It’s not one kind of pain.
That’s what I think people don’t understand.
If it were one thing, one spot, one clear reason, maybe it would feel manageable. Maybe it would feel like something I could explain better. But it’s not like that. It’s layers. It’s different kinds of pain stacked on top of each other, shifting throughout the day, never really leaving.
Before I even have coffee, there are already needles involved. Shots in my stomach, a routine that’s become normal but never feels normal. The soreness from the last one usually hasn’t fully gone away before the next one starts. My body is already tender before the day even begins.
And then there’s the kind of pain that just lives in the background. The constant ache in my joints, in my back, in my chest. It doesn’t stop me completely, but it’s always there, like a weight I carry into everything. Sitting, standing, trying to sleep, trying to act like I’m okay when I’m out somewhere. It follows me into all of it.
Treatment has its own kind of pain. The kind that takes over your whole body. The nausea that isn’t just “feeling sick” but makes everything feel off. Food, water, even moving around can feel like too much. There are days where I’m not living my life, I’m just waiting for it to pass. Counting hours. Trying to keep something down. Hoping it eases up enough so I can feel like myself again, even just a little.
The migraines come in and take everything with them. Light feels harsh. Sound feels louder than it should. I find myself sitting in a quiet room with my eyes closed because that’s the only thing that helps, and even that barely does.
And then there’s the exhaustion, which people don’t always think of as pain, but it is. When your body is so tired it physically hurts to move. When your muscles feel weak like they’ve already done too much, even if you haven’t done anything yet. When something as simple as standing too long or being out in the sun drains everything out of you. I’ve had days where I wanted to stay out longer, do more, be more present, but my body just… won’t.
That’s the part that gets me. Not just that it hurts, but that it limits me in ways I never had to think about before.
I can’t just decide to spend the whole day out anymore. The heat alone can wipe me out. Playing with the kids isn’t as simple as it should be because I don’t have the strength I used to. Even the good moments come with a cost now. I can go, I can show up, I can smile and look okay but there’s always something waiting for me after. Days of recovery, more pain, more exhaustion.
And I still do it. I still try. I still push myself to be there, to be present, to not let this take everything from me.
There’s no real break from being in this body. There’s no moment where everything just feels quiet. It’s always something, something aching, something sore, something not working the way it used to.
And I think that’s what wears on me the most.
Not just how much it hurts, but how constant it is. How overwhelming it is.
I’ve adjusted to it in a lot of ways. I’ve learned how to move through it, how to plan around it, how to still show up when I can. But adjusting doesn’t mean it’s easy. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to me.
Because it does.
I’m just tired of being in pain.
Not in a way where I’m giving up. Not in a way where I’m not trying.
Just in a very real, very human way where living like this every day is a lot.
I don’t need everything to be perfect. I don’t expect that.
I just wish my body felt quiet sometimes.
Just long enough to remember what that used to feel like.
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And if you’re living in a body that hurts too, I hope this made you feel a little less alone in it.
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