I experience chronic pain. Sometimes it is so severe and persistent, the thought spiral so intense and automatic, that my mind feels like a tornado. Even under the calmest of circumstances, the nature of the mind is to narrate, explain, and try to make sense of the information it takes in from the environment and from the body. But when things are anything but calm, when we’re in the middle of an intensely painful experience, overwhelmed with sensory information, our gauge of reality can be quite poor. And yet this is often when the mind becomes most active, groping in the dark for something to bring order and peace to our nervous systems.

A friend who is an advanced meditator told me that when you’re experiencing fear, you’ve got to set everything out on the table and look at it. When I started doing that, I found all kinds of unhelpful hidden beliefs that were living just under the surface of my consciousness. But it didn’t stop there, because once I started writing the beliefs down, I immediately found my mind wanting to convert them into something kinder. So I wrote down the kinder, more compassionate rebuttals to the knee-jerk unconscious beliefs, and found that sometimes those seemed too one-dimensional to ring true, too. So I wrote down the flip side of those rebuttals and found that there is a pretty much unending dialogue going on in my brain as it tries to hold all the complexity of reality. Sometimes following the dialogue helps me arrive at more peace. Other times, it doesn’t. It seems like it could go on and on forever, only destabilizing my sense of what I actually believe and complicating and intensifying the tornado. Until I wonder if maybe some unconscious, fear-driven beliefs can’t be quelled with thinking.

Maybe there is an answer somewhere that’s deeper than thinking, quieter than thinking, and kinder than thinking. In search of that answer, I place my beliefs on the table, straight from the thought stream, in as unadulterated a form as possible. Here they are, for contemplation, connection, or perhaps nothing more than excavation.

Beliefs coming from fear of the sensations

This is forever—this is just a moment. As meditation has taught me time and again, everything is temporary—rather than just waiting for the moment to pass, it is beneficial to keep one foot in the world of clock time, tracking symptoms through journaling, for instance, to see how close to “forever” these symptoms really are occurring

I will never fully get rid of my pain—welcome to being human; pain is a part of every life—does it have to be? Isn’t so much of our suffering unnecessary and due to unconsciousness?

I can’t move with this pain—I have accomplished so many things while in pain; I’ve invented games to entertain my 4-year-old nephew, performed operas, taken the GREs. I CAN move with pain—Is it ever a good idea to push through signals that are indicating STOP? Am I severing my connection with my deep self every time I violate it?

Moving with pain will make this worse—moving in nourishing, delicious ways is sometimes the best thing to do with pain. Movement is a treasured tool, not something to fear—I can’t always find nourishing ways to move and that can stress me out more

If I allow myself to fully feel this pain, it will get worse, and I might collapse, faint, or die—running away from the pain and trying to not fully feel it only exacerbates it—when the pain is so bad and so constant that there is excessive panic and desperation, it is kind to break the cycle with minimal medication or distraction to preserve sanity

If I don’t allow myself to fully feel the pain, I will lose touch with myself—Past a certain severity level, the pain makes me lose touch with the outside world as all attention is forced inward, and I wonder: is the self only made up of thoughts and physical sensations? Or is it determined by relationships to other humans, animals, objects, Nature? Will I lose touch with myself more if I retreat into my body and my pain?—The answer may be in balancing experiencing the pain and orienting outwards

Beliefs from societal conditioning

I have to strengthen my muscles, hit the gym, lift weights, run, experience pain if I want to experience gain—intrinsic strength comes from the Earth, from surrendering to my body’s inherently efficient coordination—if my sensory perception is off, I might need to build tone in order to restore a better balance in my body and nervous system; something might feel like work at first if I am used to collapsing

I can’t live a good life, be valuable, contribute anything, with this much pain—look, I’m writing something right now. That’s contributing—Should I search to find something that counts as contributing, or should I question the structures and voices that tell me I need to contribute something material to be a worthwhile person in the first place? What if my presence on this Earth and working to heal and awaken my own consciousness were contribution enough?

