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Carrying the Ache – How to Live a Full Life Even When It Hurts

Pain doesn’t knock politely before entering your life. 

Sometimes it strikes suddenly — like when you pull a muscle or suffer an injury. Other times, it  shows up quietly, gradually weaving itself into your daily life until one day, you realise it’s always  there. A background ache that doesn’t leave. A quiet intruder that’s become part of your routine. 

Over the years, I’ve worked with many clients who’ve tried to make sense of this uninvited  presence. In some cases, pain started after a specific event — an accident, a medical issue,  something identifiable. 

What I’ve consistently seen is that chronic pain doesn’t just take up space in your body — it seeps  into every part of your life. It affects how you sleep, how you move, how you think, how you relate,  and how you see yourself. I’ve had clients say, “I don’t know who I am without this pain anymore.” 

And the question that always emerges — sometimes whispered, sometimes shouted — is: “How am I supposed to live when the pain feels unbearable?” 

That’s where we begin. Not with easy answers or empty reassurance, but with tools grounded in  science and shaped by compassion.

 

Understanding Pain: It’s More Than a Physical Signal

We’re often taught to think of pain as a straightforward warning sign — a message that something  is wrong in the body. That model works for short-term pain, like when you twist your ankle. But chronic pain is something else entirely. 

Pain starts in the nervous system, but it’s constructed by the brain. 

A client once said, “I can feel my body all over my body but medical tests are always clear. Am I  going crazy or are the doctors missing something?” It was a turning point when she learned her  pain was real, but the source was now more about how her nervous system was interpreting  signals, rather than something seriously wrong with her body. 

Pain starts in the nervous system, but it’s created by the brain. 

Our bodies have these tiny sensors — called nociceptors — that keep watch for anything that  might be dangerous, like pressure, heat, or injury. When they pick something up, they send a  signal up to your brain through the spinal cord. 

But pain doesn’t just come from those signals. 

Our brains decides whether or not to turn those signals into pain. It’s like your brain is asking, “Is  this situation dangerous enough that I need to sound the alarm?” 

 

 

 

 

 

and that decision depends on way more than just what’s happening in your body. 

Your brain takes into account things like: 

  • Have you been hurt like this before? 
  • Are you already stressed, anxious, or rundown? 
  • Do you feel safe right now? 
  • What do you believe this pain means? 
  • Are you focused on the pain — or is your attention elsewhere? 
  • That’s why pain isn’t just about damage — it’s about protection.


If our brains think we need protecting, it turns up the volume on pain — even if your tissues are  actually okay. 

This explains why we can hurt a lot even when tests are normal — or why two people with the  same injury can feel very different levels of pain. It’s not in the head. Our brains are just doing their  best job — it’s just being a little too protective right now. 

When the Alarm Gets Stuck On 

Once we understand that pain is our brain’s way of trying to protect us, it makes sense that  sometimes the system can go a bit overboard. For some of us living with chronic pain, it’s like our  internal alarm gets stuck in the “on” position — even when there’s no immediate danger. 

This is something called central sensitisation. It means our nervous system has become overly  reactive — not just to physical injury, but to everyday stressors, movements, emotions, or even  changes in temperature. Things that wouldn’t normally hurt now feel intense or unbearable. I once worked with a client who had injured his back at work who said, “Even a warm shower feels  like sandpaper.” His nervous system wasn’t reacting to damage — it was reacting to anything it  had learned to associate with threat. When we explored what might be keeping his system on  edge — things like sleep deprivation, work and financial stress, and fear of not recovering — it  started to make more sense to him. He could see that his body wasn’t failing him. It was trying, in  its own way, to protect him. 

When we recognise that the pain is still real, but the cause has more to do with an overactive alarm  system than injury itself, it opens the door to a different kind of care. Instead of fighting our body,  we can learn to support our nervous system — to help it settle, rather than stay stuck in defence  mode. 

We’re Not Broken — We’re Just Trying to Feel Safe  

Once we start to understand what’s going on in our  system, it can change how we relate to our pain. It   doesn’t take the pain away, but it can soften the intensity at times, and the fear around it. We might stop seeing ourselves as fragile or failing, and start approaching our pain with more kindness. 

Pain is real — but it doesn’t always mean our body is injured or broken. Sometimes it’s a sign that we’ve been carrying too much for too long. That our system has become over-sensitised, worn thin by life and stress and fear. 

But here’s the hopeful part: if our system can learn to turn the volume up, it can also learn to turn it down.

That’s where things like mindfulness, values work, and self-compassion come in. These tools aren’t  about “fixing” ourselves. They’re about helping our brain and body feel safe enough that the alarm  doesn’t keep going off. 

And with time, these practices can help us reconnect — with our breath, our relationships, our  sense of purpose. We don’t have to wait for the pain to disappear to start living again. We just need  enough space to move toward the things that matter, even with the pain alongside us.

Living with Pain — Without Letting It Take Over

Living with pain isn’t just a physical experience — it’s an emotional, mental, and relational one too. It affects how we see ourselves, how we plan our days, how we relate to the people we love. And it’s easy to fall into the trap of waiting — waiting for the pain to go away before we start living again.

But what many of us discover, often the hard way, is that waiting can become a life on hold. And over time, that wait can leave us more disconnected, more discouraged, and more stuck.

So what if we didn’t wait? What if we could learn to move alongside our pain — not ignoring it, not letting it run the show — but walking with it, on our terms?

Here are some of the ways we can begin to live differently with pain — not by defeating it, but by building a life around what matters most.

