chronic pain management – SUNBEAM ACRES

Inside me, the Protector, the Wounded Child, the Survivor, and the Healer all dance in a quiet circle. Each one longs to be seen, to be heard, to be held. And when I finally stop to witness them, their chaos becomes a rhythm… and their rhythm becomes my healing. 
-recoverytrauma.ltd

I heard something recently that has been rolling around in my head. It was a conversation about worry versus wisdom.

The idea was that worry keeps us stuck, while wisdom keeps us moving.

One of the concepts was this, sometimes we feel stuck because we want two things that can’t exist at the same time.

I want to be healthy, but I don’t want to change anything.
I want to feel better, but I don’t want to slow down.
I want to have more energy, but I don’t want to give anything up.
I want my nervous system to settle, but I keep filling every available minute.

And with chronic pain, there can be a whole extra layer of this.

I want to do the things I used to do, but my body can’t always do them.
I want to feel better, but I can’t control whether I have a good pain day or a terrible one.
I want answers, but sometimes there are no tidy solutions.

So I worry. I think. I analyze. I replay. I predict. (I’m actually a delight. But you wouldn’t know it because I’m so tired and irritated all the time.)

I consider every possible scenario until my brain has apparently opened approximately 47 tabs, and none of them are helpful.

And somewhere in all of that thinking, I can become very, very stuck.

But then I look at my grandkids.

They might know something I have forgotten.

They don’t spend nearly as much time worrying about what happened yesterday or what might happen tomorrow.

They deal with right now.

If they’re hungry, they eat.

If they’re tired, they lie down.

If they see a bug, suddenly that bug is the most fascinating creature on Earth.

If someone says something funny, they laugh.

If they fall down, they may cry. And then, remarkably, five minutes later they’re deeply invested in something completely unrelated.

They don’t seem to spend a lot of time thinking:

I really shouldn’t have fallen down yesterday.

Or:

What if I fall down again tomorrow?

They are busy being where their feet are. Kids have a PhD in being where their feet are. (Wise little beings.)

Not because the past doesn’t matter. Not because the future doesn’t matter.

But because this moment is the only one I can actually do anything with.

And I think that is part of the difference between worry and wisdom.

Worry keeps asking:

What if?

Wisdom asks:

What now?

What if I stopped trying to solve tomorrow?

One of the things I love about forest therapy is that nature gives me a place to practice being present.

Not by sitting perfectly still and trying to empty my mind.

My brain 🧠- Director of Unnecessary Mental Load 🪪

Instead, I can go outside and let my attention wander.

I call this a sensory wander.

Rather than walking with a destination in mind, I slow down and follow whatever catches my attention.

Maybe it’s the shape of a leaf.

The sound of something moving in the grass.

The smell of wet earth.

A tree with strange bark.

The way sunlight hits one little patch of moss.

A bird I can’t identify.

A spider web I would have walked right past.

I don’t have to figure anything out.

I don’t have to make the experience meaningful.

I don’t have to turn it into a lesson.

I just notice.

What has my attention right now?

Then I follow that.

And when something else catches my attention, I follow that instead.

It’s quite simple.

I don’t have to live three days ago. I don’t have to live three weeks from now.

I can live right here.

With the trees.

With whatever happens to be in front of me.

Wisdom doesn’t mean having it all figured out

I don’t think the podcast was suggesting that wisdom means knowing exactly what to do.

Sometimes we don’t know.

Especially with chronic pain.

There is a lot of trial and error.

What helped yesterday might not help today.

Something that works beautifully for one person might make another person’s body stage a small coup.

There isn’t always a clear answer.

But wisdom doesn’t necessarily require a complete plan.

It can be much smaller.

One thing I know I can do is this.

I can drink some water 💦
I can rest before I completely crash. 😴
I can step outside 👣
I can notice what my body is telling me 👂
I can take a short walk instead of deciding I need to complete a 5km hike or not bother going at all 🚶‍♀️
I can spend ten minutes among the trees 🌲 🌲
I can stop arguing with the reality of today long enough to actually experience today 🧘‍♀️

That last one is hard.

Because sometimes I want today to be different. But wanting it to be different doesn’t change what it is.

And accepting what is happening right now doesn’t mean I like it. It means I stop spending all my energy fighting a moment I can’t change.

Maybe that’s where wisdom starts. Not with a solution. With noticing.

