I’ve touched on pain before. Living with chronic pain, it’s inevitable that I come back to it. It serves as a daily reminder to be grateful for the good moments in which I experience life free of physical discomfort. It’s a framing that proves difficult to hold onto, especially when the pain is at its worst. There have been moments when it has been so severe that I’ve wished for anything that would make it stop, even death.

When seconds turn into minutes and minutes into hours, the impermanence of pain begins to feel like a fantasy. Any memory of the painless existence I had just a bit ago vanishes. In these episodes, I realize how much I took normalcy for granted, and I vow internally not to let that happen again. Yet when the pain flares up once more, the same thoughts recur. This repetition makes clear just how powerfully sensation can warp the mind.

We’re already not fully in control of the fleeting thoughts that pass through our heads; anyone who has experienced intrusive thoughts directed towards other drivers knows this. Add severe pain to the mix, and the distortion intensifies dramatically. For that reason, I know there’s nothing to feel guilty about, even if I wish I hadn’t fallen into wishing for non-existence and even if I wish I had “learned my lesson” by now when it comes to appreciating my life. Chronic pain, mine at least, seems to assert itself cyclically rather than cumulatively, mirroring the workings of the universe.

There are, however, things to be gleaned from such suffering besides gratitude. Through pain, we are made acutely aware that we are not the masters of our own existence. Our bodies are subject to an unknowable number of dependent variables, most of which lie entirely beyond our control. Just as importantly, there is no way I could endure these episodes without the help of others. In this way, pain reveals the truth of interdependence. To suffer alone is not virtuous, righteous, or indicative of moral strength. To seek help is not a failure of character, but in alignment with the way reality functions.

Pain also has the effect of directing our attentions inward. In daily life, it’s easy to exhaust ourselves through routine and neglect our well-being amid constant external demands. While chronic pain has many causes beyond stress or anxiety, its aftermath often forces a temporary detachment from those pressures. We are compelled to prioritize rest, boundaries, and equanimity. During severe flare-ups, I find that my usual fears tend to disappear. Every other sensation dominates to such an extent that I don’t even register the poking and prodding of the medical staff. It’s not that the problems of the outside world cease to exist, but that their apparent urgency is revealed as contingent, transient. This is something we would do well to remember once the pain subsides.