It used to be a ritual. Spending hours outside in the snow photographing the ways winter has touched the woods and forest preserves nearby. Bundled up   I’d take my time. I’d walk for hours through the woods, music blasting in my ears. It was therapeutic and it felt human.  The cold is now an annoyance. It hinders my existence here in McHenry, Illinois. It hurts. My fibromyalgia causes the pain, my nerves perceive every sensation differently than able bodies. It burns with pain all day long, existing will always be painful for me. But in the face of cold temperatures, I am a torch gone up in flames. The cold whips my face with a thousand tiny little lashes at once. My eyes leak, my joints stiffen, and I clench my jaw at the pain. These days I only spend time outside getting to and from my car and destinations. I don’t spend time outside because it’s uncomfortable, but because it physically harms me. People forget this, when I comment about the cold being too much for me. It’s always an erasure of my struggle when they respond with a vague insincere, “Oh, me too!”.