Sharing Pain

An important question surfaced recently that I wanted to share with you.

It’s really more of a confession of sorts because I don’t feel it casts me in the greatest light. But I’m committed to telling my story as is, rather than what I want others to think it is. At least, that’s what I try to do.

My question is this…why do I feel a need to share about my physical pains with others?

Surely, they have their own. Do they really need to hear about mine? And I wonder, will it turn into a contest of whose pains are worse, a game that seeks to constantly up the ante?

Telling another about my pains and suffering might be okay if someone specifically asked me and wanted to know. Or if I was at a medical office, and they needed to understand my story in order to provide helpful solutions.

But ordinarily, do others need to be bothered by my list of aches and pains? I’m pretty sure they don’t.

If I’m paying close enough attention though, I hear my words and recognize I’m sharing my pains and sorrows and most of the time it’s unsolicited.

I encourage myself to sit back and open to what fills the silence. I allow myself to let everything come in, no matter how it feels.

Here’s what happens.

A series of answers march forth, one after the other, trying to educate me.

First to appear is a sense that I am asking for others sympathy, as if that will provide me with some useful energy. I’ve discovered, it doesn’t.

Next is a feeling that some part of me needs to complain, to say how hard I have it and how unfair it all is, in an attempt to elicit empathy or sympathy. Occasionally it works, but seriously, how often do others want to have to provide this to me. Afterall, they have their own issues and concerns and probably need the same thing from me.

Other times, I have a desire to be released from my pains and sorrows and am looking for legitimate opinions and suggestions from others on how to accomplish this. I need relief. But one thing I’ve noticed about myself is that I don’t always listen to what they have to say, or I listen and yet fail to do the things that might make my situation better.

This seems ridiculous to me. To receive great advice then disregard it…what sense does that make? Not much.

I wonder to myself, could there be something valuable in divulging my conditions? Might it open a door to a worthwhile conversation with someone, something beyond ‘misery loves company’?

It struck me that if I was open and sensitive to others, I might find some common ground, some territory to have a meaningful discussion, one that might go beyond physical issues. It might transcend the usual dialogue and delve into areas of commonality. We might be able to talk about our genuine feelings about our physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual lives.

That felt very different to me. Beautiful, in fact.

Maybe it’s not about what I share, but how I share. Perhaps it’s about coming from a place of compassion and love, rather than a place of need and fear. I think that next time I’m going to try to keep this in mind and rather than coming from fear I will seek to come from love, the source of all good things in life