Melanated Musings.

A musing on Pain. The first of many posts about the reality of an ailing body.

Everyone, at some point or another, has felt misunderstood, misinterpreted, insecure, and unsure about themselves and any emotion in between. Still, there’s a stark difference between having these thoughts and feelings occasionally and it being a chronic case. I happen to feel like I suffer from the chronic variation of this. In my current manifestation, I also feel like time and space have eroded the things I have felt confident about; the skills and talents I have cultivated and cherished have been chipped away.

The most significant example of this is my physical strength and my mind. I’ve always considered myself to be small yet mighty. My brother taught me how to Olympic and powerlifting when I was 8. It quickly became a lifelong passion of mine until my early 30s when my body started to break down, and heavy weights and sustained movements became not only painful but physically impossible due to chronic pain, inflammation, and the hormonal mixed bag that the dreadful combo of PCOS and hypothyroidism offer. 

Here’s my disclaimer: I’ve struggled with numerous ailments all my life; from Baby Grace to Big Grace, there has been nothing as consistent as my physical pain, whether it was juvenile migraines, joint and mobility issues, digestive woes, and a whole bucket of other mess.

As I grew, I began to feel betrayed and disappointed by my body, and I turned to my other love — intellectual pursuits and learning. Eventually, brain fog, memory hiccups, and focus issues left me feeling incompetent and dumb—a constant reminder of the insecurities that had pushed me to fortify my mind and body. The irony of the entire situation is rarely lost on me. There’s no sadder feeling than grasping onto the things you love as they slip through your hands like sand in a fist. 

But here’s what pain has been teaching me: it’s been reminding me that who we are is ever-changing, and if we cling to the versions of ourselves that we know, we inhibit the evolution needed to become our highest form. This is an ongoing melancholic soundtrack of my life because I am constantly struggling with feelings of inadequacy, of lagging behind others, of not being good enough to deserve anything, and of having to work past the point of necessity and exhaustion to sit squarely on par. This feeling has eaten away at my psyche since toddlerhood, this nagging awareness that I wasn’t like everyone around me and that this difference was an insurmountable deficit that would eventually ruin my life. 

If I’m completely transparent, I still feel this way. Luckily, it’s not a constant and pervasive thought, but it’s definitely more “active” sometimes. As well-intentioned as my circle of loved ones are the continual probing on how I’m feeling or doing or sincere, yet often, unsolicited advice about everything from my quest to lose hormones-induced weight, find a kind and compatible partner, and even the function of my new hobbies leads to a lot of personal discouragement. Mostly because I am already discouraged; it feels hollow and heavy even when they are encouraging or trying to provide motivation. 

External motivation has never done much for me; I’ve always had to be my personal combustible engine. People’s compliments and effusive language have simply been words to me. I wish that weren’t the case. I always hope and pray that how I cling to the overly critical feedback and limiting beliefs of my potential would transmute into true faith in their words. But it hasn’t– yet.

I’ll share something I rarely discuss here: Joy is complex for me, challenging, even. I’m a hopeful/optimistic person and exhibit joy often, but sincere joyfulness is something I extract from my experience or time with others, especially the children in my life. The news of their well-being and adventures brings me emotional buoyancy, and their happiness activates second-hand joy that I carry and safeguard like priceless treasures—the same for nature. A happy bird hopping through the grass or a dog playing fetch ignites my inner light and warmth. Yet, on my own, I possess a removed coldness that few recognize or even realize I can access. Feeling present inside me has been a lifelong challenge that I’ve tried to hide or work away. I believe I did so pretty efficiently until I was too exhausted in mind, body, and soul to continue. 

I guess this is the greatest lesson of chronic pain — it strips you bare, lays your bones and inner workings out in the sun, and asks you to look closely without looking away. It is a tremendous task to seek the answer to the question, “Who are you on your worst day when you’ve got nothing left to give?” I want to think I could bravely face that response and that I would be able to say, even at my very worst, I try to do my very best. But I don’t know if that’s true. Most days, I aim to conjure the courage to confront myself without shame, fear, or judgment and to sit with acceptance and surrender (I am really on the struggle bus with the latter).

Every day, pain teaches me the lesson of refinement. She drains my very essence and then encourages me to fill myself with what Spirit has for me. When you’re in a constant state of mid-level pain, everything becomes clearer. Your time becomes mindfully curated, and the people you spend it with or the things you do with the moments you have must be weighed on the scales of discomfort and desire.

This reminds me of something a crush once told me after spending a lot of platonic (yet romantical-y) time together. One day, we were walking, potentially with my beloved Athena, when he mentioned how even when I laughed or smiled, it never seemed like the light made it all the way to my eyes. And how they always revealed how deeply I hurt within. He was a fellow melancholic soul (it’s a good thing that relationship didn’t materialize), and I had seen the same ache inside him. I realize now that he was one of the last mirrors I met before my health took a nosedive, and simple things like getting out of bed to make it to work felt like a Herculean feat. This young man reflected me to myself, and as much as I enjoyed his company, intelligence, and kindness, he was heavy, and my affinity for him always felt like a sinking ship.

These days, I’m feeling lighter in my mind and body and doing the work of not being afraid of my reflection in the mirror. I’m asking her to be open to encouragement to believe in what could be and what Spirit promises. I anchor in the hope of tomorrow.

I’ve spent a lifetime generating worth through functions - driving my value strictly from capabilities. When that story ran its course, I was at the mercy of The Void, grasping for another set of metrics to measure my value. That existence never served me, now less than ever.

Our pasts obstruct our future in many ways, and the narratives we’ve whispered to ourselves become a chorus of loud voices that are not true or eternal. 

What has been is not what must always be.

**Authors Note: This is my first official post on Substack, and I am still sorting out the kind of writing I’ll be doing on the platform and what will be “paid” vs. free content. I hope you’ll stick around for this journey of expression, whatever form it may take!