I mostly agree. Here’s the part I think needs to be emphasized, pain from working out is different from injury pain. My pain however is not making me stronger. My lupus makes things hurt for no reason while my body is trying to destroy itself. I have a limit to how strong I can be and that limit goes down as time goes on and there’s nothing I can do about that. I love the pain from working out, it makes me feel good. The pain from my intestines not working? Not so much.
So as much as I agree with most of your response, I also agree with the person asking. It romanticizes pain and I hate it. It is the absolute worse thing to say when I feel like my bones are breaking every other night. You can recover from a broken leg. You can’t recover from lupussilverwhisperer1
There’s two things here, first pain, and second is Friedrich Nietzsche.
Usually we say there’s to kinds of pain: Discomfort, and actual pain, the kind of pain that tells you something’s gone seriously wrong. However, you’re illustrating a third kind; chronic pain.
Discomfort is the kind of pain you should, probably, learn to push through. It’s your body saying, “something’s wrong,” But, it’s not being honest with you. There are valid reasons for it to do this. It’s trying to stop you from engaging in behavior that endangers you. However, it is an artificial barrier. I dislike calling this, “pain,” because it’s not. Your body is telling you, “this hurts,” but it’s not really pain. However, that’s the term that people understand, and it’s where we get meat-headed axioms like, “no pain, no gain.”
Actual pain is not something that should be ignored. If you’ve been injured, “rub some dirt in it and push on,” is not valid advice. Ignoring actual injuries can aggravate them, and can cause further harm. Sometimes you may find yourself in situations where you must push on; where the risk of increased injury is the least dangerous option. However, leaving wounds untreated, or trying to, “walk it off,” is rarely a viable option.
Learning to differentiate between these two experiences is important. Especially if you’re engaging in strenuous, physical activity. This is the line between discomfort, which you may want to ignore, and pain that you should not ignore.
Chronic pain is an entirely separate beast. It is a sign that something has gone seriously wrong, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It’s simply there. It’s also corrosive over time. It is difficult for people who’ve never experienced chronic pain to understand how it wears on you over time. There is nothing to do about chronic pain except endure it. It sucks.
There’s nothing romantic about pain. A lot of the romanticism seems to stem from discomfort, and people who don’t understand that discomfort is distinct from pain. I also blame the English language for conflating both together as, simply, “pain.” The reality is that sometimes, “it hurts,” is not the same as, “it hurts.”
Conflating things brings us around to the Nietzsche axiom that started all of this. “Was mich nicht umbringt macht mich stärker.” Generally, the accepted English translation is, “that which does not kill me makes me stronger.” Nietzche wasn’t writing a universal truth about human nature. This isn’t Descartes trying to prove the existence of God by running out of things he can be suspicious of. This is a declaration.
Facing adversity requires strength. Sometimes, that strength is physical, but far more often it’s not. Facing challenges requires a strength of spirit. It requires a force of will. It requires you to look within and find the power to say, “not today, motherfucker.”
This may sound hollow, but I commend you. As you said, there is no cure for Lupus. Your body is, quite literally, tearing itself apart. And based on your comments, you have refused to let that break you. That is strength. That is the kind of strength that Nietzsche was describing. It doesn’t mean that every day will be a good one. It doesn’t mean that you’re somehow immune to pain. Pulling yourself through hell doesn’t grant you superpowers. This is, in no way, a fair trade. However, you are still here. You are still alive.
You’re living, day to day, with a serious medical condition, which will be there for the rest of your life. You’ve done that without letting it destroy who you are. Which leads me to believe, you are far stronger than you give yourself credit for.