It’s Not Over
Challenging the Inner Dialogues of Living with Chronic Pain
Transforming Fear into Curiosity and Compassion
For those of us who live with chronic pain, it’s easy to fall into that insidious trap sometimes — the one that tells us, “it’s all over.”
Sometimes that voice arises early on, at the onset of chronic pain, and sometimes it resurfaces much later, during a stubborn pain flare, even after we've begun to acclimate to our new reality.
We know from a rational standpoint that this thought isn’t true: we are still breathing, we still exist on so many levels, and pain doesn't mean our lives are "over" in any real way.
It’s a feeling, not a fact.
But it can sure be deceptively tempting to tumble down that rabbit hole.
I’ve certainly gone down, explored, and even dwelt in that rabbit hole myself.
Whenever I’ve either believed that feeling or been tempted to, I notice that there’s often another emotion just underneath it: grief.
Grief is an important companion along this journey — and I'll be diving deeper into it in my next article.
So what makes us think this thought, "it’s all over"? What exactly feels “over”?
And most importantly, how can we challenge that feeling — before it hardens into a belief — without minimizing or suppressing it?
Let’s start by remembering one essential truth:
Feelings aren’t bad.
Our emotions are a vital part of being human. They deserve acknowledgment, not judgment.
Most of the time, feelings just want to be witnessed.
And once we do that, they can become a golden opportunity — a catalyst for reflection, growth, and even action.
When we notice that painful thought arise, we can pause and gently say,
“Okay, this is how it feels — right now.”
Then, we get to choose what happens next.
We can recognize the real losses we've experienced:
– the sense of control we used to have,
– the expectations we held for ourselves,
– the dreams that feel like they’ve stalled or even disappeared.
Acknowledging these shifts isn’t weakness — it’s honesty.
And it doesn’t mean that life itself is over.
There’s no concrete evidence that we can’t still create meaning, connection, and even fulfillment for ourselves.
Change is difficult under the best of circumstances — and massive change all at once can feel overwhelming.
I vividly remember being deeply embedded in the feeling of "it’s all over" for what seemed like a very long time after chronic pain entered my life.
It certainly appeared that way:
External anchors in my world were crumbling.
My body no longer moved or behaved the way it always had.
My world seemed to narrow, becoming shockingly small.
I could only see what I could no longer do.
Dreams that once seemed natural — traveling, dating, reconnecting with friends, returning to being the "me" I'd always known — felt utterly unreachable.
And when the pandemic struck, cutting me off even further from loved ones, the loneliness intensified that sense of stuck-ness.
But here’s what I slowly, painfully, and ultimately gratefully realized:
It’s not life that’s over.
It wasn’t even that “over” was the right word.
What was happening was a turning of pages — a chapter closing.
And beyond it were words and stories I hadn’t read yet.
The real task was to find a way to stay open — open to the idea that another chapter even existed, even if I couldn’t yet see its pages.
This realization wasn’t instant.
It wasn’t some magical moment of clarity.
It was a process — a slow, halting act of faith.
I had convinced myself so deeply that everything was over, clinging fiercely to my old ideas of what a meaningful life "should" look like, that I couldn’t imagine life was leading me toward something different but still worthy and real.
Today, especially when a particularly pesky pain flare arises, I still sometimes hear the faint echo of that old thought.
But I meet it differently now.
I actively choose a compassionate response.
I don’t shame myself for feeling it.
I remind myself:
– how far I’ve come,
– the people who value and love me,
– the intrinsic worth I have simply by being here.
And I remind myself that life still holds mystery, adventure, and new dreams yet to be dreamed.
For those of you who hear that same whisper — “it’s all over” — I promise you: it’s not.
Chronic pain isn’t the end of your story.
It’s a chapter. But it’s not the book.
I invite you to be open to the possibility that your story has many more pages — even if you can’t yet glimpse them.
Whenever that feeling tries to take hold, pause.
Offer yourself compassion and kindness.
Acknowledge the feeling without letting it define you.
And maybe, gently, curiously, ask yourself:
“What might I be called to next?”
You don’t need a clear answer right away.
You don't need to have a fixed vision or mapped-out plan.
This is simply a moment to be curious. Open. Willing.
And to remember:
You are so much more than the pain.
It’s not over. 🌟
In solidarity and compassion, as we keep writing our stories together,
Julie 💜