It’s hard to make people understand what I deal with every day. Just because I’m not screaming or crying doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It just means I’ve had a lot of practice keeping it together.
Pain Isn’t Always Visible
My pain is constant. It’s like background noise that never stops. But since you can’t see it, it’s easy for people to forget or misunderstand how much it affects everything I do. I’m not looking for sympathy or a free pass, but I do need people to know this isn’t something I can just “push through” or “get over.” It’s there when I wake up, and it’s there when I go to bed—every single day.
Why It Matters
When people don’t understand the pain, they make assumptions. They think I’m fine, so they expect more than I can give. They want me to do things I can’t, or they wonder why I’m not more engaged. In medical settings, if I don’t communicate my pain well, I don’t get the help I need. It’s frustrating when others downplay what I’m going through because it doesn’t match what they see.
The Brave Face
I’ve learned to put on a brave face. It’s automatic. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay. It just means I’m trying to survive. It’s easier to smile and say “I’m fine” than to go through the long explanation of what’s really happening. I don’t want to overwhelm people, but pretending everything is okay all the time is exhausting. And it creates a distance between me and the people I love.
The Strain on Relationships
Pain changes everything. It makes you withdraw because it’s hard to engage when you’re hurting. I don’t want to be a burden or the “sick” one all the time. But it’s also hard to be present when my body is screaming. It affects my relationship with Peter, my family, my friends. They want to help, but there’s only so much they can do. And when I’m trying to shield them from the worst of it, they sometimes feel shut out.
The Risk of Isolation
When people don’t get it, it’s easy to feel alone. Pain is already isolating, but when others don’t understand or acknowledge it, the loneliness is even worse. I’ve had to learn to be more direct about what I’m feeling and what I need, even if it’s uncomfortable. It’s better to be honest than to suffer in silence and feel resentful.
Finding Words for Pain
Explaining pain isn’t easy. Most of the time, I don’t have the energy to find the right words. But I’ve found that being specific helps. “It feels like a knife in my back,” or “My legs feel like they’re on fire.” It’s not about being dramatic; it’s about giving people a clearer picture of what I’m dealing with. They need to know it’s not just a bad day or a moment of discomfort—it’s relentless.
Why It’s Important
People need to understand, not just to be kind, but so they can really support me. If they don’t know what’s going on, they can’t help. And I can’t carry this alone. Pain is heavy enough without the weight of being misunderstood or dismissed on top of it.
While it’s important to communicate with those around us, the most crucial person to share our pain with is Christ. He understands in ways no one else can, even when words fail us. Bringing our pain to Him is not just a comfort, but a necessity, because He sees and knows every struggle, even the ones we can’t put into words.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.”
— Hebrews 4:15 (ESV)
It’s hard to make people understand what I deal with every day. Just because I’m not screaming or crying doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It just means I’ve had a lot of practice keeping it together.
Pain Isn’t Always Visible
My pain is constant. It’s like background noise that never stops. But since you can’t see it, it’s easy for people to forget or misunderstand how much it affects everything I do. I’m not looking for sympathy or a free pass, but I do need people to know this isn’t something I can just “push through” or “get over.” It’s there when I wake up, and it’s there when I go to bed—every single day.
Why It Matters
When people don’t understand the pain, they make assumptions. They think I’m fine, so they expect more than I can give. They want me to do things I can’t, or they wonder why I’m not more engaged. In medical settings, if I don’t communicate my pain well, I don’t get the help I need. It’s frustrating when others downplay what I’m going through because it doesn’t match what they see.
The Brave Face
I’ve learned to put on a brave face. It’s automatic. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay. It just means I’m trying to survive. It’s easier to smile and say “I’m fine” than to go through the long explanation of what’s really happening. I don’t want to overwhelm people, but pretending everything is okay all the time is exhausting. And it creates a distance between me and the people I love.
The Strain on Relationships
Pain changes everything. It makes you withdraw because it’s hard to engage when you’re hurting. I don’t want to be a burden or the “sick” one all the time. But it’s also hard to be present when my body is screaming. It affects my relationship with Peter, my family, my friends. They want to help, but there’s only so much they can do. And when I’m trying to shield them from the worst of it, they sometimes feel shut out.
The Risk of Isolation
When people don’t get it, it’s easy to feel alone. Pain is already isolating, but when others don’t understand or acknowledge it, the loneliness is even worse. I’ve had to learn to be more direct about what I’m feeling and what I need, even if it’s uncomfortable. It’s better to be honest than to suffer in silence and feel resentful.
Finding Words for Pain
Explaining pain isn’t easy. Most of the time, I don’t have the energy to find the right words. But I’ve found that being specific helps. “It feels like a knife in my back,” or “My legs feel like they’re on fire.” It’s not about being dramatic; it’s about giving people a clearer picture of what I’m dealing with. They need to know it’s not just a bad day or a moment of discomfort—it’s relentless.
Why It’s Important
People need to understand, not just to be kind, but so they can really support me. If they don’t know what’s going on, they can’t help. And I can’t carry this alone. Pain is heavy enough without the weight of being misunderstood or dismissed on top of it.
While it’s important to communicate with those around us, the most crucial person to share our pain with is Christ. He understands in ways no one else can, even when words fail us. Bringing our pain to Him is not just a comfort, but a necessity, because He sees and knows every struggle, even the ones we can’t put into words.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.”
— Hebrews 4:15 (ESV)