What I’ve learnt about pain

I’m a little hesitant to hit ‘publish’ on this one. I don’t want to be The Girl Who Talks About Her Pain Online.

But this is not about my pain. Well, it’s not just about my pain. It’s about pain that exists everywhere — in our bodies, hearts, minds, families, organisations and societies.

In so many ways, we are broken. Again and again. Mending these hurts — however small — takes time, patience, support and a world of acceptance.

Yet, we’re all (more than) a little hesitant to talk about pain.

Why?

Pain is unescapable and taxing — why are we busy pretending it’s not real? Why’re we pretending pain is an ‘happens to other people’ issue? What is it about pain that is so uncomfortable to discuss? I understand talking about pain is not the greatest party trick there is. It bogs the happy people down, it makes the optimists cringe, it makes the realists want to ‘fix’ things, and it allows people to ‘make a big deal’ about pain (whatever that means).

It’s not fun listening to (or telling) pain stories. And what’s not fun or shocking or hilarious does not have a space in conversation anymore, right?

I’ve watched this happen to people I know, people I love, and myself. Time and again, talk of pain is met with unsolicited advice (at best) and shame (at worst).

Why can’t we afford pain the space it deserves in conversations and relationships? A space between “oh, you poor thing” and “deal with it”. A space between “I completely understand what you’re going through” (no, you don’t) and “How much are you going to talk about your pain?” (it’s the only thing people can do, sometimes).

A lot of us are tough. Tougher than we need to be, even. Smiling and having conversations about the weather when we’d rather be somewhere more comforting. There’s far too much pain out there for people to be untouched, and for everyone to live in denial. It doesn’t make us any stronger, it only delays the eventual reality check our bodies, minds, and hearts are busy planning.

The brave thing to do here is perhaps what is viewed as weak and vulnerable and cowardly.

Talk. about. your. pain.

Talk about it until you’ve understood it better. Talk until it helps. Talk as you reflect on your healing. Talk to your doctor, your therapist, your friends, whoever is listening. Talk even if no one is listening. Write. Sing. Scream. Yell if you must. It’s probably not a part of your identity (and if it is, it’s okay). You don’t have to suffer alone, and you sure as hell don’t get a medal for being the Tough Silent Pain Tolerator.

It’s rubbish — this idea that tolerating pain silently makes you some noble beacon of strength. Maybe, just maybe, there is more merit in accepting your pain, understanding it, and healing yourself on your terms.

And if someone talks to you about their pain, listen. It takes a lot of courage for people to open up about their pain, honour that they chose you to speak with. If you can’t help, listen. If you have advice that you can’t support them with, maybe don’t give it. If you want to guess what is causing their pain, don’t.

Just listen. There’s a time and place for everything. And this one’s for empathy, listening, and support.