“Mind over matter” works sometimes. Other times, I think the physical has a greater say in the shape of our lives.

Either way, this is a message for the person who’s been dealing with chronic pain as just another part of their life -- or, a major part of it.

This is to say: of course you’re still an incredible human being.

I wanted to write this for you, for whoever needs to hear it, because I grew up with a father who was sick for my entire life, for his entire life.

And though you wouldn’t know it, my partner deals with the aftermath of his car accident every single day. Both men in my life continue to be an inspiration and an example of how far a good sense of humor will take you.

If you have someone in your life who inspires you in the way they live and love through their pain, pass this letter on to them. It’s an “I see you” kind of thing.

Consider sending them an encouragement card in the mail, even, one that speaks to how important they are to you.

A Love Letter to the Person Who’s Dealing with Chronic Pain

Not everyone will appreciate how far you've come, but I do.

It's not everyone who will see the beauty of your being here, but I see.

I know the damage that's been inflicted on you, is not always a visible thing. There are emotions you've had to work through that some go their whole lives keeping silent. There are losses you've had to accept that some will never even dream of carrying.

I see the ways you've been humbled to dust and how that hasn't stopped you from doing your best. I know how hard it is to ask for help, but know this: it is an honor for me to be someone you trust with your needs.

I respect how precious your energy is, and I respect you as a human being.

I hear the music of your heart, still beating, and I honor the entirety of who you are.

You are not one ounce less than because of your story. You are wholly a person I adore, full of wisdom and compassion that only hardship can teach.

You understand better than most the balance between effort and surrender, the meaning of patience, the strength it takes to look loss in the eye. You don't need to hide from your truth. You show up every single day, and I can only imagine how hard some days are just to wake up to the world.

Yet, you tell me you're grateful for each morning you wake up breathing.

When you tell me that, I can find within myself a greater love of life.

Your wisdom, birthed from pain, is a scar you should be proud to show -- it shows the world what's possible when you keep going.

Your courage is a lighthouse for me when I don't know how I'll get through.

I am grateful you exist, that you do more than just exist. I am grateful you still let your light shine through. Maybe in the middle of everything you've been dealing with, that's what you're here to do.

What a beautiful thing it is, to know you: to know your light and your laughter; to know how resilient the human spirit can be.

"What a beautiful thing it is, to be able to stand tall and say, 'I fell apart, and I survived.'” (author unknown)

I see you.

I thank you.

Namaste.

. . .

Tell me:

What part of this did you need to hear (or want to tell someone) today? Or, what helps you live with chronic pain and still feel grateful to be alive?

Tell me in the comments. I’d love to know what helps you!

With you,

Jen

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