* Photo taken in India by Sabina Sarin
Pain. A small 4 letter word, that in life, takes up so much space. Most of us dedicate a large portion of our lives to either coping with pain, or trying to avoid it. We avoid experiencing it in ourselves, and we avoid being around it in others. And yet, pain is unavoidable. You don’t get through life without experiencing it, at some point. Buddhists say that suffering is caused not by the painful event itself, but by our reaction to it. That for the most part, we have choice in how we interpret things, and in how we respond to our emotions and to our sensations – whether we resist, struggle, analyze, fix, avoid, deny, numb, feel, question, embrace, hold on, or let go. We have choice in how we respond to our own pain, and we have choice in how we respond to the pain we feel from others. There are times when people inflict pain on others consciously and intentionally (although thankfully, this is rare); but more often, pain infliction is unintentional, with a person acting out from their own place of wounding, perhaps in defense/ self protection, or as a cry for help; and sometimes, and this is perhaps most often the case, the pain we feel from others has nothing to do with us at all, but as sentient beings, we sense and feel it, and so it elicits pain in us as well (although what we might actually be sensing is the pain within ourselves that we are put in contact with).
In this age of positivity pushing, I would like to focus on how we respond to those in pain. Often we mistake our perception of pain in someone else as pain directed at us, because we feel it when we interact with them. So what do we do? We usually begin by judging (“I don’t like this”, or worse, “I don’t like them” – which happens when we equate the pain sensations we feel with the other’s person’s worth or identity). So we act harshly. We walk away, avoid, ostracize, gossip, get angry, shame, or at its worst, isolate them – all of which serves to only make things worse (for us and for them). There are certainly times when walking away is in our best interest, as a choice to create space for “us” and “them”. And there are times when people in pain project or deflect their pain, perhaps as an unconscious attempt to reduce the severity of what they feel, or to make sense of their own experiences. But more often than not, people are simply embodying their own experience, expressing themselves from the place that they are “in”, which might be the pain body. And what do people in pain actually need? Love, acceptance, empathy, and compassion.
But how do you respond to pain with kindness and compassion? Especially when that pain triggers your own pain, your own wounds, your own shoved down or tightly packaged boxes of unexplored grief? It is so much easier to leap to the conclusion that “I have no reason to be kind to you because you just hurt me.” And I say easier, because the alternate path means I would have to see, accept and address my own wounds first, before I can look at what might be yours, and what might be shared.
We have such a hard time being around people that are in pain, whether its physical or emotional (and really, what’s the difference?). Whether it’s that person on the street (that you avoid looking at) that speaks to you with desperation, that person in chronic physical pain that responds with irritation, or that person who has been through so many shades of trauma that merely speaking to you is a feat. In our individualist, capitalist culture, we assume that we have more control and choice than we often do, for to acknowledge that we don’t have control is to open the reality of the unknown (and the possibility of pain), and this lends itself to the terror of helplessness and vulnerability.
I believe, however, that being able to choose your emotional response is a privilege. It presumes that there is enough stability and organization within the body for this to occur; and it requires an environment that feels safe and secure. And for many of us, this is not the case. The trauma of poverty, of abuse/ violence, of neglect, of oppression/ discrimination, of domination/ powerlessness, of shock/ sudden unpredicted change, all shows up in the body as dysregulation - as a stored charge within the nervous system - that keeps you locked in a cycle of fear/ anger, paralysis, hypervigilance, contraction, collapse. The part of the brain involved in the conscious choice of response has gone offline; and the survival brain is in control – its only task to ward off threat. And unfortunately, these emotional responses of fight/ flight/ freeze are not intentional, are rarely controllable, and not quickly treatable. To alleviate the charge too quickly (or to remove protective responses/ defenses) would be to retraumatize; and so healing can only happen in small baby steps. What is needed in cases like this is love, connection, acceptance, trust, compassion, community – the very things that are the hardest to come by, because our instinct is to avoid or judge people in pain. And so trauma repeats itself, within the person’s life, and from one generation to the next.
For the trauma survivor, what do you do in the meantime? Do you stay away from people because your pain might not be pleasant for others, or out of fear of further judgement or shame? Or do you hold yourself in compassion, owning your trauma and not judging what you feel (because it wasn’t your fault), and seek out those that can see the light in you, and support you in your pain? Personally, as hard as it may be, I advocate for the latter.
But who are these saints that can that can live their own difficult lives, and still be so willing and able to be in the presence of suffering without resistance? For most of us, if I have my own pain, my own struggles, my own preoccupations, how can I possibly deal with yours? Why would I want to? I want to be accepted and belong with others, I want safety and security (and probably much more), and so I need to be as pain free and positive (aka “happy”) as possible, and keep my energy “vibrations” high. And let’s face it - it is hard to be positive with people that are negative. It is hard to feel love for people that emanate anger and hate (however justified those feelings may be). It’s hard to stick your hand in the lion’s den if you don’t know whether it will get bitten. In fact, it’s really really hard. And yet, it’s exactly what we need.
[It’s funny. I imagine that if most of us sensed an animal in pain, it would somehow be easier to still be loving and compassionate, to extend a hand. If they snapped, we would step back, but perhaps we would stick around, maybe offer it soothing words in a kind tone. Why is it so different with humans?]
So what do we do? I think it starts with the willingness to feel someone else’s pain – and the trust that it will pass, and there will be light on the other side. That in meeting or joining someone in their pain, there is connection, and love. And that maybe the power of this connection will overshadow the pain you feel in joining them. I think it also requires us to take things less personally. Being solid in yourself, in your knowledge of self and your intentions, accepting that you have little control over the outcome (of someone else’s actions), and maybe starting small. Moving slowly. And as much as possible, taking the ego out of it, not making it about me and allowing myself to really see you, even if you’re glaring at me as if I’m your enemy… but if I really look at you, maybe I can see how scared and threatened you actually are. How attacked you must feel yourself. How hurt you must have been that you feel inclined to hurt others, intentionally or not. And somehow, if I can see that, if I can take myself out of the equation enough, perhaps first wrapping myself in a blanket of love and empathy, then maybe I can reach out and throw you a blanket too… and we can chat.
*Photo taken in Guatemala by Sabina Sarin