DAY 1: The Turning of the Wheel
I am part of the great wheel of life.
I don’t understand why I’m here in this pain, but I do know that as long as I am on the wheel of life, as it keeps turning and turning, my life turns with it, from dark into light, from pain into release.
I notice what has already turned for the better, and if something has turned for the worse, I remind myself that this is not the end of the story. The wheel is still turning.
The wheel turns from dark to light, from light to dark, but each turn into the dark does not have to be as dense or as heavy, as the last.
I am on a journey. This pain is part of it. This wheel, this turning, is part of it.
I don’t understand why I’m here in this pain, but I do know that as long as I am on the wheel of life, as it keeps turning and turning, my life turns with it, from dark into light, from pain into release.
I notice what has already turned for the better, and if something has turned for the worse, I remind myself that this is not the end of the story. The wheel is still turning.
The wheel turns from dark to light, from light to dark, but each turn into the dark does not have to be as dense or as heavy, as the last.
I am on a journey. This pain is part of it. This wheel, this turning, is part of it.
DAY 2: Eyes to the East
The way is dark and I feel lost. How do I know if I’m headed in the right direction?
If I keep following the path of what feels best to me, what feels right, I will get there. If I keep my face to the East, the sun will eventually rise.
How do I keep my face to the East? I continually raise my eyes up. I keep looking toward the horizon. I keep following what feels best for this day.
Today, I notice which direction my East lies in by finding what inspires me, what makes me feel even a tiny bit more relaxed, and what feels like a lightening of the load, however slight.
If I keep following the path of what feels best to me, what feels right, I will get there. If I keep my face to the East, the sun will eventually rise.
How do I keep my face to the East? I continually raise my eyes up. I keep looking toward the horizon. I keep following what feels best for this day.
Today, I notice which direction my East lies in by finding what inspires me, what makes me feel even a tiny bit more relaxed, and what feels like a lightening of the load, however slight.
DAY 3: The Glimmer
If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.
I got into this pain, and I can find my way through and out.
Today, I consciously look for the light at the end of the tunnel – even if it’s only a tiny glimmer.
As long as I can see a glimmer I can walk toward it.
If I can’t see the glimmer yet, it might mean I have my eyes squeezed shut, or it might mean that I have to walk on just a bit further.
Because there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dark it appears, and no matter how long the journey seems to be.
I got into this pain, and I can find my way through and out.
Today, I consciously look for the light at the end of the tunnel – even if it’s only a tiny glimmer.
As long as I can see a glimmer I can walk toward it.
If I can’t see the glimmer yet, it might mean I have my eyes squeezed shut, or it might mean that I have to walk on just a bit further.
Because there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dark it appears, and no matter how long the journey seems to be.
DAY 4: The Road
Today, I am one day closer to healing than I was yesterday.
In ways I may not understand yet, I am a day wiser, a day further down the road, a day nearer to whatever it takes to get to the other side of this pain.
I affirm this today.
I congratulate myself for taking the next step, no matter how small or how tentative; for finding ways to trust life; for finding new ways to express myself, and for finding ways to trust the path I’m on, even in this pain.
In ways I may not understand yet, I am a day wiser, a day further down the road, a day nearer to whatever it takes to get to the other side of this pain.
I affirm this today.
I congratulate myself for taking the next step, no matter how small or how tentative; for finding ways to trust life; for finding new ways to express myself, and for finding ways to trust the path I’m on, even in this pain.
Day 5: One Good Thing
Today, I find one good thing I can hold close to my heart and love, despite the pain.
I find one thing that is outside of this pain bubble I live in, that is still there for me, unscathed and untouched.
A flower.
A smile from a friend.
A child’s drawing.
A poem.
A beautiful piece of art.
The sunset.
The moon.
The night sky.
I find one thing that is outside of this pain bubble I live in, that is still there for me, unscathed and untouched.
A flower.
A smile from a friend.
A child’s drawing.
A poem.
A beautiful piece of art.
The sunset.
The moon.
The night sky.
DAY 6: I Exist
I am here. I exist.
Pain is here with me, but pain has not erased or diminished me.
Pain has its own space, and I am in that space too, with pain, but I am also everywhere pain isn’t.
I am larger than this pain, and I exist beyond it and outside of it too.
Pain is here with me, but pain has not erased or diminished me.
Pain has its own space, and I am in that space too, with pain, but I am also everywhere pain isn’t.
I am larger than this pain, and I exist beyond it and outside of it too.
DAY 7: Remembering How to Dream
Today, I remember how to dream.
What would I prefer to be doing if I could push a button and stop the pain? Where would I most want to be and with whom?
Today I do something that shows I believe in my dreams of the future. It may be only a small gesture, a purely symbolic act, but it is a beginning.
This gesture says: I will get through this. I will survive, I will endure, I will grow, and I will dream my way into a life that includes more and more of who I want to be, even as I move through the pain to get there.
What would I prefer to be doing if I could push a button and stop the pain? Where would I most want to be and with whom?
Today I do something that shows I believe in my dreams of the future. It may be only a small gesture, a purely symbolic act, but it is a beginning.
This gesture says: I will get through this. I will survive, I will endure, I will grow, and I will dream my way into a life that includes more and more of who I want to be, even as I move through the pain to get there.
Taken from 30 Days Of Living Better While Living With Pain, Sarah Anne Shockley, 2017
Image: Our Lady of the Cow Parsley, Elizabeth Sonrel (1874-1953)
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 | Sarah Anne Shockley has lived with nerve pain from Thoracic Outlet Syndrome since 2007. She is the author of The Pain Companion: Everyday Wisdom For Living With and Moving Beyond Chronic Pain, Living Better While Living With Pain, and 30 Days of Living Better While Living With Pain. |
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