I am no stranger to chronic pain. I used to joke that the gift my ex-husband gave me for our first anniversary was a sore. I realize now that my misplaced sense of humor about this was a way to minimize the real stress I was enduring. But even though my mind has suffered the trauma of narcissistic abuse, the damage to my body remains long after the emotional pain is over.

Doctors have long known that stress can cause disease. Stress puts pressure on all body systems, causing inflammation, heart disease, and digestive disorders. For me, like many others, lower back pain seems to get worse whenever I feel angry or tired. Diego Rivera has a painting in which a peasant is shown bending over and carrying a load that is too heavy for him.

I think about it when my back reminds me that I need to be mindful.

Trauma is too heavy a burden for our bodies to bear, and chronic pain lets us know that.

One of the worst lies abuse victims tell themselves is that I can handle it. The truth is that no one can endure constant abuse without serious injury. Living with an abuser is a life filled with constant harassment. In the same way that repetitive motion can cause injuries like carpal tunnel syndrome, the constant fear of attack and recrimination causes our bodies to falter. Today I remembered how my ex-boyfriend used to steal my pillows and hide them whenever I got up to take care of our children. It will wake up enough to remove them. I was exhausted, searching for them until I finally found one and could go back to sleep.

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Now I have a lot of pillows on my bed, more than I need. But only in the past two years have the shivers of fear stopped ringing through my body when I wake up in the middle of the night. One of the things I love most about my current husband is that it would never occur to him to do something with such enthusiasm. But as the little naughty games and verbal tirade increase, your body prepares for the worst long afterward.

Time and time again in inner healing sessions, I watch chronic pain emerge. And every time the praying person is surprised. But I tell them this: Every memory in your brain associated with an emotion is sent down the neural highway to your body. Healing from PTSD is not just about resolving memories. It’s mostly about teaching the body new ways to respond, and learning how to take care of yourself when our bodies are telling us we’re in trouble.

Doctors have begun treating chronic back pain, which is pain that does not go away easily, with antidepressants.
This alone shows us that our minds and bodies work together when it comes to chronic pain.

For me, moving always induces a bit of trauma. Since it’s in the top five on my list of stressful life events, it’s no wonder my body objects to it. With each move, I can anticipate several months of dissociation or spacing and flu-like pain in my body. I know I’m expecting it, so I use mindfulness and other techniques to keep my stress levels low. But how many people force their bodies to fight without realizing that they are doing themselves and their bodies no favors?

When my chronic pain rears its unwelcome head, I remember Jesus. I went to the Shroud of Turin exhibition a few years ago. Interestingly, I learned that one of our assumptions about the skin of the nine-tailed cat is incorrect. I learned that the whip contains small pieces of bone and metal that can scrape through skin and muscle. In fact, the nine-tailed cat had small, heavy metal balls attached to the end. Jesus would have collapsed and died from blood loss in most cinematic representations of the event involving a whip tearing into flesh. A real whip cuts bones. The pain could have been more painful but was not life-threatening. The word “painful” itself comes from the Latin word “cruciare” which means “to harden.”

That’s why, when my chronic pain shows up, I take it to the cross.

When my body aches or throbs in my right hip, or when a headache starts to ache, I remember Jesus on the cross. I imagine that no part of Jesus’ body or soul escaped the shock. The pain could have been worse for him than for anyone else on the cross that day. None of the others had bruised their bones or had thorns pulled out of their heads with chronic pain. Humiliation, betrayal, harassment, he knew them all. None of these things overcame Him, and because of His resurrection, my suffering should not overpower me.

I have a picture of Jesus on the cross. Just an outline, it doesn’t depict anything shocking or shocking. The outlines are sufficient. Victims of abuse have touched his body as they have been hurt in their bodies. There is something very healing about knowing that He does not just bear our sins on His body; He bears the sins of others that have befallen us as well.

The prayer I pray for myself and lead others to pray is Lord, absorb this pain, this trauma, whether caused by me or others, into your body on the cross. It’s a simple prayer really, but one that I see comforts the bodies and minds of many, including myself. When we receive Communion to remember the body and blood of Jesus that were given for us, we must remember that resurrection life is available to every cell in our body. Jesus’ suffering is, among other things, an acknowledgment of our trauma as human beings. But His resurrection is the promise that surpasses every evil thing we have ever done or done to us.

I will not preach the resurrection of Jesus unless I have experienced it myself and seen it move in the lives of others. In this world, we often have the lion’s share of tribulation. But take heart, because Jesus has overcome the world and its traumas.