the way you have worded all of it helped me cope tremendously, and helped me realise I am not alone with this illness.

    So, thank you so much.

  284. You’re a beautiful writer, and a beautiful soul. I’m always so grateful for the way you share, and appreciate the skillful way you do it.

    Thank you for being. Thank you for being you.

  285. This is so beautiful and so absolutely true. We have snow coming and I can feel it in my bones and my head feels overcast with snow clouds.

  286. This is beautiful. Achingly beautiful. You mentioned, “I wonder why I am too much.” I don’t know if what you mean by this, but it sounds like something I feel constantly. WHy can’t I be easier? Why can’t I be normal? Why does every feeling have to be so, so much? I didn’t know this years ago when I started reading your work, but I know it now. This, too, shall pass. It always does.

  288. Pingback: Looking Back at ’17: Best Books – Scribblings of a Storyteller

  289. Really lyrical, and it definitely speaks to what you feel.

    Thanks for sharing something so intrinsic to who you are, and making us understand even a little bit.

  290. I know exactly what you meen I live near austin we could be the weather reporters the resent snow and cold weather is killing me today i,ll try an asprin i just got back from seattle seeing my family thats always pretty wierd ,…… glad your feeling better

  291. I just received my daughters gifts I’m so thankful!!!!!!!!! I’m in tears I can’t believe this!! Thank you times a million I will pay it forward !!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  296. So deeply, wonderfully written. My favorite lines:
    “The heat creates an aura that surrounds it, as if I can finally see the invisible parts of me that stretch beyond the boundary of my skin. It’s raining, I whisper.”
    Written with great imagery

  297. This is so beautiful! i Love it! I do poetry type of writing as well, if you would like to check it out, mine is Lesleydiana.com

    I hope you’ve been having a good day so far!

  303. i felt every line of this piece last night, even had to get up for a hit of ibuprofen in the middle of the night while the storm gathered. this morning the storm broke

  308. Beautifully written! My husband thinks I’m crazy when I say to him ‘I can feel it in my bones’ when the weather changes. Luckily, I’m not the only crazy person out there 🙂

  311. Wow, this is a beautiful, honest description of a phenomenon I’m sure many people can relate to (on a variety of levels). It’s just lovely to read. Thanks for sharing it.

  312. I definitely agree! I have an auto inflammatory disorder that flares up with significant weather changes. My husband always tells me he can tell based on how bad the limp is whether it will rain, snow, or be fair. Funny, but not funny

  313. Reminds me of the song we used to sing growing up. I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes, I feel it in my hip and my ank-els. (Made it sort of rhyme with toes!)

  327. Reading this gave me chills – it’s so… well I this I knew how to describe that. It’s just so moving I guess. You made me feel it in my bones.

    With kindness

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  331. Pingback: I Feel It In My Bones | Penny Wilson Writes

  332. Quote “far too sensitive to the strange whims of a body and mind that listen too much to the world” to understand this. Beautifully said. I do feel each word “in my bones”.

  334. This is by far the deepest and best post I have ever read. This too, shall pass and I hope you find your rainbow after each hurricane. ❤

  335. I’m repeating people’s compliments by saying this is really beautiful and poetic but on the other hand, I feel like I’ve read it somewhere. Like Tarryn Fisher’s or Colleen Hoover’s? Well, they’re words. They’re meant to be said by just one person

  336. It’s beautiful. I like how you switch from the physical effect of the start of rains and how they emotionally rage in our heads almost like storms. Good thing is, it doesn’t rain forever…it will pass.

  343. I have experienced the same for most of my life — wild dreams and restless sleep during a full moon, head and body aches for an oncoming storm. You may want to investigate being a Highly Sensitive Person by Dr. Elaine Aron. It may not relieve your pain like an aspirin, but it will help you understand it all the more. Best of wishes to you for feeling better!

  350. Exquisitely drawn in precise, fragile, intimate strokes. It hits every note in my body. Thank you for this. You’ve shifted my internal scales from loneliness to alone. And I can work with alone. It weighs far less.

