Living with chronic pain for over 37 years has taught me more than I ever thought I’d need to know about perseverance, adaptation, and self-discovery. Pain has shaped my days, my decisions, my relationships—and yet, it doesn’t define who I am. What defines me is how I’ve responded.
This isn’t a guidebook or a prescription. It’s a personal reflection. I don’t believe there’s a one-size-fits-all approach to chronic pain management. But I do think we can learn from each other’s experiences. Here’s what’s worked for me.
1. Positive Imaging
This is more than just “thinking positive.” For me, positive imaging means using my mind to visualize calm, movement, and healing. I picture myself walking freely, sitting comfortably, or doing simple things without pain. These images give me hope. They help shift my focus away from the pain and onto something I can control—my mindset. And that shift, even if temporary, matters.
2. Pacing Myself
I had to unlearn the old military mindset of pushing through no matter what. With chronic pain, that approach backfires. Now I pace myself. I break tasks into smaller steps, take breaks before I need them, and stop when I’m 70–80% done, not when I hit the wall. It’s taken time to listen to my body without guilt, but pacing gives me more good hours in a day and fewer crashes.
3. Staying Busy (Diversion)
There’s a fine line between distraction and purposeful diversion, and I’ve learned how to walk it. Staying busy—writing, helping others, organizing my day, even playing a game or watching a good series—keeps me from spiraling into pain. I don’t ignore the pain, but I also don’t give it the mic 24/7. Staying engaged in meaningful activities gives me a sense of accomplishment and normality.
4. Taking Naps
Naps aren’t laziness. They’re survival. Chronic pain drains energy, and fatigue makes the pain worse. I’ve learned to stop fighting the need for rest. A 20- to 40-minute nap can reset my day, lower my stress, and make everything feel just a little more manageable. It’s one of the simplest tools I have—and one I used to feel guilty about. Not anymore.
5. Staying Connected to Others
Isolation is one of pain’s cruelest companions. I’ve learned that connection is essential to survival. I facilitate chronic pain support groups because I need those conversations just as much as anyone else in the room. We share frustrations, yes—but also strategies, victories, humor, and empathy. Staying connected helps me stay grounded and reminds me I’m not alone.
6. Movement (Within Limits)
Let me be clear: I’m not running marathons. But I do what I can. Gentle stretching, walking short distances, breathing exercises—they’re not cures, but they keep me from freezing up. Movement reminds my body that it still belongs to me, not just to the pain.
7. Virtual Reality (Yes, Really)
I’ve found real relief using virtual reality for distraction and relaxation. Whether it’s walking through a redwood forest, swimming with whales, or just meditating by a waterfall, VR gives me a break from the sensory overload of pain. It’s not science fiction, it’s a tool, and for me, it works.
8. Meaningful Work and Advocacy
Engaging in advocacy has given my pain a purpose. I’ve become deeply involved in patient engagement work, reviewing clinical trials, sitting on guideline panels, and helping researchers understand what it means to live with pain. I don’t do it for sympathy—I do it because my voice matters, and so does yours. Being part of something bigger than myself has been a source of strength.
9. Spiritual Practices and Gratitude
Pain challenges my faith some days, but it also deepens it. I’ve found comfort in prayer, meditation, and simply taking time to be still. Gratitude isn’t always easy—but it’s powerful. I try to name one thing each day I’m grateful for, even if it’s just a good cup of coffee or a quiet moment with my wife, Marianne. That practice keeps my spirit intact.
10. Being My Advocate in Medical Spaces
I’ve learned to speak up, ask questions, and push back when something doesn’t feel right. Doctors once tried to free my ilioinguinal nerve without anesthesia. That experience—and others like it—taught me that medical care is not always patient-centered. Today, I prepare for every appointment as if it were a mission briefing. And I advocate for others to do the same.
11. Knowing What Doesn’t Work
This is just as important. For me, long-term opioids like fentanyl took more than they gave. Yes, they reduced pain, but at too high a cost to my quality of life. I’ve also learned that some therapies work for others but not for me, and that’s okay. The key is being honest with myself and adjusting as I go.
In Closing
Chronic pain is relentless. But so am I.
What works for me today might not work tomorrow. What didn’t work five years ago might help now. Managing pain is a dynamic process. It’s part science, part art, part grit. But at the center of it all is the refusal to give up.
If you’re navigating chronic pain, I see you. I believe you. And I believe that together, by sharing what works, we can build a life with meaning—even in the presence of pain.
Disclaimer: The views, positions, and recommendations expressed in this article are based on my personal experiences and independent research. They are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect the views, policies, or positions of the American Chronic Pain Association (ACPA). This article was written with the assistance of ChatGPT.