Inhabiting Pain

Pain has a way of narrowing the world.

When it arrives—physical, emotional, spiritual, relational—our instinct is often immediate: get away from it.

Distract ourselves.

Fix it.

Numb it.

Move somewhere else.

Do almost anything except remain in the place where it hurts.

I know that instinct well.

As an Enneagram Seven, one of my familiar patterns is the fear that if I enter pain too deeply, I might somehow get stuck there. So when struggle comes, part of me begins looking for an exit.

Over time, though, I have discovered something important:

Running away from pain does not necessarily take the pain away.

Sometimes the thing we are carrying simply travels with us.

What Does It Mean to Inhabit Pain?

I have recently been thinking about the word inhabiting.

We began by considering what it might mean to inhabit the belief that we are infinitely precious—to allow that truth to become something more than an idea we agree with intellectually.

Then we considered what it means to inhabit our bodies, recognizing that these bodies are not separate from our spiritual lives. They are the way we encounter the world.

And now comes a more difficult invitation:

What might it mean to inhabit our pain?

By that I do not mean glorifying suffering.

I do not mean remaining in harmful circumstances.

Some pain is telling us that something is seriously wrong. Physical pain may require medical care. Emotional or spiritual pain may be telling us that we need someone to walk with us—a trusted friend, a pastor, a therapist, a counselor, or another person who can help us discern what is happening.

Pain can be information.

The question is whether we can listen to it.

The Temptation to Escape

There is a very natural part of us that wants pain to stop.

When something hurts, our minds and bodies may interpret that pain almost as a threat to survival.

So we look for relief.

And sometimes relief is exactly what we need.

But there are other moments when the invitation is not immediately to escape, but simply to remain present.

To breathe.

To notice.

To ask:

Where is this coming from?

Why is this affecting me so deeply?

What story lies underneath this pain?

What might this struggle be revealing about me?

There are no easy answers to those questions.

And if you are in the middle of significant pain right now, the last thing you probably want someone to tell you is that your pain is a wonderful learning opportunity.

That is not what I mean.

Pain is not wonderful simply because it can teach us something.

But when pain comes, it may reveal something we could not otherwise see.

Discovering the Strength Already There

One of the strange things about pain is that it can temporarily blind us to our own resources.

When we hurt, all we can sometimes see is the hurt.

Yet there are moments when, as we move through struggle, we discover strength we did not realize we possessed.

We discover resilience.

We discover that another person is willing to sit beside us.

We discover the capacity simply to endure one more hour, one more day, one more difficult conversation.

The strength was not something we earned by suffering.

It was something we discovered in ourselves along the way.

And sometimes pain deepens our capacity to enter the lives of others.

Our own struggles can make us more attentive.

More compassionate.

More aware that the person walking beside us may also be carrying something we cannot see.

Staying Long Enough to Listen

Perhaps inhabiting pain begins with something very simple:

recognizing it.

Naming it.

Allowing ourselves to know that it is there.

Not immediately short-circuiting the experience.

Not pretending everything is fine when it is not.

Not fleeing simply because staying feels uncomfortable.

Sometimes we sit with pain long enough to hear its story.

Sometimes that story points us toward something that needs healing.

Sometimes it points us toward a decision.

Sometimes it tells us we need help.

Sometimes all we discover is that healing will take time.

That may be one of the hardest truths.

There is not always a shortcut.

There is not always a spiritual insight that suddenly makes the hurt disappear.

Sometimes healing is simply slow.

You Cannot Always Leave Yourself Behind

There is an old wisdom found among the desert mothers and fathers of the early church.

They understood that changing location does not necessarily change the interior landscape.

We sometimes imagine:

If I could only get away from here…

If I could move…

If I could change jobs…

If I could leave this situation behind…

…then everything inside me would settle.

Sometimes changing circumstances really is necessary.

But other times we discover that we have carried the struggle with us.

The geography changed.

We did not.

That is why learning to remain present to ourselves matters.

We cannot always run away from what needs our attention.

Recognize. Remain. Respond.

Perhaps there is a simple practice hidden inside all of this.

Recognize.

This hurts.

Something is happening within me.

Remain.

Before immediately escaping, can I stay present long enough to listen?

Respond.

What does this pain need from me?

Rest?

Action?

A conversation?

A boundary?

A doctor?

A therapist?

A friend?

Time?

Healing?

There is no single answer.

Inhabiting pain does not mean passively accepting everything that hurts.

It means becoming present enough to discern what love requires next.

The Gift You Already Are

This reflection feels particularly meaningful to me because this episode marks the 100th episode of the Infinitely Precious Podcast.

One hundred conversations have circled around a simple affirmation:

You are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are.

But perhaps that affirmation matters most when we are hurting.

When we feel strong, it may be relatively easy to believe we are precious.

The deeper question is whether we can believe it when we are struggling.

When we are disappointed.

When we are exhausted.

When we do not understand ourselves.

When we hurt.

Even then:

You do not have to earn your worth by overcoming the pain quickly.

You do not become less precious because you are struggling.

And you do not have to abandon yourself simply because this particular moment is difficult to inhabit.

Sometimes healing begins when we stop running long enough to listen.

Whatever you are carrying today, may you remember:

You are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are.