Can anything good come from chronic pain? I don’t believe pain itself is good, and I would never ask anyone to be thankful for it. But after 21 years of unmanaged chronic pain, I can say that some meaningful things grew out of those years. They taught me that relationships matter more than things, that simply showing up can encourage someone, that contribution doesn’t have to look like productivity, that I didn’t have to be perfect, and that I could notice what was still good even on hard days. I didn’t see most of that while I was living through it. Much of it only became clear looking back.
A Prayer I Prayed Early On
Early in my pain journey, I remember praying a simple prayer: please don’t let this pain be in vain. I wasn’t asking to be grateful for the pain. Believe me, I wanted it to end. But if I was going to live through those years anyway, I wanted something meaningful to come from them. I wanted to learn and grow, and maybe someday use what I was going through to encourage someone else.
Those were hard years. I often couldn’t take part in things I loved. I felt discouraged, I couldn’t picture a good future, and I grieved the life I thought I was supposed to be living. I’ve talked a lot on our channel about the pain management tools that eventually helped me. This post is about something different: the lessons those years taught me about relationships, humility, purpose, perfectionism and thankfulness.
Relationships Matter More Than Things
Jim and I had built a home in the woods out in the country. I loved it. It was beautiful and peaceful, and it was something we had dreamed about and worked hard for.
But as my pain became more limiting, living outside of town started causing problems. It was hard for me to get into town, and hard for people to come see me. If you’ve lived with chronic pain for long, you know how much those visits can mean when you spend most of your time at home. Slowly we realized our beautiful home was making it harder for me to have the connection I needed.
So we made a hard decision. We sold the home we loved and moved into town. But we gained something that mattered more: access to people, friendships and community, the chance for me to be connected instead of isolated.
That taught me something I still believe. Relationships are more important than things.
I don’t think everyone needs to sell their house. But chronic pain can quietly lead us to arrange our lives around our limitations instead of around the people who matter most. Maybe being more connected means inviting someone over instead of waiting until you feel well enough to go out. Maybe it means finding a different way to take part. It’s worth asking whether the things we’re holding on to are helping us live the life that matters most to us.
Showing Up on a Cot
The next lesson was humbling. For most of those years I couldn’t sit comfortably for long, and that made church hard. Worship mattered to me, but sitting through a service was more than I could manage. I tried standing in the back, and that wore me out. So I went to church and lay on a cot. Yes, a cot.
Everyone else sat in chairs, and there I was lying down. I liked to look capable, and I didn’t enjoy drawing attention to myself. I just didn’t want to lose one more connection to my life.
Then something happened I didn’t expect. People started telling me that seeing me there encouraged them. Some said that on mornings they didn’t feel like coming, they thought about me coming even though I had to lie down, and it got them there too.
What I saw as weakness, other people sometimes saw as perseverance. We don’t have to look strong to make a difference. Sometimes letting people see that we’re struggling, but still showing up as best we can, encourages them in ways we may never know.
I want to be clear about one thing. If you’re in a season when you simply can’t show up, you are not failing. You don’t have to push past your limits to inspire anyone. The lesson for me wasn’t that I had to be there no matter what. It was that even when I couldn’t take part in the usual way, my presence still had meaning.
Contribution Doesn’t Have to Look Like Productivity
For most of those years I couldn’t work. I was used to being busy and productive, and when pain took away so much of what I could physically do, I struggled to feel useful. Maybe you’ve had to leave a job you loved, cut back your hours or give up volunteering, and you’ve wondered what you still have to offer.
Little by little I found ways to contribute. They just looked different. I wrote encouraging cards. I made phone calls to ask people how I could pray for them. I had time to listen to someone going through something hard, time busier people often couldn’t find.
I learned that contribution can also look like encouragement, or simply letting someone know they aren’t forgotten.
Those years also helped me understand other people’s struggles in a new way. I knew what it felt like to cancel plans or to be discouraged by slow progress, and people who were hurting could tell. Chronic pain can change what we’re able to do, but it doesn’t erase what we have to offer.
Letting Go of Perfectionism
I have a confession. Before chronic pain, I was a bit of a perfectionist. All right, more than a bit. I liked being organized and on top of things, and I thought I needed to have it all together.
Chronic pain challenged that. There were days I couldn’t get things done and plans that fell apart. And I started to notice something that makes me laugh now: I didn’t really have everything together before chronic pain. I just thought I did.
There was freedom in admitting that. I didn’t have to be perfect, finish everything on my list, or pretend I could handle it all without help. Hardest of all, I didn’t have to measure the value of my day by how much I got done. But as I let go of some of those expectations, I found life could still be meaningful even when it didn’t look the way I’d planned.
So many of us hold ourselves to standards that don’t account for our circumstances. Maybe the problem isn’t that we’re failing. Maybe some of our expectations need to change.
Noticing What’s Still Good
When you live with chronic pain, it can feel like everything is going wrong, and those hard things can take all of your attention. But slowly I began noticing that even on a hard day there were things to be thankful for. A beautiful day. A conversation with someone I love. A moment of laughter. Even indoor plumbing.
Being thankful didn’t make the pain disappear, and it didn’t mean pretending everything was wonderful. Gratitude isn’t about denying our struggles. It’s about not letting them keep us from noticing the good that is still there. That’s one reason I like to start conversations by asking, “What are you thankful for?”
Faith, and Why Suffering Isn’t Good
This last lesson is tied to my faith. Romans 8:28 has meant a great deal to me. It speaks of God working all things together for good for those who love Him. But that doesn’t mean all things are good. We don’t need to pretend suffering is good, or that every painful experience hides a wonderful lesson. Some of those years were just plain hard.
What I did experience was God being faithful to walk with me, even when my circumstances didn’t change when I wanted them to. I learned that peace and purpose didn’t depend on a pain-free life. I know not everyone reading shares my faith, and that’s okay. Whatever you believe, a hard chapter doesn’t have to be the end of a meaningful story.
Your Life Still Has Meaning
You don’t have to find meaning in every difficult day. Sometimes you just need to get through it. But this week, you might try noticing the lessons you’re learning. Write them in a journal or a note on your phone, or take a moment at the end of the day to ask two questions: What am I thankful for today? And is there something this is teaching me?
Don’t let your pain be in vain. Not because you have to turn suffering into something good, but because your life still has meaning, even in the middle of hard circumstances.
