On Pain

This morning, I work up with bruised forearms as a result of a blocking exercise in Tae Kwon Do last night that was meant to "toughen me up". The instructor even went around after the exercise to check that our forearms were red, because "if they weren't red and painful to the touch, you weren't doing it right". It made perfect sense, but it hurt like a bitch. And it made me think about pain.

Despite what most people think, pain can be a good thing. In the case of this exercise, toughening up the areas you use for blocking opponents assures that if you're attacked in real life, blocking will cause you overall less pain, and hopefully, more pain for your attacker. Thus, temporary and controlled pain in a safe environment can give you an edge in the future.

Another example of "good pain" is that soreness and stiffness you get after the first good workout in awhile. Sure, it's not pleasant having to hobble around like an arthritic octogenarian for a few days, but it means that your muscles have been pushed to their limit and will soon get stronger. Microtears that occur in your muscles and cause the pain are quickly healed and toughened.

Continuing on this analogy, I can say that even pain signifying a more serious muscle injury is beneficial. Again, not pleasant, but beneficial. If you sprain or tear a muscle, it causes a lot of pain. It's your body telling you, first of all, to stop what you're doing because it's wrong in some way. And later, as a reminder not to move that particular body part too much while it heals.

Pain can also be a red flag that something is not right in your body. A sore throat can that you're fighting off some virus or bacteria; a sharp pain in your side can mean that your appendix is about to do something stupid; a headache can mean anything from a tumor to dehydration. It tells us to stop and see a doctor, or to rest up while the microscopic battle rages.

So really, pain has an important function: it's our watchdog and nursemaid and chaperone all rolled into one as our bodies make their way through the physical world. It assures our survival and remind us that we're still here. Interesting side note: the reason lepers lose body parts is because extremities lose their ability to register pain, (and later any feeling at all). If your hand doesn't feel pain, you don't know that it's being slowly eaten away by infection, or being burned by a hot mug of coffee...

To feel pain is part of being alive. We all stub toes and break bones and get sick in our lives. Trying to avoid or mask physical pain can be more dangerous than simply living through it.

Similarly, emotional pain serves an important purpose. Painful emotions can warn us that we're in trouble, or that we need to take a break and rest, or that our perception need to be altered.

Grief for example, is a natural emotion that we feel when we lose a loved one. Trying to ignore the pain of loss is like an athlete trying to power through a serious injury: it not only causes more pain, but it can lead to more serious damage and pain later on. On the flip side, dwelling on emotional pain is just as dangerous. It prevents us from moving forward and growing, like an overprotective mother who disallows a son from playing sports because he once broke his arm playing soccer.

We need a certain amount of emotional pain to develop stronger, more resilient personalities, just like we need to go through a certain amount of physical pain if we want to have stronger, more resilient bodies.

This thinking, to me, helps greatly with my own pain management, both physical and emotional. Just knowing that there is a purpose for the pain, and if I play my card right, that I can benefit from it, can make the pain more manageable. As a result, I have grown more resilient to pain in general. It's enough to prevent me from slipping into depression when life gets tough, or to allow me to pop a dislocated toe back into place before the adrenaline wears off and swelling starts.

To quote Dr. Paul Brand: "pain is the gift that nobody wants". Pain may not be pleasant, but we'd be better off appreciating and accepting the marvellous and subtle genius that is our ability to feel pain. It's what makes us human.