To varying degrees, everyone experiences stressors in life. Yet many people seem to be able to tolerate life’s stressors without showing symptoms of stress — symptoms like anxiety, depression, heightened emotions and/or chronic pain.

So, if you’re someone who seems to be highly sensitized to stress, you might get the impression that there’s something “wrong” with you. (Spoiler alert: there’s not.)

We live in a culture that pathologizes emotional sensitivity and normalizes emotional numbness.

But the truth is, numbness and heightened sensitivity are both symptoms of emotional repression. On the surface, they look different. But they’re two sides of the same coin.

Repressed emotions are compressed energy. And compressed energy can take on multiple forms:⁠

• Compressed energy can stay contained for a while, like a pot of boiling water with the lid jammed on.⁠ But eventually it explodes.
• In some people, the lid stays jammed on most of the time. You might not even be able to tell that there’s boiling water under the surface, and they appear to be “doing just fine,” meaning: they’re conforming to the standards of our societal norms.⁠
• In some people, the pot of water looks like it’s always on the verge of bursting … and from time to time it does.⁠
• In other people, the pot seems to be constantly bubbling over, with the lid nowhere to be found.⁠

All of these are symptoms of a culture that encourages us to reject our own emotions. “Under-expressed” emotions are simply more convenient to patriarchy than “over-expressed” emotions, so blunted sensitivity is considered normal while heightened sensitivity is pathologized.

All this to say, it may seem like others are “doing just fine” while you seem to be “overly sensitive” — physically and/or emotionally. And you may be asking yourself “why me?”

But the truth is that we are all impacted by living in a culture of emotional repression — even if that impact looks different from person to person. And we would all benefit from a shift in culture toward allowing, accepting and honoring emotions. (If you’re reading this, I have a feeling you’re already taking part in this collective culture shift.)

Instead of seeing your sensitivities as something “wrong,” what if you were to view them as your superpowers? Your finely attuned antennae letting you know that there’s actually a kinder, more wholesome, respectful and nurturing way of being that we could all be moving toward? What if your emotions are the guiding stars pointing us all in the direction of a healthier and more loving human culture?

What if you aren’t broken at all, just reacting to a world that’s aching for positive change?

With love and warmth,

💖 Anna

The post Being Sensitive Doesn’t Mean You’re Broken appeared first on Medika Life.

On my back, I lay and lean into this sleepy wisdom — we all have pain — every single one of us humans.

It may be heart-sting or a bruised ego or a bruised body. We all have pain.

I turn 43 years old this summer. For years my back would hurt so bad people could read on my face something was wrong. They’d say, “Aimée, are you okay?” I’d rub my lower back, which felt on fire with pain, and say, “Yes, I’m fine. My back’s just a little sore.” It hurt so much I needed to sit down. Standing hurt. I didn’t know what to say or how to explain this.

I was supposed to be fine. A genetic specimen of good health. 

My dad has a genetic disease called Gaucher. It can cause weakening of bones, intense pain, and myriad other problems.

My knees feel raw and tender as I lay still, wondering when and if sleep will overtake the nagging feeling of persistent pain cues from my body to my brain. At 10:00 pm I took some cannabis tincture. It’s 2:16 am. I hurt. 

I know I’m not the only one.

Yesterday when I typed, my stiff fingers ached. My back started to scream. My wrists firmly demanded, “Be careful. Be gentle with us.” 

I tried to listen. I tried to gain ease knowing I’m not the only one. We all have pain. 

In the world of Gaucher, many carriers have been asking if we could have pain associated with being gene carriers. For decades the answer was a definitive “No.” 

Why are so many carriers expressing symptoms of pain if that’s true?

There are new tests with more precision to identify carriers. In the late 1970s, they thought the carrier test was reliable. 

After the past year, in which I finally shared my pain with my family and friends, my mom began to wonder if there might be a connection between my pain and my being a Gaucher gene carrier. She researched and forwarded the information to me to share with my doctor. For example: 

There are more than 400 genetic mutations known to cause Gaucher disease. Not all of these were known decades ago, nor do all screening tests today cover every single one of them. In rare cases, it is possible for genetic screening to miss a mutation. An enzyme test called a beta-glucosidase leukocyte (BGL) test will almost certainly show if you have Gaucher disease. Find out about testing for Gaucher disease.

In the late 1970s, my mom got a test to see if she was a Gaucher gene carrier before my parents conceived me. They didn’t want to pass on the disease. They thought they were free and clear when her test was negative. They thought I wouldn’t have pain. 

We all have pain. 

My hip still stings this morning. My ankles, knees, and wrists are nagging, “We hurt. Go easy. Be gentle. Please.”

Yesterday I heard my husband in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. He sounded annoyed. How do I know? 20 years together. The clanking of dishes. I just know.

I’d told him I’d been flaring and exhausted for days. I don’t think I’ve conveyed what that means very well. Or maybe I don’t give him enough credit. Maybe I feel guilty and ashamed and misinterpret the clanking of the dishes. 

