My Meltdown Over A Jar of Jelly

I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start if I tried to count all the tears I’ve shed because of psoriatic arthritis. I’ve cried for the uncertainty of my future. I’ve cried for the person I used to be. I even cried because one day, one of my children might develop psoriatic arthritis. And I know it seems silly, looking back on it, of all the things to cry over, why would I cry over a jar of jelly?

Just the usual day

The day started out like any other. Morning stiffness and pain plaguing the whole first hour of my day. Most people were waking up to sunshine and chirping birds while I was waking to swollen feet and back pain. To be honest, I didn’t wake up in my usual mood. I was sullen, angry even. Like a rare dark cloud loomed over me.

Brick walls

Per the usual, I had quite a lot that I wanted to get done for the day. Laundry, dishes, and keeping tiny humans alive for another day, just to name a few. However, no matter what I did, it seemed my PsA pain and fatigue kept getting in the way. I couldn’t push down the button on the fabric softener dispenser. Lifting the heavy plates and pans out of the dishwasher sentenced me to a half-hour rest on the couch. It was like I just kept hitting these brick walls in my day, all because I have psoriatic arthritis.

The jar of jelly

Then it came time for lunch. I opted for one of the easiest (yet kid approved) lunches out there, PB&J. I somehow managed to wrangle the twisty tie off the bread and get the peanut butter slathered on. Then, the jelly happened. That darn jar of jelly.

You know the kind of jar I’m talking about. The one that apparently NO ONE has EVER taken the time to clean the grooves in the lid? This sticky, gooey, stuck-on mess would prove to be my downfall.

Grippers, banging, jar openers, hot water, I tried them all. With the noise of my hungry children ringing in my ears and the feeling that I spent my entire day banging my head against the PsA wall I just couldn’t take it anymore.


When I just couldn’t take it anymore, jar in hand and tears spilling over my eyes, I slid down the wall until I landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. My head hanging in my hands, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Psoriatic arthritis won. I had no fight left in me.

My kids looked at me with big, shocked eyes. After all, this behavior was WAY out of the norm for me. They must have been stunned into silence by my epic meltdown over a jar of jelly. Looking back, I’m sure it must have frightened them quite a bit as with glistening eyes I sent them to their rooms.

They can’t see me this way.

This is not the example I want to set for them.

It is all JUST TOO MUCH.

In the silence that followed, I calmed my breathing, blew my nose, and dried my eyes.

What was wrong with me?

How can I salvage this situation?

Why did living with psoriatic arthritis have to be so dang hard all the time?

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