Where Pain Can Live

You gotta resurrect the deep pain within you and give it a place to live that’s not within your body. Let it live in art. Let it live in writing. Let it live in music. Let it be devoured by building brighter connections. Your body is not a coffin for pain to be buried in. Put it somewhere else.

~ Ehime Ora

Healing begins when we learn to move pain out of the body instead of holding it there. For years, my trauma and grief were lodged deep inside me, gnawing at my bones, tightening my chest, whispering in my nervous system. Chronic pain and illness became companions I could not ignore.

Now, I am learning to let go.

I move pain through my body in ways that feel real and alive. Sometimes it is shaking after a heavy group session. Sometimes it is dancing in the quiet of my living room. Sometimes it is letting tears fall freely without shame or apology. I used to suppress them and wonder why my body would rebel later with a migraine or stiffness. We are not made to hold all this inside. Now I honor what wants to move.

Living with a chronic illness means pain is always present, but it does not have to define me. I sing in the car at the top of my lungs, releasing sorrow and rage and everything I have held for others as well as myself. I write, letting the words pour onto the page so my body does not have to carry them alone. I am learning that giving pain a home outside my body is not indulgence. It is survival.

Pain does not belong to the body alone. It can live elsewhere, in sound, in movement, in expression. It can become art, ritual, and witness. It can be transformed into something that nourishes instead of destroys.

Each time I allow myself to release it, I reclaim my body. I reclaim my breath. I reclaim the right to exist in this world with tenderness and strength. My body becomes a vessel of life and presence instead of a coffin for grief. Each movement, each song, each tear, each written word is a small act of liberation. Each act reminds me that I am more than the pain I carry.

My healing is ongoing, messy, and alive. I choose to honor my body, my grief, and my spirit with compassion. I choose to let pain move through me instead of holding it hostage. And in doing so, I create more space for connection, for joy, for life that feels fully lived.