It takes all my energy to get out of bed. Running a load of dishes feels like running a marathon. 

Yesterday, I felt guilty, so I got up to run a load of laundry. I opened the garage door and heard the machine already whirling. I checked the dryer. Empty. I picked up my clean clothes off the back of the dining room chairs and hung them up. I didn’t touch the kid’s clean laundry; I handed David a pile of his clean shirts and pants. I knew I couldn’t do it all. Or rather that the pain would start screaming if I did too much.

Determined to do something useful, I grabbed plastic bags and headed into the sunny June day to pick up the dog poop in our backyard. 

The sun heated my back and shoulders. It felt like a gentle massage. Heat therapy. I am thankful for our pets. They are my pet therapy. I wandered the yard and repeated the stooping motion to pick up Nugget’s small poop piles (Chihuahua and Jack Russel Terrier mix) and Juno’s huge poop mounds (Chow, Staffordshire Terrier, Weimaraner, Akita, Rottweiler). 

Near the Red Haven Peach Tree were scattered fallen peaches that never got the chance to ripen. I picked up the peaches to add to the bag. The tree is diseased or has a pest problem. Or both. The tree’s buds swell and bloom. Peaches set and begin to grow. But, about a month into their growth, the fruit begins to ooze clear gooey sap from their flesh and out of their skin. I wonder if peaches feel pain. We all have pain. 

I tied up the bag of dog poop and tossed it in our outdoor trash can. I washed my hands. Washed the faucet. Washed my hands; realized a little bit of my OCD was creeping back in.

We all have pain.

I know this will shock you, but I’m not perfect. Caffeine and sugar likely contribute to my pain flares. I drank coffee yesterday and had a Payday candy bar and a bag of chewy Sprees. I quit eating processed sugar like that over a year ago, but last night I indulged.

My pain hadn’t abated and I wanted a sugar high. The hug of candy. I told my husband. He doesn’t usually indulge me with my candy cravings. I don’t usually ask for candy anymore. He went to the gas station and bought me some.

Earlier in the day, my intuition told me I needed to drink cold water, so I asked him to go get me ice. He grabbed a huge gas station cup of ice and brought it to me. I added electrolytes and sipped the icy water. I felt a wave of relief wash through my brain, my body. I thanked myself for leaning into my intuition. I was thankful I asked my husband and my husband went to get the ice. Lately, even driving anywhere feels like a monumental task. 

I didn’t chastise myself for this. 

I asked for help. 

I was honest with myself and my husband. 

I was gentle.

I’ve felt pain since I was a child. I don’t remember exactly when I realized my body talked to me through pain signals. I do remember being a teenager and feeling intense pain. I told myself I shouldn’t feel pain. That I was young and healthy. That I should tough it out. My dad was the one in real pain. Not me. I tensed up and barreled on — exacerbating the pain, I’m sure.

The scent of BenGay triggers memories of my dad in excruciating pain, rubbing the minty cooling ointment onto his skin, his tender screaming pains, searching for some relief. 

My pain isn’t the same as my dad’s. Over a year ago, a doctor finally confirmed I am flare-y. I show symptoms of someone in chronic pain. She sent me to a rheumatologist. After a slew of tests, nothing was found, except I might have some arthritis in my hands. I failed (passed?) the fibromyalgia pain points test (though I’ve read this information from Mayo Clinic that this is no longer the best or only way to diagnose fibromyalgia). 

My PCP advised me to accept my pain and to focus on treating my symptoms. She told me that research hasn’t caught up to autoimmune disorders that cause chronic pain.

She told me she believed me.

You see, for years I thought I might be crazy. I might be making this up. It might all be in my head. I might be over-reacting to my aches and pains.

When I was diagnosed with OCD, I was informed that Cymbalta helps with the treatment of faulty pain processors (what happens with fibromyalgia) and OCD symptoms. It has helped alleviate my symptoms of both OCD and pain. I think it’s more effective for OCD, anxiety, and depression, but it also puts a dent in the pain. For that, I am thankful. 

We all have pain.

Getting the genetic tests ordered has taken several weeks. On June 17, I go to see my doctor to pick up a prescription to bring to a special lab. That’s when we’ll start looking at whether or not my pain is related to being a Gaucher gene carrier or if further tests are required to see if I have a version of Gaucher disease. This could only happen if the 1970s test my mom took was incorrect and she is a gene carrier. 

My feelings are mixed. Most people might think I want a result that clears Gaucher from having anything to do with my pain. 

In my family history, there’s osteoporosis, arthritis, mysterious chronic pain. It’s not exactly shocking I live with pain when I think about my family’s health history.

Part of me wants the test to say, “Yes! Gaucher is the reason for your pain. Here are some treatments to try.” 

Because then there’s an answer instead of a mystery.

