{image credit :: spcbrass}

Most of us have had them – those moments when we’re absolutely, positively convinced that this wrenching pain inside our souls has just got to be the biggest the world has ever seen. We think that if the if the rest of the world had to suffer this much, well… we’re pretty certain that civilization couldn’t possibly have developed as it did. We ache and we hurt and we may even feel angry that no one can know this pain inside our hearts.

And then we get back the Mr. Potato Head and feel better, right? Kidding!

In some ways, this sense that our pain is distinctive does mirror a childlike sense of uniqueness. As very young children, we see our environment as an extension of ourselves. Essentially, the world revolves around us (and it sort of does – have you seen how many toddlers own iPads?) and it takes a while to develop an awareness of other people and the fact that they experience emotions. (You mean kicking daddy in the shin hurts him?)

Now, I’m not saying we’re all a bunch of overgrown toddlers with no awareness of one another. In fact, many of us have too much awareness of one another! But our experience of our own pain can sometimes reflect that sense that no one can possibly know how this feels. And as a grown-up in the world, that’s a pretty lonely place to be.

When we perceive that our pain is somehow greater than the next guys – our day at work was harder, our mother’s cancer is in a farther stage of progression, our break-up was on Facebook and not just through text – we suddenly are gearing up for the Pain Olympics. It’s an elite event in which only the most victimized survive.

Sports featured in this daily occasion are Career, Health, Finances, Relationships, Family, and everyone’s favorite, The Universe Just Totally Screwed Me. Players battle it over out such important issues as whose trip to the dentist was more painful and who has to spend more time with creepy Uncle Sal at Thanksgiving.

The problem with the Pain Olympics is that no one ever seems to win. The battles rage on as we become more and more defeated trying to defend just how hard we have it. Our strength, the limited amount we have considering the crap we’re dealing with, slowly diminishes. And eventually, everyone seems to forfeit.

Thinking our pain is worse than others isn’t inherently bad. Heck, for all we know, it is worse! But what happens when we attach so firmly to that belief is that we find ourselves alone on an island of our pain. We’ve alienated anyone that might be able to relate – to whatever degree that might be possible – and we’ve adopted the victim role. And the victim never wins.

So how do you win the Pain Olympics? You throw down your sword and armor and you get out of the fight. That doesn’t mean defeat and it doesn’t even mean letting go of the belief that you have it worse off. It simply means dropping the battle and allowing others to help ease your pain rather than challenging it. It takes courage. And it definitely deserves a medal.

Do you ever feel like you have to defend your pain? 

{image credit :: Corryne Wooten}

The lovely Sui, of Cynosure fame, asked me recently about what I do to show myself kindness. [It’s for a really cool project she’s working on, so stay tuned!] It really got me thinking about self-care and how it’s so much more complicated than manicures and getting a good night’s sleep.

As I told Sui, I tend to be pretty conservative when it comes to trying new things. I’ve talked about that before. So in order to widen my scope of life and not live in a tiny bubble, I have to push myself at times to step – or leap – outside my comfort zone. A good example of this was when I tried yoga for the first time. While I’d been curious about the practice for ages, my fear of falling over and making a fool of myself ruled the roost for a long time. When I finally got up the nerve to give it a go, I feel in love with the practice. It’s now regularly part of my self-care routine.

But one thing I’ve learned is that when I pack my schedule full of “self-care” activities – when I try to jam in eleven supposedly relaxing activities into one day – I find myself totally burnt out. And when I stop listening to my body, I feel drained and depleted.

It usually starts out subtly. I notice a nagging that feels like a pulling inside my chest. When I start to listen a little more closely I notice that my mind is keeping pace – it’s starting to whisper that I really don’t feel like practicing Spanish tonight. The voice usually gets louder until I have to pay attention to it – and I have to make a decision. At that point I notice that there might be one part of my brain that tries to convince me that my lack of interest is related to me being a.) lazy b.) a wimp c.) dull. I’ve found that I have to just notice these thoughts and not allow myself to attach to them. [Minds do funny things!]

I have to go back to the feeling – usually in my body – and try to evaluate what’s really going on. Maybe I’m just tired after a long day and I don’t have the mental energy for Spanish tonight. Maybe my body is trying to gently tell me that I really don’t even care about learning Spanish. Or maybe it’s telling me that it’s just not the right time in my life to be committing to this particular endeavor. Whatever it is, giving myself space to look a little more deeply, with curiosity instead of judgment, allows for some powerful revelations.

Sometimes I end up studying the Spanish, or going to yoga, or meeting friends for brunch. But other times I stay home in bed and stream Netflix. ¿Comprende?

Are you able to be gentle with yourself with self-care? What kinds of things do you enjoy to nourish your soul?

{image credit :: annie varland}

“My mom should understand that I cannot be who she wants me to be. She should respect who I am,” the woman says with indignation.

Oh, should she?

