Just make the pain go away
“Just make the pain go away, please, make it stop. I just want to fix it. To feel better.” I get asked this from time to time by clients. Hell, I’ve even said this myself to my own therapist. Or words to that effect. “When will it stop, how do I feel better.”
Words dripping with desperation. Desperation to feel better. To not experience the enormity, sometimes overwhelming experience, of big emotions, like grief, despair, sadness, hopelessness, jealousy, shame, guilt, humiliation, suicidality.
It is a commonly shared part of the human condition that we just want to experience the “good'“ emotions. And wish away the “hard” ones, the hard times. Look, fair enough, right? Who wants to sit with the uncomfortable emotions that seem to conjure up such massive responses in our nervous systems to the point where often our physiology is affected. Sometimes we get headaches, loss of appetite, sleeplessness, irritability, lack of concentration… you name it.
I’m careful here, because offering a shared experience for pain could be misperceived as contrite. In no way is people’s pain comparable. It simply isn’t. People’s pain is real, valid and relative. Emotional, psychological, physical, even financial pain - it’s all real and individualised. The trap of comparison only seeks to spiral us further into isolation. So hold the next description with grace.
When I wake up with fingers and toes that are stiff, thick and sore, almost immobile, I sigh. Again, another morning where aging might be showing up earlier than I had anticipated or would like. Again, another morning where I have to spend time gently and slowly making small movements and exercises to wake up my fingers and stretch my toes and feet, so that I can get going in the day.
While I am very fortunate and privileged to have close and supportive friends, some even physically nearby in proximity, who would reach out and provide support, the recognition that asking for this at 5.30am in the morning is slightly unreasonable prompts me. In this moment I am prompted to reflect. Again. On a lesson I have learnt over and over again. But it has grown and evolved to be healthier over time. With the great, big help of my therapist.
In this moment, I have to do it myself.
In this moment, I remind myself of my capacity, capabilities and even need, to care for myself.
I’ll be honest, from time to time in the past, this has been filled with resentment and loneliness. That I have to take care of myself. “Can’t someone just take the pain away? Why is it so easy for others? Where is my support? I’m sick of doing it on my own”, I’d cry.
But these days, I have done the work to arrive at the space of, “I can do it myself and I need to do it myself, and that is ok”. It no longer comes from a place of self pity, rage or envy. I’ve done the work to realise that no-one, even when the most supportive person is there, can do the work to take my pain away for me. That I need to look inside, dig deep, face my shit, and do it myself. Don’t get me wrong, we all need support, guidance and external people and tools along the way. Markers and bumpers and reminders. People and professionals who really do care and who’ve trekked a little further down the path. We need each other. But there’s also a piece of the puzzle that is reserved just for us. And that’s where the gold is. The magic. It is a deeper learning, healing and growth moment to be able to “do the work” and come out the other side of that particular tunnel of pain, and know that you can do it. To trust that you can take yourself through that experience of hard emotions, of deep pain.
Arriving at the self-trust and self-belief piece is the gold. That no matter what comes up in life, that you now know that you have what it takes to go through, yes yet again, another tunnel of pain. But this time to be more skilled, a little wiser along the way, and maybe even proud that you can do it.
So at 5.30am, I slid my legs out of bed and slowly sat up. Reaching for my long, house cardigan and slippers I glided to the kitchen. I pulled up a recipe that looked achievable, and went about making myself a turmeric paste that would hopefully sooth my aching fingers. It was a meditative time, a quiet special time of the day that I often took pleasure in being crisp, untouched and all mine for a moment. There, in my kitchen, I was proud of my efforts. Who knew how much the paste would help or if I’d done it right, but I’d tried something. I’d started the process of taking the pain away by moving towards it, not ignoring or neglecting it, nor leaning into any emotion that tried to detract me from my focus of progressing through the tunnel. I simply acknowledged it, kept going step by step. I’d proven to myself, yet again, that I could help and care for myself. And that it was a healthy, necessary, good thing.
Careful not to misunderstand here. The risk is some of you may read this and think “Great, I’m just all alone in the world, there’s no-one there to help or save me,” and further spiral into the pits of despair. That’s not the point at all.
I most definitely would, and have, reached out to others when I’ve needed to. We do need to. And there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s a whole learning and healing process in itself, sometimes.
And there’s been plenty, PLENTY, of times when bearing witness to another’s deep pain in sessions is heartbreaking and I wish more than anything I had a magic wand or pill and could remove the pain for them. But I can’t, no-one can. Not even them. The point is about facing the pain and figuring out how to sit with it and get through it. With support.
The risk for many, is because we cling to the desperate desire for a big, miraculous, Hollywood moment where we simply “feel better” or “it’s all done”, is that we overlook all of the smaller moments where we actually are doing it and “fixing” it. It’s in the fractions of change. The micro, almost imperceptible shifts.
