Pain Tolerance

I have a pretty high pain tolerance.

That’s one of the few things I have bragging rights about. It’s one of the perks (if you can call it that) of living life with chronic illness. You operate in some level of pain all the time, and because of it, your tolerance to push through is higher.

I’ve stood as a bridesmaid in at least two weddings while passing huge kidney stones. I limp out of dance class every week because my joints are screaming from pain after four hours of teaching. I struggle my way through Pure Barre class five days a week because my connective tissue is just so weak.

And that’s just to name a few. In all of these circumstances, I power through. I push on. I slap a smile on my face and make it happen. “Fake it till you make it,” has become a mantra of sorts. And if you didn’t know me well, you probably wouldn’t know anything was wrong. Other than the dark circles that start to take up residence under my eyes and the excessive lack of color in my face when I feel really bad, I look like I’m fine.

Physically, I’m just playing through the pain. I sort of don’t have a choice. And trust me, it’s not that bad. It’s very rarely more than a discomfort or inconvenience in my life. There are others who are pushing through and playing through so much more pain than I’ll ever know. But even in its small way, I’m dealing with some pain on the inside all of the time.

And in some ways, that’s good. It’s taught me to be tough, and strong, and to listen to my body all of the time. If I have to have a glass half full approach to a life with chronic illness, this is it.

But one of the downsides to this “play through the pain” mentality I’ve adopted is that I think I’ve inadvertently adopted it when it comes to my emotions, too.

I’ve talked about this before, but I’m an Enneagram 2. And basically, what that amounts to is that part of my makeup is that I’d rather focus on your emotional pain and struggles than talk about my own. If I’m struggling, I’m going to try and shrug it off on the surface. If I’m suffering, I’m going to try and cry about it privately (at least until I can’t hold it in anymore!). I’m going to slap that same smile on my face and keep going as long as I can without openly addressing what I’m feeling on the inside. I’m going to play through the pain emotionally, too.

Now if that sounds unhealthy to you, it’s because it is. I’ve been learning a lot in the last year of my life, in particular how important it is to ask for help. I’m also learning how much it sucks! It’s really humbling to pull back the curtain on your struggles and say to someone close to you, “Hey, I’m really going through it right now.” I don’t know about you, but that’s not my idea of a good time with my friends. 

But pain left in isolation festers. It grows. And eventually, it takes over. That’s not something I want for my life, and I don’t think it’s the kind of life God intended for me to live. 

I was at a women’s conference recently where I heard one of my favorite speakers and writers, Lysa Terkeurst, share a message on pain. She was talking about a season of her life where she was in both deep emotional and physical pain. The physical pain eventually became unbearable, leading her to go to the hospital. For days, she remained in pain, and doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Though they struggled to find the source, the pain never went away. She told anyone who would listen how much pain she was dealing with in hopes that they’d keep looking for a solution.

Finally, days later, a doctor came in and told her they’d found the cause. She was to be taken to emergency surgery because the source of her pain was a matter of life and death. It had to be addressed immediately. Her doctor told her that had her pain lessened even a little bit, they may have sent her home and stopped looking for the cause with such urgency. If that had happened, she would’ve died.

The point of her story? Her pain was an indicator of a problem. And if she’d just tried to power through, keep it to herself, and play with the pain, she wouldn’t have made it. In order to find a solution to it—in order to be healed—she had to share her pain with someone else.

And I get it. I get her point. If we want to start healing, we have to start opening up and talking about our pain. We have to ask for help. We have to address the issue. I’m not saying we just walk around and emotionally vomit all our issues on anyone who crosses our path (because ew…). But I am saying we don’t need to be afraid to wave the white flag and let the people who love us—who are closest to us—know we’re playing with some pain.

Last summer I found myself dealing with a particular amount of struggle one Saturday. I had to go to an event that I really just didn’t want to go to. It was something that was hitting on an emotional sore spot in my life, and even though I’d been trying to gear myself up to go all week, when the morning finally came, I just didn’t want to do it. As the clock was ticking closer to the time I needed to get it together and leave, I found myself crying in the bathroom instead of curling my hair.  

And in that moment, I had a choice: I could sit in the freak out, crawl back in bed, and choose not to go. Or I could wave the white flag and ask for help to get myself there.

As much as I didn’t want to, I chose to wave the flag. I picked up my phone and texted my sweet friend Blake exactly what I was feeling in that moment. I told her that I knew I needed to tell somebody what I was feeling, even if it seemed dumb, and I asked her to pray for me as I tried to get out the door to go.

And you know what? She did. She wrote me back immediately with the most encouraging and honest words. She didn’t tell me it was okay to skip it or ignore what I was feeling. Instead, she told me she understood and then encouraged me to put on my big girl pants and get out there anyway. She’d be rooting for me as I did.

So I did. I got up, I got it together, and I got myself to the event. And as it turns out, I’m so glad I did.

Because here’s what I learned.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: You get by with a little help from your friends. The Beatles were most definitely on to something there! I know there’s this idea that in order to be strong, we have to be tough. But I think the opposite is true. I think it’s a lot stronger and braver to wave the flag and invite someone in to help you. Because at some point, we’re all going to have to play with a little pain. And I know firsthand that it’s a lot easier to do when someone is helping you as you go.