  351. Beautiful. I could feel the pain, and I almost cried, and thank you so much for sharing such a great piece with all of us. I am so glad I came across this post today.

  352. I felt swollen aches in my bones while reading about yours. An effective transference of anticipation, anxiety, and pain.

  361. This is so beautiful! I feel you. I feel exactly the same. My bones hurt every second of the day. I can’t handle it anymore it gets too much. This is an amazing piece of writing.

  363. How you manage to make something truly beautiful in words out of pain and despair is so breathtaking…I felt every word of it, I actually feel it, you know, being a chronic backpain patient for many years now, I know about pain and wanting it to end, lying awake telling yourself this will pass, this will pass…and it does, after the exhaustion sets in…I sometimes wish I could dismantle myself like a machine and then have every part stretched, oiled before putting back together😉

  365. That was so beautiful to read. It reminds me a lot of the poem Mountain by Helen Mort too. The line “I wonder why I’m so much rain in bones” is definitely making it into my scrap book.

  370. “Because who can hold rain in their bones?” Wow, the visuals and emotions just this line alone gives me. I can tell this is going to be running through my mind for a while.

  373. I’m not sure if you are aware but your post was Discovered by WordPress! Congratulations!!!
    Absolutely beautiful writing, Jenny. I can feel your words.

  383. I love your post and the poetic way you presented your pain. I’m sorry for it. I suffer with chronic pain and there are times when my legs and muscles ache when it rains. (I use magnesium spray to calm some of the pain.) thanks for sharing.

  384. Oh yes so very true you can feel it in your bones.i know this feeling too well myself when the rain comes my hip hurts when the cold comes my legs ache s

  386. This is so beautiful and deep. It is also true. I can do it too. Its a strange and horrible thing while also being helpful,in that you know before anyone when its goi,g to rain.

  388. Pingback: I feel it in my bones. — The Bloggess – NELNIC GOLD MINING GH
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  394. I believe that these environmental factors play a much larger role in more things than we realize. As an L&D nurse, I have seen some interesting trends over the years with birth related to moons, rain, snow, storms. It certainly affects pain. I definitely agree that is is surely also related to anxiety and depression somehow. Let me know if you crack that code!!

  395. Great post! I don’t feel it my bones when rain is on it’s way. I wish I did as it would help in the garden and to take an umbrella. I must admit, your post was both haunting and a little morbid, but very well written, thank you. Lee.

  396. I like your words, and you are right, it is in your bones. I have rheumatoid arthritis and rapid downward changes in barometric pressure cause my joints to swell. Gas in the joints can’t equalise fast enough with the outside air pressure. There was an interesting university study a couple of years ago using a phone app called Cloudy with the Chance of Pain. It was designed to track people’s pain levels and cross reference with barometric pressure changes.

  399. You’ve expressed how I can feel physically in a way that I never would have thought of. I’ve buried my feelings of pain and illness for so long, I’m not sure how to write about them outside of a brief mention or with humor. I feel it in my bones? Yes, I say that all the time, as a joke. A storm of tiny fractures inside my bones?? How perfect a description of how my back and legs can feel. Kudos to you, Blogess, for helping me to see a blind spot within myself.

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  401. I can relate 😕😫 I just saw this. I am hoping I see more of your stories and many others also. I have no website that I go to. I stay to myself less trouble that Way. My husband says boring is a good Thing 😜

  402. I love the way this is written! It’s pretty cool. It made me feel a lot more than i expected. If I’m being honest it is a bit haunting but in the best way. I would love it if someone could check out my blog!!

  403. I read this while listening to this beautiful Bangla song of love and rain,and it made for such a sublime experience,I can’t put it into words.Beautiful <3

    Love and hugs from India.

  404. I read this while listening to this beautiful Bangla song of love and rain,and it made for such a sublime experience,I can’t put it into words.Beautiful ❤

    Love and hugs from India.

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