I can’t get comfortable as I type this, laying on my back, in bed, thumb-typing on my phone. My hips are stiff and sore. My shoulders and neck ache. My husband came in to check on me. He squeezed my leg and asked how I was doing. I tried not to cringe. All my pain receptors seem to be on overdrive. 

“I’m still flare-y,” I said. 

He nodded and let me get back to thumb typing.

Now I’ll make some coffee — espresso and oat milk. I’ll add some cannabis tincture. I’ll wonder when this flare will pass. My aunts come to visit us from out of town in a few days. Will I still feel like this?

I’m done tensing and barreling through pain and crying behind closed doors. If I feel like this, I’ll be honest with them, with myself.

When I finally drifted off to sleep last night, it was with this wisdom I knew I’d share with you in the morning: 

We all have pain. It helps when we are gentle with ourselves.

Go gently into the world, friends. 

It took me decades to realize the inherent strength and wisdom in gentleness. To talk with my physical, emotional, and psychological pain with kind honesty.

We all have pain. 

This approach of interacting with pain in a gentle manner feels like a balm, a massage for my deep wounds and aches — physical, emotional, and psychological. 

I invite you to try the same approach.

The post We All Have Pain appeared first on Medika Life.

While there is no miracle drug or solution that can take away your pain completely, there are some strategies that you can explore that may help you cope with chronic pain in your daily life.

Explore your strengths, abilities, and things you are grateful for

This can be very challenging to do, especially when your mind is absorbed with the pain you are feeling in your body. It can be useful though to keep in mind what you are able to do, what is going well, and what is in your life that makes you happy.

Shifting the focus to a positive outlook can possibly help you ever so slightly to redirect your attention to other things, even if they are fleeting moments throughout the day.

Pace yourself, prioritize your to-do list, and break tasks into smaller pieces

Keep in mind that you may have more energy at specific times of day, you may need to take frequent breaks, and you may have to prioritize some tasks over others because you only have so much energy and time in the day before your body and your pain levels force you to stop.

Carefully mapping out your day, and knowing that you understand yourself and your needs better than anyone else, can help you maximize your daily function.

Try out relaxation techniques

Try deep breathing, meditation, progressive muscle relaxation, mindfulness, yoga, or using your senses to relax you (sight – getting out in nature, making art, imagining scenes and memories that make you happy); smell – scented candles, essential oils, listening to music); touch/sensation – feeling a soft blanket or pillow, having a warm bath, using ice or heat pad, stretching); etc.

There are many other options out there. Test out ideas to find out what works well for you.

Get a massage

If you enjoy massages and feel comfortable with accessing these services, book a massage regularly as per your schedule and finances. Having a massage can help ease tight, painful muscles and give you some intermittent relief.

Exercise regularly based on what is physically possible for you

In a similar way, regular physical exercise – in whatever way you can and in whatever method you enjoy- can help you feel good and ease your stress at the same time.

If possible, consider booking an assessment or services with a personal trainer who is experienced with your type of needs. They can give you some strategies or develop an exercise program that works for you. You can pursue sessions with a trainer or take what you’ve learned and use it when you exercise on your own time.

Optimize your pain medication with support from your family doctor (if you are using pain medication)

It can be hard to find a way to balance using medication so that you can cope with the pain while also not feeling too sedated, or foggy. Let your doctor know if you are having any unusual symptoms and they will do their best to figure out the best dosage for you. Keeping the line of communication open with your doctor can help you find a good balance. Not everyone uses pain medication, but this may be helpful to consider if you are.

Reduce substance use (if you are using substances)

Sometimes, people use substances, such as alcohol, smoking, marijuana, or other drugs as an escape or a way to avoid the pain. However, using substances can significantly impact your daily function, sleep, and ability to navigate all of the important areas of your life. Substances mask the pain but don’t eliminate it.

Taking a harm reduction approach, speaking with your doctor, exploring addiction services (such as the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health), and replacing substance use with more adaptive coping strategies can help you as you strive toward optimizing your health.

Access support groups

Connect with others who are going through similar experiences for a sense of belonging, building meaningful relationships, sharing personal experiences, and learning from peers who may have gone through or are currently going through similar hurdles as you.

Distract yourself

If you can, try to focus on things other than your pain. In doing so, it will help you feel that there is more to life than your pain, keeps your mind and body occupied, and enables you to not be so consumed, absorbed, and overwhelmed by your pain.

This is easier said than done but is definitely worth trying even for a few minutes or an hour at a time.

Start to slowly adjust to your diagnosis while you work toward your goals

You may have heard this saying before: it’s a marathon- not a sprint.

Taking time to clearly understand your diagnosis that is causing your chronic pain and beginning to adjust to it doesn’t mean you are giving up or have no hope. It means you are discovering a way to deal with the challenges you are facing right now while also holding hope for the future as you continue trying different coping strategies, working with your health care team, and living your life in the best way you can based on your current circumstances.

The post 10 Coping Strategies to Help You Deal With Chronic Pain appeared first on Medika Life.