You don't own your pain

I ruptured the medial meniscus in my right knee last October, an experience far from enjoyable. The hardest part was attempting to sleep during the first week post-injury. The pain was relentless, no matter my position—lying on my side, back, or sitting down.

After several torturous nights, I shifted my focus. In the long run, sleep deprivation is far worse than pain. I had to remind myself that the 'me' experiencing this agony wasn't real.

I closed my eyes and accepted the pain as something outside my control, emerging from the surrounding darkness. Suddenly, the pain was no longer mine. It was present, but it didn't belong to anyone; it didn't belong to me. The pain simply arose—much like all experiences, from writing these lines to flying on a plane.

There was no one in pain because there was no one there to experience it. This insight helped me relax and eventually fall asleep. It's difficult to relinquish control when experiencing negative emotions, pain, or discomfort. That's when the 'me' fights hardest for recognition and validation—spiralling into an inflated sense of self, craving the spotlight in the narrative.

In the darkness, eyes closed, other things were arising around me: my cat meowing, leaves rustling outside, the warmth of the blanket, the pillow under my head. And, among all these, also emerged the pain. But it was not my pain. It just happened. Out of no-thing, as every-thing happens.

You don’t own the bad (or good) things that happen to you. Nobody owns it. It just is what it is.