It sounds rational enough. A parent should respect the person that their child has become and should love her unconditionally. Makes sense to me. What about you? But then, that’s colored by my own expectations of what parenthood means. And that’s colored by things like my own experience being parented, the cultural messages about parenting I have internalized, and even by all my tangled expectations about how relationships should function. It’s shoulds on top of shoulds on top of shoulds.

And you know what you get while you pile shoulds on top of one another?

I don’t know either, but it’s not good.

What if we considered disengaging from that thought? What if we were willing to consider that perhaps a parent shouldn’t love a child unconditionally if they do not?

Confused yet?

This radical way of approaching our thoughts, and thus the world, is part of The Work of Byron Katie. Katie, who emerged from a deep depression and reports coming out on the other side with a spiritual and mental awakening, suggests that to change our lives, we have to change our relationship with our thoughts.

Ever the model of balance, in Katie’s style of simultaneous gentleness and firmness, she challenges individuals to accept what is, rather than what they would like to be true.

Things should be the way they are, she asserts, not the way we’d like them to be.

So if we think that our friend should have paid for dinner the other night? He shouldn’t have. Why? Because he didn’t.

It’s that simple. But then again, it’s not.

Katie’s theory of inquiring into our own thoughts and accepting the reality of what is can come as a slap in the face to us – particularly those of us who have spent years – decades even – holding firmly to our beliefs of what “should” be.

For some, giving up the notion of what should be can even feel like totally abandoning ourselves. If we acknowledge that things are just because they are, that staying angry or hurt or frustrated causes us suffering and not the other person, well… that’s a hard pill to swallow.

And yet it’s the only pill, according to Katie. It’s the only way to move forward peacefully. If we want to live our lives honestly, clearly, and without suffering (and who the heck doesn’t want that, right?), we have to come to an acceptance of what is.

We don’t have to love it, or even like. But if we want peace, we have to accept it. Eeek!

I suspect, however, that with enough practice, we will learn to love it. I know that I’ve found this to be true. I hate pain as much as the next lady, but I’m also able to say thank you for it. Thank you, pain, for teaching me what I needed so desperately to be taught. Thank you for rearing your ugly, I mean lovely, head, getting up in my business, and showing me the way. Thank you for knocking me down so that I could build myself back up. Thank you for trusting that I’d be strong enough to face you. Thank you.

That’s the beauty of loving what is.

Are you raging against reality? What have you come to accept?

So let go, jump in,

Oh well, watcha waiting for,

It’s alright because,

There’s beauty in the breakdown.

The fact that pain is one of the most beautiful manifestations of the human condition is often little comfort when, say, your foot is stuck under the dresser you’ve just dropped on it. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

I’m not sadist, truly, but I feel so grateful every day to be made part of the pain that my patients endure. It’s not that I cause the suffering – I actually don’t believe we can create suffering from someone else. And this isn’t because human suffering keeps me employed, but rather because it means that my patients are truly alive. That instance in which they feel gut-wrenching emotion can be like finding a pulse on a person whose been flat-lining as the people around them squeeze their eyes tight and hold their breath.

To be fair, many of the people I work with have their endured their fair share of pain. They’re brave as hell. And I won’t go so far as to say that each of them should count their blessings every night that they have suffered. But there is something truly spectacular about pain, something magical almost.

We rage against it, our minds drawing their whips and lashing out against it’s arrival. But still it comes, sneaking in at just the moment we let our shoulders relax. Suddenly, it’s there.

Sometimes that pain is bright and colorful, a spectacle in the night sky, illuminating the murky air. Sometimes it’s penetrating, a deep ache that moans from within. Sometimes we don’t know it’s there, hiding in the recesses of our souls, until suddenly we do, and we can no longer not look.

But whatever shape it takes, however deep it’s roots reach, our pain is our smelling salts, drawing us awake and out of the unconscious abyss.

As hard as we rail against it, we are no match for pain. But suffering – that’s another story.

Pain we must endure because that’s the cost of admission to humanity. But suffering is a choice, one that comes when we do all the raging and resisting and foot stomping.

When we boil it down, we might think of suffering is the experience of pain plus fear.

It’s what happens when we tell ourselves, “I just can’t bear it!” We regail ourselves with stories of how we’re not strong enough, this is too much, we don’t deserve to feel this – or maybe we do – and that we just cannot go on living if it’s going to be this way. Suffering looks like pushing away, when pain calls for pulling in – pulling in our strongest resolve to feel.

A colleague of mine shared a metaphor with me recently. She said that it’s kind of like standing on the shore with your shins covered in water, your back to the vastness of the ocean. If we stand there long enough, letting the waves build and build and continuing to stare at the shore, we know what will happen – we’ll inevitably be knocked over. And that will hurt. But if we can just turn around, will ourselves to look at the “monster” that is working to knock us over, we see that there’s actually a sea of beauty awaiting us. And we can decide to gently take a step back – or even a step forward – bending our body so as to ride the waves rather than succumb to them.

That’s kind of what it’s like.

We’re urging everyone this month to turn around, to look at the ocean of pain in your own life, and to reflect on it openly. I hope you will take part in this month’s Word by Word series. Learn how to here.