10 No-No’s When Chatting With Chronic Pain Warriors
As someone who struggles with chronic pain myself, I know how frustrating it can be when people say things that are meant to be helpful but end up being hurtful. I let my inner snark show in this post, so enjoy the things I would really like to say, “Don’t say it”! Let’s dive into 10 things you should never say to someone dealing with chronic pain.
“Have You Tried…?”
“Ah, the immortal question – ‘Have you tried…?’ Yes, Karen, I’ve basically become a guinea pig for every remedy under the sun. From yoga that made me feel like a pretzel, to cutting out gluten and crying over the memory of bread. Oh, and let’s not forget the myriad of miracle supplements that promised to whisk away my pain like a magic wand. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. Every time someone suggests a new ‘cure,’ I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, ‘Wow, why didn’t I think of that?’ I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But trust me, if there was an easy fix, I wouldn’t be here swapping war stories about chronic pain. So, let’s skip the wellness guru act and maybe just grab a coffee instead. How’s that for a novel idea?”
“It’s All In Your Head.”
Oh boy, I really hate this one and tend to go all science on them – “It’s All In Your Head.” Honey, if I had a dime for every time I heard this gem, I’d be lounging on a beach somewhere, pain-free and sipping on something fancy. Let’s get one thing straight: Just because you can’t see my pain, doesn’t mean it’s a figment of my imagination. My body isn’t a magical land where pain is make-believe. It’s as real as the frustration I feel when someone tries to play brain detective. Telling me it’s all in my head is like saying the sky isn’t blue; it’s not only incorrect, it’s downright silly. Next time, instead of donning your Sherlock Holmes hat and deducing my condition to a simple case of the “mind over matter,” how about we skip the amateur psychology and go straight to “I’m here for you.” How’s that for a plot twist?
“You Look Fine To Me.”
Oh, “You Look Fine To Me.” That’s a line I’ve heard more times than I can count, and it never gets less annoying. How about we just don’t say it. Just because I’m not wearing my pain like a flashy badge of honor doesn’t mean it’s not there. It’s like telling someone with a broken bone that’s been set and hidden under clothes that they look perfectly capable of running a marathon. Pain doesn’t have a look, Karen. It’s an invisible beast that doesn’t care about appearances. So, next time you think about complimenting my ability to conceal my agony, maybe just pass me the Tylenol and keep the observations to yourself. How about we swap the judgment for a little bit of compassion? Now, that would truly be a sight for sore eyes.
“Maybe You Need More Exercise.”
“Ah, the age-old adage, ‘Maybe You Need More Exercise.’ Look, I’m all for channeling my inner fitness guru, but let’s get real. Telling me to hit the treadmill more often when I’m barely able to crawl out of bed without wincing is like telling a fish to climb a tree—it’s just not gonna happen. And believe me, I’ve tried the whole ‘push through the pain’ spiel. Spoiler alert: it was about as effective as a chocolate teapot. Not only did it not cure my chronic pain, but I also earned a few extra aches as souvenirs. So, while I appreciate the pep talk, let’s save the exercise advice for someone who isn’t navigating an invisible minefield of pain. Instead of a workout plan, how about we aim for understanding and maybe a gentle stroll on a good day? Trust me, it’s a much better fit.”
“At Least It’s Not Worse.”
Rolling my eyes so hard I’m practically seeing my brain here. When someone hits me with the “At Least It’s Not \*Worse\*,” I have to laugh. Are we doing pain Olympics now? Because trust me, I didn’t sign up for that competition. Here’s the thing—telling me it could be worse is like saying, “Hey, your house is on fire, but at least the whole block isn’t ablaze!” Not exactly comforting, Charlie. It’s a bit like comparing apples to, well, not even oranges—more like armadillos. Totally different ball game. Instead of measuring my misery against the world’s entire catalog of suffering, how about we acknowledge that what I’m feeling right now is tough enough? Trust me, acknowledging my battle without putting it on a global leaderboard is way more helpful. Let’s leave the comparisons to reality TV show competitions, shall we, just don’t say it?
