Chronic pain plays with your head. A
lot. There’s more to it than just being irritable because you hurt; CP brings
with it a whole buffet of emotions, many of which we’re very canny about
keeping secret.
Guilt is one of the toughest, and it’s
one of the least talked about. If you’re not careful, it’s easy to go from zero
to sixty without even realizing it. An average day is interrupted by a simple
request, a favor, an invitation out, and suddenly you’re spiraling mentally out
of control. Here’s something else I can’t do. This is really going to upset this person. I’ve disappointed them so
many times. I can’t do this simple thing for them. Add it to the stack of
others. What a waste my life has become. All because of this goddamn pain. Is
it ever going to get better?
The first time I heard someone
describe their own personal, pain-related guilt in these terms I was moved to
tears. Not because of their situation or what they said, but simply because someone else understood.
Whether it’s the first time you can’t
finish mowing the lawn because you no longer bend that way or missing out on
family game night or canceling dinner plans for the nth time, guilt will
eventually strike. And when it sets up shop, it can take an effort beyond your
own ability to get it out of your life. For me, guilt compounded a lot of other
emotions and was one of the big issues that led me to cognitive pain therapy.
On paper, it’s easy to understand.
You feel guilty because you can’t do what you want to do (night out with friends),
need to do (drive to work) or would desperately love to do (do I really need an example here?) And at first, your
friends, loved ones and co-workers understand. “That’s no problem,” they say. “We’ll
do it again sometime when you’re feeling better.” Well, what if I don’t ever feel better? Because that’s how it’s starting to
look! How many times can a spouse, friend or boss sigh and force a smile
before the guilt takes a hike? The answer is simple: it won’t leave as long as
you let it stay.
Compounded guilt is a killer. After
months of not being able to work, watching my wife struggle with a job she was
growing to dislike, losing the ability to do even the smallest significant
household chore, and canceling plans with friends (usually at the last minute
because, hey, I thought I’d feel up to it), I’d had it. I was tired of apologizing. So I stopped.
It came down to a simple admission
to myself: There are things I can’t do. I know that, and by now, everyone I
know knows it, too. But in between beating myself up over all the ways I’ve let
people down, I started finding new ways to contribute and new avenues to
replace what pain has taken away.
For example, I can’t stand for more
than about a minute, and I can’t lift anything over a few pounds, so taking out the trash or doing
laundry are out. But my wife hates doing paperwork, so I took over the bills. I used to love to grocery shop. Now I go online and have groceries delivered. Store specials usually save us
the delivery fee, and we also don’t add things to the cart on a whim and can keep
an eye on the running total.
Keep canceling dates with friends?
Try offering something else. If you can’t sit for two hours at dinner, suggest coffee instead. Chances are, you’ll be there longer than you expected:
catching up with people is one of the best ways I know to forget about your
pain (and your own problems) for a while. Scared of having a flare-up halfway
through a movie? Suggest an afternoon in with a DVD instead. Remember, it’s the
contact and effort you make with friends, not what you actually do, that makes
the difference.
Chronic pain makes us live inside
our own heads enough; anything we can do to fight its accessory emotions is a
step in the right direction. The pain may not be in your control, but what you do
with it undoubtedly is.
