Walk it off… okay, cool. Let me just limp into the void.

For a year and a half I dealt with bad headaches every day. Every. Day. I could barely get out of bed.

But I took whatever strength I had left and I got out.

That’s the part people don’t always understand: when you’re in pain long enough, you don’t wake up thinking, “What a beautiful day to be brave.” You wake up thinking, “How do I survive today without losing myself?”

And it’s funny—when I’m in pain, I only hear one stupid saying in my head:

“Walk it off.”

Like… okay. I’ll just walk off nerve pain, migraines, and whatever fresh hell my body picked today. I’ll just stroll it out. I’ll take a brisk little lap around the suffering and be fine by dinner.

Sure.

The real reason “walk it off” messes with me

I think the “walk it off” mindset is why I’m terrified of being a burden.

I’m terrified of needing assisted living. For me, that feels like defeat. Not because I judge anyone else—never that. People deserve care. People deserve help. People deserve support.

But for me? I mentally feel independent… and then my body comes in like:

“LOL. Cute.”

And the gap between who you are in your head and what you can do in your body can make you feel trapped.

It’s not just pain.
It’s grief.
It’s fear.
It’s rage.
It’s the constant internal math of, “If I do this, will I pay for it later?”

The help I need… and the anger I hate feeling

My mom lives with me and helps me when I can’t do anything.

I love that she’s here.

What makes me angry is the part where I can’t do the things I should be able to do. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I’m not trying. But because my body sometimes says, “Nope. Not today.”

I’m not mad at her.
I’m mad at the betrayal.
The trapped feeling.

And then comes the guilt. Because how dare I feel angry when I have support, right?

Except… emotions don’t work like that. Chronic pain turns your nervous system into a live wire. It can make you feel grateful and furious in the same breath. It can make you love your people and still hate that you need help.

What this series is (and why I’m writing it)

So this is me starting a series about my chronic pain journey—raw, real, weird—because I know there are other people out there doing the same “smile through it” routine while their insides scream.

If that’s you, welcome.

This series is not:

• a “look how inspiring I am” story

• a list of magical cures

• a toxic positivity pep rally

This is:

• what it’s like living with chronic pain

• what it does to your brain and identity

• what it costs (emotionally, physically, socially)

• and what helps me keep going when it feels like nothing helps

What chronic pain actually steals (that people don’t see)

Chronic pain doesn’t just steal comfort. It steals normal.

It steals: As listed

• spontaneity (because you can’t trust your body)

• confidence (because symptoms mess with your sense of safety)

• energy (because you spend it just trying to function)

• your personality some days (because pain changes how you move through the world)

It can make you cancel plans and then hate yourself for cancelling.
It can make you show up and then pay for it for days.
It can make you question your own reality when symptoms change all the time.

And it can make you feel isolated even when you’re not alone.

What you can expect in the next posts

If you want a roadmap (because my brain needs roadmaps or it starts eating furniture), here’s what’s coming:

Part 2: Meet the Pain Family
I’ll lay out the conditions I’m dealing with and what that looks like day-to-day—because names on a list don’t show the reality.

Part 3: Winter, Rain, and Car Rides
The things that make symptoms worse, and the way your body starts predicting pain before it even hits.

Part 4: The Desperation Phase
The “I’d buy guru stuff and travel the world for ancient herbs” chapter, because nothing humbles you faster than unrelenting pain.

Part 5: Independence vs Reality
Needing help, hating it, loving your people, hating your limitations, and learning how to exist inside that contradiction.

Part 6: I’m Still Here
The wrap-up: what I’ve learned, what I’m building next, and why this won’t be the end of the story.

If you’re living this too

I’m going to say something that might land heavy (in a good way):

You’re not dramatic.
You’re not weak.
You’re not “too much.”
You’re a person trying to live inside a body that doesn’t cooperate.

And that messes with you.

So if you found this post because you’re searching for someone who gets it—hi. I get it. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to tell the truth and build something useful out of it.

Join the Chaos

My newsletter is called Join the Chaos—because my brain is fried, chaotic, and squirrelly, and I’m done pretending it’s not.

If you join, you’ll get:

• updates when new parts drop

• comfort + “you’re not alone” notes

• first access to printables I’m building (Calm the Chaos)

Disclaimer: I am not a licensed therapist, counselor, psychologist, or medical professional. Everything shared on this site is based on my personal lived experience and is for education, reflection, and inspiration only. It is not medical or mental health advice and is not a substitute for professional care.

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