When we are stuck in chronic pain, our world shrinks and becomes measured. How long can I walk? Can I sit in that chair? Will I make it through my meeting without searing pain?
Objects that were once invisible now remind us of our limitations and inability to collaborate and meet the world on its terms.
I know this experience all too well. I have been given many diagnoses: scoliosis, herniated disks (seven), stenosis, retrolethesis, sciatica, lumbarization of the sacrum, SI joint dysfunction, piriformis syndrome, a spinal cord syrinx, and most scary of all – tethered cord syndrome which would require spinal cord surgery. There were periods when I could only crawl on the floor or couldn’t get out of bed at all.
If I did manage to get up, I would have to bring props with me everywhere I went: a back cushion, a seat, a Tens machine, an ultrasound machine, an infrared mat. Each device was a visible reminder of my limitations. It was mortifying and depressing, and it was all I knew.
I went to chiropractors, ten different physical therapists, multiple physiologists, and neurologists, but no one could give me the long-term relief I sought. The chiropractor offered temporary respite – sweet moments of relief that never lasted.
And though I was doing everything I knew to do, my pain got worse and worse and worse.
I was so depressed. I watched life passing me by through a fog of constant pain until my therapist recommended I look into MindBody Pain work. That was the turning point that changed my life.
All pain is created in the brain – whether there is a structural issue or not. The classic example is that the brain will turn off pain signals if we are in danger – like having a broken ankle but being chased by a lion. And it will turn it back on to protect us. Pain is protective. But like an overbearing mother, it can get hypervigilant and inadvertently start creating more and more pain with less and less stimulation. What guides this is our attention to the pain itself. The more we think about pain, the more the brain creates.
This makes perfect sense when we understand our brain’s filtering system. It receives so much information every millisecond that it needs to prioritize what it experiences. When you think about something constantly, the brain marks it as essential. It becomes like our own personal algorithm, refeeding us with what we have focused on.
So, part of the process of unraveling the pain cycle is to stop focusing on the pain. I know what you’re thinking: “Sure. If I could do that, I would have already done it.” But some of that process can begin with a simple word swap. When we stop using the word pain, the brain stops prioritizing it.
I started by saying things like, “I’m not as comfortable as I’d like to be.” Then, something shifted. I began to imagine my body had a specific personality. Any discomfort became simply information she was trying to convey. “She’s really chatty today.” “She’s trying to tell me something. She didn’t love doing that hot yoga class.”
While my body still talks to me through sensation, I’m no longer in chronic pain. I don’t carry big props with me anywhere. In fact, I’m not even sure where my tens machine is.
My body remains in motion, needing care and respect. I’ve learned to listen to her. I often say to her, “You never need to yell at me; I will listen to a whisper, I promise.” And I do.
So when she whispers that I need to stretch, I stretch. That is our deal. And it is a good one.
My body gets to communicate with me, and now she is the one who is quiet and measured while the world expands before me with limitless possibilities.
