This is hard to share but now feels like the right time.
September marks ten years of experiencing chronic pain. One decade of almost-daily widespread pain. No diagnosis, no cure, no treatment. In 2009, the pain started as an intense “injury” in my neck with no real cause. I chalked it up to starting grad school and a new job. Over the years, the pain would spread to my jaw and shoulder. Later my low back, opposite foot, then in 2016, my hip and entire leg. I’ve tried pain pills, physical therapy, numbing injections, chiropractic work, massages, Reiki, and everything in between. Over time, it became my new normal. To wake up in pain. To spend the entire day in some degree of pain. To fall asleep in pain. It was there constantly. Day and night, stressful times or otherwise. Nothing helped, but nothing made it tremendously worse. So I carried on.
Chronic pain is invisible and to the outside world, I look young, healthy, and happy. I didn’t talk about it for a very long time because I didn’t know how to really. I didn’t want people to judge me or treat me differently either. I still can’t quite put into words what it’s like to live being so consumed by pain. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. All consuming.
My pain had never limited me, or so I thought, until my yoga teacher training in 2016. I cried every weekend (for 10 weeks); and for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to feel. Sad, overwhelmed, inadequate, like a failure. My pain held me back from doing things all the other students could. It was at this time that I realized how much of my life had been dictated by my pain. The kind of mood I’d be in, how I’d treat others, how active I could be, how kind I was to myself. I couldn’t sit still or stand for long periods of time. Hiking, climbing, yoga, or anything else active always took more effort than it should. There were days when simply walking felt like just too much.
Having chronic pain has been extremely isolating. Until getting married, I never really had to share this part of my life with anyone. I know very few people who can relate to the toll it takes on a person. Sure, there’s the debilitating physical pain, lack of answers, sleep disturbances, and being unable to participate in life as fully as I’d like. But what is really hard to talk about is the horrible things I began to believe about myself and my abilities. That I either deserve this pain or would never be able to get rid of it. That I’m unable to be active, work full-time, or travel. That I’m not strong enough for so many things. That there would just be certain parts of life I would maybe never get to experience.
How exhausting it is day in and day out to dedicate so much brain capacity to worrying about the pain—why is it there? Is it something more serious? Can I fix it with this or that? What if I try x, y, or z this time? Is the pain my fault? Is it the way I move or work out or the food I eat or my emotional state? If I go hiking, will I be out of commission for the following two days? Can I handle a job where I stand for 6-8 hours a day? What if I hurt myself and can no longer teach (or dance or surf or walk)? What if? What if? What if?
I understand now that my physical pain is a warning sign – a cry for help from my own body. I become stressed easily and I often feel anxious. I am learning to be kind with myself, to fully feel my feelings, to ask for help when I need it. I like to think I carried my pain for so long so it could teach me to slow down, learn more, heal, and eventually help others. I have to consistently remind myself to listen to my body. Rest more. Grow stronger. Be vulnerable. Share my story but don’t play the victim forever. Release tension and stress. Move my body daily. Quiet my mind and just listen. Sit with the uncomfortable emotions that are inevitable in life—anger, sadness, grief, worry, low self-esteem, lack of self-worth, negative self-talk. Experience it all. Don’t shove it down or laugh it off. Release it all. Feel sad, lost, disempowered. But move on. Pick myself up again and never stop trying.