"Chronic pain is isolating," she said,
as she described her journey of recovery
from an accident early last year.
Isolating.
This conversation took place about two months after my accident,
and to that point,
I had not yet named this part of my experience,
but yes, that was exactly the word:
Isolating.
Perhaps this is part of the depression,
where motivation and initiative are suppressed,
energy and interest wane;
it's easier to do nothing.
So one isolates.
I realized I wasn't doing the usual "cruise direction,"
initiating social interaction,
suggesting and pursuing activities,
connecting with people.
My blogging slowed and stopped.
Interacting on Facebook slowed and stopped.
If I connected with people,
it was because they sought me out,
not I them.
This hasn't been a complete disconnection;
it was a matter of degrees:
I still initiated some things,
but not as many as before.
And pain can also be isolating
because it's a major aspect of your life at the time,
something you're always feeling,
always struggling to manage,
always carrying into every social setting,
and you can't keep sharing it, talking about it,
because, really, who wants to listen to that
every time you are together?
Yes, people do sincerely care and want to know how you're doing,
but you don't want to cloud the outing to the movies,
or Sunday brunch,
of game night
with your ongoing tale of woe,
and the fact that, as you sit through the movie (brunch, games),
you are in pain, inwardly wincing, shifting to get more comfortable,
distracted.
Even when you are with others,
you feel alone with your pain.
Again, it's not all or nothing,
there are degrees to this feeling of isolation--
it comes, it goes.
I value my friends.
I need their companionship.
I understand the need to connect
even as I disconnect.
The pain puts up a fence,
and it takes greater effort to climb over it,
dismantle it, find a way around it
to the person on the other side.
And that's the problem:
the energy needed for that effort isn't there.
So what might be helpful in such situations?
I think this:
If you know someone who struggles with chronic pain,
find a way to acknowledge that reality when you first see them,
but don't make it the focus of your time together.
For example:
How's your pain level today?
Thank you for asking. From 1 to 10, about a 4.
Ah, that's hard. If you want to talk about it, I'm happy to listen.
Thank you.
And if, at some point, you need to take a break, just let me know.
And then carry on.
You've dismantled at least a small part of the fence.
I thank you.
Your hurting friends thank you.
(A final note:
It strikes me
that we could deal with a variety of tough life circumstances
in the same way:
the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, divorce,
chronic and/or terminal illness--
any continuing circumstance that is either always with a person
or present for an extended period of time:
How are you dealing today?
If you want to talk about it, we can. If not, that's okay too.
If at any time you need a break, just let me know.)
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