When “It’s Not That Bad” Is Actually the Problem.

When Pain Becomes Permission.

Last year, nerve pain became a constant companion. The kind that rearranges your days, your sleep, your patience. A cortisone injection in November softened it — from sharp pain to dull discomfort. Manageable. Livable.

And yet.

I still can’t sit on the floor. I’m an avid meditator, and the floor used to feel like home. Now it’s something I avoid. I perch. I adjust. I negotiate with my body.

When surgery was mentioned — small, straightforward, preventative — my first response wasn’t relief. It was doubt.

Am I justified? Is it bad enough?

The strange thing is this: when I was in terrible pain, the answer felt obvious. Pain gave me permission. Pain made the decision respectable.

Discomfort, it turns out, is morally confusing.

Because I can live like this. But I would be living smaller.

What stopped me wasn’t fear of the procedure. It was a quieter belief: that relief must be earned. That intervention is only allowed once suffering reaches a certain threshold.

As if the body — or life — needs to be punished before it’s worthy of care.

Treating the Wrong Thing.

Another layer only became clear in hindsight. For almost a year, I was treating the wrong thing.

The S1 nerve originates in the glute, so naturally, I assumed that’s where the issue was. Physio. Strengthening. Stretching. Doing all the “right” things. It never crossed my mind that the real issue might be my back — a disc quietly pressing on a nerve.

Without an MRI, it’s impossible to know. And yet, how often do we keep doing the same thing, over and over, before we pause and ask:

What if there’s something else going on here?

That question applies far beyond the body.

How long do we keep pushing through exhaustion before we question the system we’re operating in? How long do we try to fix ourselves before we question the environment, the expectations, the season?

Knowing the Season You’re In.

Because this experience has brought me to a deeper, more confronting realisation:

What season am I in?

This is not a season of peak performance. It’s a season of repair and recovery.

To get here, I’ve had to stop my normal cardio and walk — slowly. I can’t lift heavy weights, though thankfully, I can still train. After surgery, it’s six weeks of no weights at all. Just walking. Which means stepping back to eventually grow stronger again.

I know I’ll rebuild. I trust that strength will return in its own time.

But acceptance is the starting point.

Accepting that this happened. Accepting that I am no longer invincible. Accepting that strength, right now, looks different.

And accepting that in a year’s time, I’ll likely be healthier, wiser, and more embodied because of this.

The Unexpected Gift of Time.

There’s also been an unexpected gift.

I now have an extra 90 minutes in my day.

Instead of resenting what I can’t do, I’m trying to meet this moment with curiosity and gratitude. If training isn’t taking up that time, what would I love to fill it with?

Of course, being a Type One, my instinct is to schedule. Reading. Writing. Creating. Heaven forbid I waste it.

And that, too, is part of the work — noticing the urge to optimise even the gentlest seasons.

You Don’t Need Pain to Listen.

And you don’t need physical pain to listen.

Listen when your body signals it's time to leave the office by 6pm.

When it asks for ten quiet minutes in the morning to sip your coffee in peace.

When it wants sleep — real sleep — not another hour of proving you are productive.

Sleep is not your enemy. And you are still worthy if you go to bed an hour earlier.

These signals are easy to dismiss because they don’t shout. But they matter.

What are you quietly tolerating?

A Gentle Invitation.

You don’t need my experience to take the lesson. Just notice where you’re tolerating something that’s quietly diminishing you.

Your body already knows. Listening might be the most respectful thing you do this year.

Here’s to unconditional self-care,

Warm wishes,

Lori