I can’t make plans with this instability—good friends will be understanding if I have to cancel—living without being tied to a calendar or a to-do list is an excellent thing for anyone to try for a time; when I have unexpected energy, I am surprised with how much spontaneous fun is available from the universe as soon as I open to it

I can’t date with chronic pain—I am more than my pain; romance and sex can be a relaxing, pleasurable escape; I am in control of how much of my struggle a partner needs to see—trying to date someone who doesn’t have compassion for my pain or can’t see my humanity and wholeness through my struggles leads to more performance, less authenticity, and more tension, ultimately hindering me on my path toward healing; however, dating someone who does have capacity can provide opportunity for vulnerability and a deep connection

There isn’t enough money/resource to support me for as long as I will need—I am lucky to have a support system of family and friends that allows me to take time for healing; this is the reality and denying that is a warped perspective born out of fear and shame and probably part of why I’m in pain in the first place—if I truly accept the support and approach my struggle with compassion, I stand a better chance of making a full recovery and bringing my love and insight into whatever I do with my life

I need to figure out where my pain originated—this is the mind trying to heal a problem that may be beyond the mind’s capacity to solve—maybe I don’t have to shove my mind out of the equation; called upon in balance with other sources of wisdom, the intellect can provide a piece of the answer

This is physiological—even if there’s a structural component, pain is experienced in the brain and does not necessarily equal tissue damage—pain this bad is sending a real message, and dealing with the physiological symptoms provides real relief, so it’s important to keep up with yoga and other practices that give me an experience of safety in my body

This is psychological/emotional/energetic—somatization, the expression of mental phenomena as physical symptoms, is not any less of a real experience of pain and in fact may be a more distressing diagnosis to receive if it means traditional biomedicine will not help—there is tremendous hope in knowing my body is fine and I can heal

Beliefs around the idea of acceptance

Relaxing too much leads to a collapse and weakness—breakdown leads to rebirth, and receiving the Earth’s support leads to ability to harness intrinsic strength—obsessing over relaxing can lead to a deadening, not allowing the energy to flow through

Left to its own devices, my body/mind will be lazy and give up—my life force is vibrant and I want to thrive—going overboard with just doing what feels good can lead to only giving in to urges and habitual patterns that are not helpful, such as avoidance, escaping, obsessive fixing, being judgmental

If I don’t fix this, it will not improve—it’s not my job to get rid of the pain—there’s a difference between passivity and nonjudgmental awareness. Listening to the wise self is the most important piece to healing; I possess the inherent resources deep down to heal, and nobody knows better than I do what I need

Acceptance is giving up—acceptance is freedom, it is listening to myself, it is opening to what is rather than what I think should be, and this is the only place from which true healing can spring—acceptance is a practice and it’s not all sunshine and roses; it doesn’t mean never pushing myself to do something hard

Second arrow beliefs (based on a Buddhist parable that says we can’t always avoid being struck by an arrow as we walk through the woods, but we can avoid adding the second arrow of suffering to our pain with our own judgments, condemnation, future projections, etc)

I created this and/or I am perpetuating it; this is my fault—even if I created this, it is from lack of awareness rather than presence of fault—it may not be my fault, but it is my problem, and cultivating awareness and learning everything I can to help myself may be my only hope as well as the best and cheapest treatment available

Others have healed using x method, I should be able to, too, and am failing if I haven’t yet—there is beauty and value in the uniqueness of my path and the discoveries I make on it, no matter what the outcome— if others have healed, that only proves that it’s possible, and this can be a source of inspiration on my journey as well as a tool to help me examine where my healing process might be blocked

This proves my inherently weak, flawed nature—in fact, this affliction gives me no choice but to be strong; everyday tasks require huge efforts, and coaching myself internally throughout the day is a full-time job—is being weak and flawed unique to someone with illness? Does being weak and flawed mean someone isn’t whole or doesn’t deserve love and kindness? Do I have to run away from feeling weak and flawed or risk being stuck here forever?

I deserve this—if everyone gets what they deserve, why do any violent criminals go around in perfect physical health? It doesn’t work that way—I want to look at life through a lens of gratitude and wonder rather than entitlement or fear

Others are happier with less, so I am selfish and stupid to have distress and depression—the severity of my pain is not shameful; it is a catalyst and indicative of my high consciousness and sensitivity­—rather than glamorize my suffering and become complacent, I want to recognize that this pain is calling me to look at something with more honesty, more loving-kindness, more curiosity and awareness. It is calling me to a higher level of consciousness, and it’s going to be a lot of work.

Conclusion

Sometimes my mind is brilliant at turning a fear into a convincing affirmation, and other times I’m just spinning my wheels. In those moments when I can’t convert my distress into a narrative that makes me feel calmer, is there any reason to do a written exercise instead of some deep breathing or yoga? Well, for one, I find great value in connecting with another consciousness through sharing written and spoken stories. Writing also puts distance between myself and the thoughts, providing a feeling of safety. Still, in the end, maybe I don’t need to know why it’s useful. Maybe it won’t prove to be useful at all. And perhaps there, in the space where I don’t need to escape into comfort and certainty, where I allow myself to be open to experience, is where true liberation lives.