“You’re Just Being Lazy.”
Oh, the “You’re Just Being Lazy” accusation, a personal favorite in the anthology of misguided sympathies. Let’s set the record straight: maneuvering through my day with chronic pain is akin to running a marathon with a backpack full of bricks. So when someone tosses the lazy card my way, I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. It’s not laziness, darling, it’s survival. I’m not lounging in bed watching Netflix because I’m avoiding responsibility. I’m there because my body has thrown a mutiny, and I’m negotiating a peace treaty. Imagine trying to go about your day with an invisible elephant sitting on your chest. Doesn’t sound much like a lazy Sunday now, does it? How about we trade the judgment for a bit of grace? Believe me, if I could swap places with the Energizer Bunny, I would. But for now, understanding and a bit of patience go a long way.
” You’re so strong, I could never do what you do.”
Oh, strap in for this ride – the classic “You’re so strong, I could never do what you do.” Now, on the surface, this might sound like you’re handing me a medal of honor, but let’s break it down, shall we? This phrase, my friends, is a double-edged sword. Sure, it’s nice to be recognized for my resilience, but implying that my daily survival is somehow a choice of strength puts me on a pedestal I didn’t sign up for. It’s like saying, “Congrats on your epic battle with that invisible dragon but thank goodness I don’t have to fight it.” Guess what? I didn’t enlist to be a warrior; the chronic pain life chose me. So, while I appreciate the nod to my toughness, let’s not forget that I’d trade this ‘strength’ for a pain-free day in a heartbeat. How about we acknowledge that we’re all strong in our own unique battles and leave it at that? A little empathy can go a lot farther than you might think. Now, let’s dial down the hero worship and ramp up the genuine support, okay?
“I wish I could lay around all the time too.”
Oh, “I wish I could lay around all the time too.” Now, isn’t that a statement dripping with envy? Let’s clear the air, shall we? Lounging isn’t the new black for me; it’s not a fashion statement or a leisure choice. It’s the reality of dealing with a body that’s more demanding than a diva on tour. Imagine your energy is a limited edition currency, and every move costs a fortune. Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it? Not quite the staycation dream you had in mind, huh? Next time you think my life is a series of naps and Netflix marathons, remember, I’m not kicking back by choice, I’m conserving energy so I can function. How about swapping places? Oh wait, you were just kidding? Thought so. Maybe just Don’t say it. Let’s leave the fantasy of endless relaxation to the storybooks, shall we?
“You’re too young…”
Oh, the “You’re too young to be experiencing that.” Let me just adjust my youthfulness so it aligns with your expectations of pain. Because, obviously, pain checks your ID before it decides to crash your party. Listen, age is just a number, and unfortunately, it doesn’t grant immunity against the chronic pain lottery. It’s like saying you’re too pretty to be smart—utterly baseless and frankly, a bit ridiculous. Next time you’re tempted to play the age card, remember that chronic pain doesn’t discriminate. It’s an equal-opportunity annoyer. So, instead of sizing up my years, how about we focus on what really matters—offering support and a listening ear. Now, wouldn’t that be refreshing? You know what, just don’t say it.
“It’s all part of God’s Plan.”
Oh, sweet divine comedy – “It’s all part of God’s Plan.” Honey, when you drop this line, it’s like you’re trying to sprinkle holy water on my bonfire of chronic pain. Look, I get it, you’re trying to offer some celestial silver lining, but let’s be real, it feels a tad like you’re telling me to grin and bear it because the man upstairs has a grand scheme. While I respect the spiritual vibes, and hey, maybe there is a master plan with my name on it, using it as a Band-Aid for my daily struggles is like trying to fix a leak with a prayer – thoughtful, but not exactly waterproof. How about we stick to earthly supports, like listening and empathy? Trust me, those are heavenly enough for me.
I hope you have enjoyed my snark in response to these commonly said phrases by well-meaning people who just don’t get it. Feel free to share this blog post with those that may need a comedic hint.
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