Living with chronic pain is a journey no one ever expects to be on. According to the CDC, 51.6 million Americans are living with chronic pain in 2024; that's 21% of the population. It breaks my heart to think about so many people in pain, struggling to navigate that reality.
My own journey with chronic pain began with nerve pain from long covid in 2020, and then became accentuated after a head injury in January 2021 left me using a walker and on a long path of physical & cognitive therapy. What followed was a shift in how I experienced daily life, altering the very core of my daily routines, relationships, and sense of self. I no longer recognized the body I was living in.
When people hear “chronic pain,” they often imagine an ache or discomfort, but it’s far more than that. It’s a persistent, invisible presence that affects everything. It can be debilitating, affecting concentration, sleep, and even the ability to move without fear of exacerbating the pain. Tasks that once seemed effortless, like cooking, walking, or even socializing, can become significant undertakings. Over time, the limitations of chronic pain can feel like a loss — not just of physical abilities but of the freedom and spontaneity that once defined life. Even now, I don't often know what my abilities will be moment-to-moment and day-by-day.
One of the hardest parts of living with chronic pain is that it’s often invisible to others. Friends and family may empathize, but it’s tough for them to fully understand what it’s like to live with a condition that is ongoing and largely hidden. From the outside, we may look “fine,” but internally, we’re navigating a daily minefield of discomfort. This invisibility can lead to isolation, as you feel less understood, even among the people who care most. Well-meaning suggestions like “just push through” or “stay positive” can sometimes make things harder, unintentionally minimizing the real, exhausting work that goes into managing life with pain.
Managing chronic pain often becomes a balancing act of coping strategies and compromises. Medication, physical therapy, and alternative treatments can help, but finding a regimen that works is often a journey in itself. For many, there is no “one-size-fits-all” solution. What works for a week might stop being effective the next, requiring constant adjustments and resilience. This trial-and-error process can be frustrating and exhausting, as every setback feels like a reminder of the body’s limits. It feels so cruel that as I attempt to gain strength and continue pushing myself toward former wellness, the pain spikes. It's a challenge every day not to simply give up.
One lesson I’ve learned on this journey is the importance of advocating for oneself. Chronic pain sufferers often have to be their own best advocates, researching treatments, speaking up with doctors, and recognizing when certain treatments aren’t working. It’s about learning your new body, its triggers, and knowing when to rest. This self-advocacy can be empowering, and exhausting.
It was this journey that inspired my product, PhoneSpuds. And while I'm grateful for my creative brain for coming up with it, it has also brought to the forefront just how weak and limited my body was during that time - to not even be able to hold my phone. It's been 3 years since the head injury, and I still use my PhoneSpud all the time to avoid the pain & discomfort.
For me, living with chronic pain is about small victories and the support of those who understand. It’s about the little moments of relief, the strength found in each day’s perseverance, and the knowledge that, while pain may be a part of my journey, it doesn’t define my story. It’s a journey of resilience, learning, and continual growth — one that, like life itself, is always evolving.
And yes, I do have moments without pain (thanks to trigger point injections and medication). I guess I've also made friends with the pain to some extent. It reminds me that I'm alive and that I am making progress. I've learned so many ways to adapt, and I think the most important thing about it for me, is that it has forced me to care more about myself. I can't just sacrifice my wellness for the good of others, the way I used to. Now, my body requires a high-level of maintenance - and that okay. It turns out, I needed that to show myself love. Despite the pain, that's a really beautiful thing.
With love,
Kim
