For the past few days, I’ve been in a lot of a pain.
I think I have a pinched nerve in my neck. I tend to carry stress in my shoulders and back, and I got super cold a few days before the pain started, so my back sort of seized up with the chills. One thing led to another and a tight muscle in my shoulder turned into a pinched nerve in my neck. I’m actually typing this entry while I’m propped up on my sofa with a few pillows and a heating pad, and I’m miraculously hitting all the keys on my laptop with a numb forefinger and thumb. (Clearly, nothing can keep me from writing!!)
There’s never a good time to find yourself in a “pinch” of this sort, but this week is an important week for me, and I really wanted to be the best version of myself. But it is what it is, and I’m doing my best to stay positive and hopeful for this to pass, and, I’m doing my best to look at this experience of crazy-bad pain to discover a few more insights in my life.
So here’s something I think is truly useful that came out of this pain…
The very first night I was in pain, it was pretty awful. I just couldn’t get comfortable. All night, I kept trying different positions and various pillow options, but nothing worked for more than a few minutes. Many years ago, I had this little television that had an antenna, and sometimes, I’d be in the middle of a show and the signal would get scrambled. So I would have to get up and move the “rabbit ears” around to try to improve the picture on the screen so I could keep watching the story unfold.
My efforts would work for a few minutes or so, but then my neighbor would inevitably flick a light switch, or turn on their blender, and I’d be at it again, adjusting the antenna so I could keep watching my show. That’s exactly how I felt on the first night with this neck pain — except for no neighbors were involved, and I wasn’t missing a great TV show.
All I was really missing was some much needed sleep!
(NOTE: For those millienials reading this, trying to work with a weak cell signal while posting an all-important thought or selfie on social media is an equally solid comparison — just in case you’ve never heard of “rabbit ears” or a television antenna.)
When my pain was at it’s most unbearable that first night, I tried to focus on my breathing while meditating and praying. Dropping into the pain seemed to help a little, but more than anything, it encouraged a new layer of understanding in my life. I haven’t experienced this kind of pain for a very long time, and so it’s easy for me to take things like feeling well for granted. But there were moments on that first night (in particular) when I would’ve done just about anything to get a reprieve from the pain. I just wanted a break, and I felt so frustrated by the fact that nothing I could think of was helping.
That’s when I started to think about people who live their entire lives with chronic, unending pain inside of them.
Whether it’s physical, emotional or spiritual, pain is very real, and when it’s all you can think about, it can literally take over your life. It can consume you, and even if you find a way to repress it, or perhaps dull it — or even escape it for a minute — there is no lasting relief until the root cause of the pain is isolated, and in some cases, drastic measures are taken to bring forth honest healing.
The past couple of weeks have opened up my eyes and given me a lot to think about when it comes to the topic of pain. I’ve met some brave women in my midst who walk around with deep wounds and untouchable pain in their eyes. Some of them have tried to find ways to escape the worst of it, which in turn has caused them even more heartache… While other women I’ve met just stay quiet and lonely in their sadness and hurt. Either way, it can be a destructive spiral, and one that I’ve never fully checked into with my heart opened up the way it is now.
Lately, I’ve done more than I ever have to try to identify with the pain in the stories of other people, and it’s changed me. It has increased my empathy, I suppose, and given me insight into the fact that there are no simple fixes or shortcuts when it comes to addressing real pain. I know my neck will get better — in fact, I’m a little better today than I was yesterday, so I have reason to believe that I’m on the mend. And I know that the throbbing pain I’ve experienced in my neck is temporary. But here’s a new revelation:
The hope and belief I have that I will get passed my pain is a precious gift, too.
It’s kind of like my television flashback. My life story has only been temporarily interrupted by this literal pain in my neck. And, I have this solid belief that with a little time and the benefit of a heating pad and some anti-inflammatories, things will clear up for me so I can get back to the story of my life that I want to keep living. I’ve merely been sidelined, and as such, nothing has stolen my hope of better days ahead. There is no reason to believe my life won’t get back to “normal” any day now. But for some people who are in the deepest throws of their pain, that’s simply not how they see things… They have little hope and maybe a total lack of reasons to believe that their life will ever get better.
Before I stopped to consider all of this, it was easy for me to recognize how thankful I should be for my good health and vitality. Even when I was tossing and turning on the first night of my pain, I could forecast ahead and see that “this too shall pass,” knowing with great confidence that those words are completely true. But today, I’m profoundly aware of how blessed I am to have an enduring hope woven into my faith to use as my guide when things are not going well for me. It’s like I have a bubble of belief in me that never deflates, and even when I’m at my lowest point, this breath of life inside of me constantly lifts me up so I can keep going.
What an amazing discovery to find in the shadows of my very real, albeit temporary pain…
Today, I feel this clear gathering of purpose in my life that seems to be aligning with my two greatest gifts: my gift of storytelling, and the gift of hope I seem to have in spades. I’m incredibly thankful that I can see this right now — even when I’m typing with numb fingers and a limited ability to see what lies ahead!