Maybe the kids have it partly right

My grandkids aren’t worried about whether they’re making enough progress in life.

They aren’t measuring the day by how productive they were.

They aren’t wondering whether they should have made a different choice three years ago. (One of them wasn’t even here three years ago.)

They aren’t lying awake thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong tomorrow.

They are here. Reading a book. Talking to a wooden cutout.

And maybe I don’t need to become a child again to learn from them.

I can become child-like without becoming childish. And remember something children seem to know naturally:

Pay attention to what’s happening right now.

“Christopher Robin, what day is it?”
“Today”
“My favourite day”

There will be time for tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.

There will be things to learn from yesterday when yesterday needs to teach me something.

But right now?

There is a tree.

There is wind moving through the leaves.

There is a bird making an extremely confident noise.

There is this breath.

There is this moment.

And for today, maybe wisdom is simply noticing that I’m here.

Then taking the next small step. We are all walking miracles. Let us strut accordingly.

Valemor
(n.) The quiet pride of knowing you survived something without becoming cruel, loud, or bitter. 🙌

The ideas about worry, wisdom and being stuck were inspired by the podcast Better Than Happy: “Don’t Worry” Is Terrible Advice, August 27, 2026

Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.

–Michael J Fox

We all experience pain. For some, it’s a passing ache. For others, it becomes a constant companion — a reminder that life is not always as we hoped it would be. When pain becomes chronic, it’s easy to slip into resistance: wishing it away, fighting it, or resenting what it’s taken. But there’s another path — one that doesn’t demand perfection or control. It’s the path of acceptance, and nature is a powerful guide.

The Lens of Pain: Understanding Trauma’s Impact

Do not underestimate the power of gentleness, because gentleness is strength wrapped in peace…

–LR Knost

In her podcast, Better Than Happy, Jody Moore talks about how we’ve all experienced trauma — some of us with a capital “T” and others with a lowercase “t.” The difference isn’t always about what happened, but how our minds and bodies interpret and hold it.

The same can be true for chronic pain. You get to decide whether your pain feels like Trauma — a life-altering event that defines you — or trauma — something you carry and work with, but not something that owns you. That choice matters deeply, because how we name our pain shapes how we heal from it.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

–Haruki Murakami

When Nature Whispers Acceptance

The forest is not a place to escape from life, but a place to remember how to live.

–Forest Witcraft

In forest therapy, we slow down. We listen. We notice. The rustle of leaves, the way sunlight filters through branches, the steady rhythm of our breath — these moments invite us to be with what is, rather than against it.

Acceptance doesn’t mean giving up. It means softening our resistance. It means saying, “This is what my body feels right now, and I can still experience peace.” In the forest, we learn from the trees — rooted, resilient, unhurried. We begin to see that pain and peace can coexist.

Oleilu
Finnish. To relax and simply be. without any agenda. The quiet act of existing in the moment.

Don’t Let Pain Become Your Puppet Master

Pain already takes enough from us. When we let it dictate our thoughts, our plans, or our sense of self, our world begins to shrink. We start saying no to life before life even asks the question.

But you have a choice. You can decide not to give pain more power. You can choose expansion — moments of joy, awe, and connection — even in the midst of discomfort. The forest has a way of reminding us that there is always more life available than the pain wants us to believe.

Every time you choose hope, you widen the space inside you where light can live.

-Unknown

Feel Awesome by Taking Action

Scholar Melissa Wei-Tsing Inouye once said,

It is helpful to feel awesome when preparing for war.

For many of us living with chronic pain, that war happens quietly inside our own bodies. So ask yourself: what helps you feel awesome?

Maybe it’s standing barefoot in the grass.

Breathing in the scent of pine after rain.

Watching a chickadee tilt its head in curiosity.

These moments don’t erase pain — they remind you that you are more than it.

Nature’s Remedy: Healing in the Woods

Acceptance is not a single choice; it’s a practice. And nature gives us endless opportunities to begin again — with every breath, every sunrise, every step beneath the trees.

When you allow the forest to hold your pain alongside your hope, something shifts. You stop fighting your body and start listening to it. Healing begins in that stillness.

So go. Step outside. Let the forest teach you how to make peace with what hurts — and how to feel a little more awesome along the way.

Broken crayons still colour.

-Unknown

Tag: chronic pain management

When the Future Feels Too Heavy