Tricking My Mind
Pain has a tendency to want to mess with our minds.
It chips away at reluctant hosts with thoughts of weakness and worthlessness, and tries its darndest to make people believe that life sucks.
In it’s most ruthless state, pain creates fear. LOTS of fear. It scares individuals into stopping the things that they love doing the most. It lulls them with false promises as it whispers into their thoughts: if you stop doing the things that make you happy, the things that you love the most, I *will* go away.
Trust me.
The thing is, when pain starts talking this way, it is not to be trusted.
Throughout my more than ten years of living with rheumatoid arthritis, I fell multiple times for these false promises that the pain so often presented in an attractive light. Each time I cast aside the things that bought me joy with each new day, all in the hope that doing so might be *the* thing that would finally make the pain go away, I found myself in a place where I only hurt worse.
I found myself in a dark, scary spot that is unimaginable to many, but which–sadly enough–is all too familiar to many of us who live with chronic pain.
A couple of years ago, after years and years of trying anything/everything to make the pain go away, I decided that I would start tricking my mind.
Instead of telling myself that life sucked, I started telling myself that life was beautiful…just the way it was.
Instead of telling myself that the pain HAD to go away, I started telling myself that everything would be okay…even if (and when) the pain continued.
Instead of telling myself that I was weak, I started telling myself that I was strong.
Instead of telling myself that I was sick, I started telling myself that I was healthy.
Instead of telling myself that I could no longer do x and y, I started–immediately–figuring out just exactly how I *would* do x and y.
And instead of telling myself that feeling scared was a normal response to each new day, I started telling myself that fear had no place in my life.
When I started rewiring my thoughts–or, as I referred to it, “tricking my mind”–I couldn’t help but ask myself (and others who were close to me): am I just fooling myself? Am I just leading myself down a path of denial and unfounded optimism; won’t I just end up in another dark spot, as I have so many time before?
No, you’re not fooling yourself, they told me. You’re doing what you need to do to survive.
Having followed this new path for much of the past couple of years, I’ve discovered a place that is brighter than anything I have known before, either with our without the constant pain.
I find myself in a place where the pain–the very thing that used to hold me back–now motivates me to go out and live life to its fullest, each and every day.
And I’ve come to realize that what I was doing all along wasn’t tricking my mind.
I was tricking the pain.
Stay tuned…for the next adventure of Rheumatoid Arthritis Guy!
Being able to meet others who live with rheumatoid arthritis and who share their stories online was one of the highlights of this summit. I have known many of these inspirational people online for years, and to finally be able to sit down and talk face to face was a wonderful experience. Bloggers in attendance included Carla from 
One morning I stepped outside in the dark pre-dawn stillness, and walked along the Charles River from Boston to Cambridge. It was a brisk autumn day, and the sun started to rise just as I was strolling through Harvard Yard. Many years ago–before rheumatoid arthritis entered my life–I was a student at Harvard’s Graduate School of Design. As I walked around my former neighborhood, I had a chance to reflect not only on who I was back then, but also on who I am at the moment. Though I ensure that my illness does not become my primary identity, I do accept the fact that is is an integral part of my life…and after many years of wishing that the exact opposite were true, I have come to truly appreciate the lessons that I have learned while living with an autoimmune disease.
Each participant was asked to bring something to the summit that represented him or her. One afternoon, we all sat down to share stories (and tears, and laughs). Listening to everyone’s stories of overcoming the challenges of living with rheumatoid arthritis, and seeing the collection of personal objects slowly grow on a table in the middle of our circle, was a moment that I will hold with me forever. This experience reminded me of the importance of making *all* of our stories heard, whether or not we are bloggers. The more that we make our individual and communal voices known, the more people will continue to understand the realities of living with chronic pain and illness. 
I am a strong believer in the fact that no matter what might be happening in our lives at any given moment, there is not better time to laugh and smile than *right now*. Yes, I am human, and I know that tears and sadness do have their time and their place…but they are definitely not something that I want to experience day in, and day out. Quite frequently, we read about the benefits of smiling. During my travels to and from this summit (including a missed connection in Miami and unexpected day-long layover, and my subsequent travels to New York City for Thanksgiving holidays less than 24 hours after returning home to South America), I had many opportunities where I could have let the stress and discomfort of airports, travel, and other travelers settle in. I decided to instead smile, for “no reason at all,” and was surprised to notice that the tension does indeed quickly melt away. We may not be able to always choose our circumstances, but we choose how we decide to react. The way I see it, I have cried enough…now, it’s time for me to smile!
A few truths about living with chronic illness: many people (including certain healthcare professionals) do not understand the reality of our illnesses; few people will know how much it really hurts (*all* the time!); and some people, upon discovering that a person receives disability assistance and other benefits, will try to make said person out to be a cheat or an irresponsible moocher.
I thank my rheumatoid arthritis for allowing me to realize that learning how to ask for help doesn’t make me weak; it makes me strong. I thank my RA for showing me that life goes on, no matter what obstacles appear in my path. I thank my RA for reminding me, on a continual basis, about the importance of eating healthy foods. I thank my RA for teaching me that, in the end, having a “career” matters very little. I thank my RA for allowing me to accept that if I can’t do something today, I am not a failure…I will just try again tomorrow. I thank my RA for providing me the opportunities to experience the beauties of rebounding from the lowest lows, and in appreciating life for everything it is (and isn’t), especially after previously having wanted to “end it all” on more than one occasion. I thank my RA for allowing me to meet so many other inspiring individual–both in person and online–who understand the importance of always looking for the silver lining no matter what happens. I thank my RA for encouraging me to continue moving, even (especially!) on those days when doing so seems like the most impossible of tasks. I thank my RA for showing me just how much warmth can be gained by sitting in the sun for a few short minutes. I thank my RA for giving me the opportunity to learn how to work through negative emotions in a way that doesn’t hurt myself or others. I thank my RA for showing me that one of the most beautiful things about support is that is often comes from where we least expect it. I thank my RA (and it’s associated reduced income and costly regular medical expenses) for encouraging me to appreciate the joys of having a non-consumerist based lifestyle; double thanks for making me more frugal than I ever thought possible. I thank my RA for teaching me that while I may not be in control of what happens to my body, I can always be in control of what is going on in my mind. I thank my RA for demonstrating that quite often the biggest steps backwards are actually huge steps forward. I thank my RA for teaching me the beauty of physical, emotional, and mental stillness. I thank my RA for showing me that stress has no place in my life. I thank my RA for allowing me to realize that prioritizing my well-being above all else is not an act of selfishness; it’s an act of survival. I thank RA for constantly reminding me that I should take nothing for granted. I thank my RA for never letting me forget that laughter is indeed the best medicine. I thank my RA for showing me the importance of focusing not on the past and not on the future, but on the present. I thank my RA for teaching me that a smile is one of the most precious gifts that a person can give or receive.