  1. Making Room for It 

Fighting pain is completely human. Of course we want it gone — it’s exhausting, unpredictable,  and limiting. But the constant mental and emotional battle against pain can leave us even more  depleted. Acceptance doesn’t mean we’re okay with the pain, or that we stop caring about getting  better. It simply means we stop wasting energy on the parts we can’t control — and we use that  energy instead to move toward the parts we can. 

We can start by practicing phrases like, “This hurts — and I don’t have to fight it right now,” or “This  is here — and I can still choose what matters today.” When we make even a little space for our pain,  we often make more room for life alongside it.

     2. Watching Our Thoughts Without Getting Stuck in Them

Pain doesn’t just affect our bodies — it floods our minds. Thoughts like “This will never end,” or  “There’s no point trying,” can become loud, repetitive, and convincing. But we can learn to notice  these thoughts without automatically believing them. 

One practical approach is to practice defusion — noticing thoughts and labelling them: “I’m  having the thought that I’m broken.” This simple shift helps us pause, step back, and ask ourselves,  “Is this thought helping me?” It doesn’t mean the thought disappears, but it gives us more  freedom in how we respond to it. 

  1. We are More Than Our Pain 

When pain takes up so much of our attention, it’s easy to forget who we are outside of it. But our  pain is just one part of our experience — not the whole of our identity. We are still people who  have stories, dreams, humour, creativity, and love. 

Sometimes it helps to intentionally reconnect with things that reflect who we are. That might  mean listening to music that brings us joy, telling a friend a funny story, or reflecting on a moment  we felt proud of — even if it was small. These moments remind us that we’re still here, still whole,  even in the midst of pain. 

  1. Training Our Attention Gently Away from Pain

Pain pulls our attention by design — it’s the body’s way of saying something might not be  safe. But when pain becomes chronic, focusing on it constantly can actually make it feel  louder and more dominant in our lives. 

This doesn’t mean ignoring pain or pretending it isn’t there — that rarely works. What  helps is learning how to gently shift our attention when we can. At first, it might feel  unfamiliar or even impossible — but like any new movement, it strengthens with practice. 

Think of it like building a muscle. The first time we try to lift even a light weight, it feels  shaky and awkward. But if we keep showing up — a few minutes at a time, day by day —  our capacity grows. Shifting our focus away from pain works the same way. Every time we  redirect our attention, even for a moment, we’re training that muscle. We’re increasing our  tolerance, our flexibility, and our ability to stay connected to life, even while pain is  present. 

We might begin by noticing when we’re stuck in pain-focused loops — scanning our body,  Googling symptoms, replaying thoughts like “how bad is it now?” Then we pause. We breathe. We might say to ourselves: “I notice what my mind is doing — and I can decide  where to go from here.” 

From there, we can experiment with placing our attention elsewhere — music, movement,  connection, beauty, sensation, values-based action. Not to escape the pain, but to  broaden our experience so that pain isn’t the only thing in the room. 

Over time, these micro-moments of shifting focus help retrain the brain. We teach our  system that there’s more to pay attention to than threat. And that helps reduce the brain’s  need to keep sounding the alarm. 

  1. Turning Toward What Matters 

Pain often shrinks our world. We stop doing the things we care about, sometimes out of necessity,  other times out of fear. But over time, that avoidance can leave us feeling numb, disconnected,  and stuck. 

Instead of asking “What can I no longer do?” we can gently ask, “What do I still care about?” and  “What small version of that is still possible today?” Maybe we can’t go on a long hike in the  countryside, but we can have a picnic in the sun for a few minutes. Maybe we can’t attend a full  social event, but we can send a message to someone we love. It’s not about fixing the pain — it’s  about choosing life in the middle of it. 

  1. Taking Small, Steady Steps 

Big leaps often feel impossible when we’re hurting. But small, consistent actions can be powerful.  Even a two-minute stretch, a deep breath before getting out of bed, or making a simple meal can  be acts of strength and care. 

When we take one tiny step toward something meaningful — even if it’s uncomfortable — we  start reminding our nervous system that movement, choice, and growth are still possible. This isn’t  about pushing through or pretending to be fine. It’s about gently proving to ourselves that we’re  still capable of creating direction. 

    7. Taking Small, Steady Steps 

Living with pain takes energy — not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. Many of us push through until we crash, or feel guilty when we rest, as if rest has to be earned. But when we live with a nervous system that’s already working overtime, regular moments of restoration aren’t optional — they’re essential. This is the way that we sustain ourselves and can pursue more meaningful actions.  

Building recovery into our day might mean taking a few quiet minutes without screens, soaking in natural light, or stepping outside for fresh air. It might mean giving ourselves permission to do less on purpose — not as failure, but as wise pacing. These moments act as signals to our nervous system: “We can take a break. We’re not in danger right now.” 

When we treat rest as something proactive — not just a last resort — we start to rebuild our  energy, our attention, and our sense of calm. Over time, this allows us to live at a rhythm that  respects our limits and honours our bodies need for repair. 

When we build small, steady habits of rest into our routine — without waiting until we’re  exhausted — we slowly begin to reset the pace of our life. We can move from survival mode into  something gentler, more spacious, and more sustainable. 

Pain Isn’t the End of Our Story 

Pain changes things. That’s real. But it doesn’t get to decide everything. It doesn’t erase who we  are — and it doesn’t define where we’re headed next. 

By taking small, thoughtful steps, we can begin to build a life that reflects our values and brings a  sense of connection — even with pain alongside us. 

We don’t need perfect health to show up with love. We don’t need to be pain-free to take a step  forward. 

We can hurt — and still hope. We can ache — and still grow. We can carry pain — and still live a  life that feels deeply, fiercely our own.

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