Chronic Pain & Quiet Joy: Finding Light in the Margins
Some mornings, before I can even fully open my eyes, my body is there to remind me: the pain is still here.
Sometimes, it’s subtle enough to ignore. I wake up, begin the day, and no one ever knows a thing about it. Other times, it’s sharp and relentless, and leaves me feeling like, surely, my body must be betraying itself. Chronic pain has a way of shrinking the world, narrowing it down to survival, to moment-by-moment endurance. It demands energy I don’t always have, and patience I didn’t know I’d need this much of.
But joy, I’ve learned, isn’t always loud. It doesn’t require pain to leave the room. Joy can exist alongside it—quietly, tenderly, unexpectedly.
And often, it does.
Joy in Stillness
One of the most healing things I do isn’t really doing anything at all—just sitting quietly in the sun and letting the world come back into focus. It helps on the days when movement feels too far away, and reminds me that resting with this kind of intention is still a form of self-connection.
There’s something powerful about pausing long enough to feel the sun on my skin, to listen to the wind moving through the trees, and let my eyes trace the clouds. It brings me out of the swirl of pain and back into the present, grounding me. I know that even if I can’t move much, I can still be here. I can notice, and I can breathe.
And sometimes, that small act of simply being—barefoot in the grass, wrapped in a blanket on the porch, eyes closed beneath the the sun—is enough to remind me that time is moving, these moments are fleeting, and I’m confidently still right here.
Joy in Companionship
My sweet German Shepherd, Jude, doesn’t care how long I sit on the floor or how many breaks I need along the way. He just knows I’m his person.
He’s quiet and sensitive, and a lot like myself in countless ways. When I can’t keep up with the world, Jude is my reminder that slowing down is still living big. Whether it’s his presence through constant check-ins when I’ve been curled up too long, or the simple weight of his head resting on my leg, he brings my mindset back to love, back to now.
Jude doesn’t ask me to be pain-free. He just asks me to be, and that’s enough.
Joy in Expression
Art doesn’t always look the same for me. Some days, I write. Other days, I draw digitally on my iPad or collage on any empty canvases I have laying around. And sometimes, I just sit with my ideas, letting them swirl around in my head to slowly take form as something concrete later.
Creating, in any shape, helps me feel like I exist beyond my diagnosis(es). It gives me a language for the things I can’t explain and a space to pour my experience into something outside of me. It’s not always about productivity. Sometimes, it’s just about proving I still have a voice.
Through art, I’m reminded that no matter what I put out into the world, whether that be some sort of creation or just my energy, is more about presenting something that’s authentic and true rather than polished and perfectly all-together.
Choosing Joy—Even When It’s Small
I don’t wake up joyful every day. Absolutely, there are days when I grieve, cry, and feel as if hope lives so far away. But also, I’ve learned that honoring those feelings is part of my joy—because it means I’m still soft enough to feel, and strong enough to keep moving forward despite these struggles.
Joy isn’t always big. Sometimes, it’s merely the way sunlight hits our disco ball every evening at 6:30, filling the house with light. Joy is the sound of Jude’s dancing feet as he eagerly waits for breakfast, or the stretch of my back after lying still for too long. Joy is the feeling of ink on paper when I don’t have the words yet, but I’m trying.
I don’t have to wait for the pain to be gone to feel good. I just have to be willing to notice what’s still good, even now.
My body isn’t a project. It’s my partner, even when it hurts.
If you live with chronic pain, I hear you. I know how heavy it all can feel. But I also know this: joy isn’t gone. It may be quieter in these moments, but it’s still worth listening for.
