The Merits of Sharing Your Pain

Since I was diagnosed with trigeminal neuralgia (TN), I’ve felt a responsibility to learn everything I can about my chronic illness. I’ve become a voracious consumer of information, starting with understanding the theorized reasons for TN to medications and treatment options (traditional and alternative) to the latest research. I gobble it all up.

But because there haven’t been any significant strides in TN treatment for more than 30 years, frustratingly, it didn’t take long for me to get through all credible sources of information. So it was only natural that I started seeking accounts from others like me: people living with chronic illness, sharing their experiences and tips across blogs and social media.

Almost since those early days of my TN's onset, my daily content diet has included seeking out these stories. It was only a matter of time, then, that I felt a need to share my story too. I’ve felt a growing responsibility to advocate for people with chronic illness, not just TN, and that’s why I returned to blogging earlier this year.

A love-hate history

First, I need to briefly talk about my blogging history. I first started blogging in 2010, when I moved to Mumbai with my husband. Back then, my blog was a way to make sense of my new life in a new place. I wrote about religion and spirituality, and how I navigated my new city.

But within a year, I got sucked into what every other well-known female blogger seemed to be writing about: fashion and lifestyle. As much as I love fashion, it just wasn’t something I wanted to write about. Instead, I started doing lifestyle posts, which was fun for a hot minute, but then I began to lose interest. I didn’t know why I was blogging anymore. I had stories to tell, but I wasn’t sure how to tell them and how they would be received. I felt there was no room for me, especially since I didn’t have confidence in my voice. After two years, I stopped.

Fast-forward to 2013, when I moved back to New York and started my business. All the conventional wisdom and advice pushed me to start blogging again. And that’s what I did. I wrote posts about solopreneurship and social media strategy, but honestly, I resented it. I wasn’t using my true voice and I wasn’t creating content that mattered. I wasn’t adding value; I was diluting my own. I was writing as the businesswoman I thought I had to be, not the woman I wanted to be. So I stopped.

I stepped away from blogging, but organically adopted other media, like my weekly newsletter and Instagram captions. Experimenting in those places for a few years helped me find my voice, strengthen it and talk about what matters to me. I played with content and consistency, and learned a lot about writing online. I didn’t feel I had to look elsewhere to feel satisfied.

Ready for more

That's why when earlier this year I thought of blogging again, I was genuinely surprised. And curious. When I’ve had this thought in the past, it didn’t go far because I wasn’t sure what role blogging could have in my content creation.

I have a clear mission and direction for each of the content platforms in my life. I know that my newsletter is about encouragement, my social media is about sharing my written work and gratitude lists, and my articles for Idealist Careers are about work-life balance, following your passion and confidence. It’s taken time and practice for me to define my content and to derive deep satisfaction from what I create.

Despite that, this year I realized that something was missing: I was ready to talk about living with TN and chronic illness life, with kindness and compassion. I wanted to find answers to the questions I have, that I’m sure many others have, and share my discoveries. I wanted anyone with an invisible illness to feel less alone, and to find confidence and freedom in creativity. Would a blog be the right move? I let this idea sit and grow, no pressure exerted. From time to time, I would think of the pieces I could write, but let that be food for thought and nothing more.

What changed everything was one day sitting down and free-writing about my experience with TN. As of now, it's an ongoing long-form essay, and I don’t know if I will ever share it publicly, but it is this piece that inspired me to blog again.

To sit down and share my pain.

Catharsis

So I started blogging again. I didn’t make it a big deal: I just sat down and started writing. I’m not sure what I’m going to write until I sit down to write. It flows out of me with little effort in those moments, but that’s not to say that it’s easy. I share what I think I need to hear or be reassured of, and that in and of itself can be painful.

Sharing pain is one of the most vulnerable acts any one of us can do. For myself, as vulnerable and as scared as I may feel in the writing process, I also know that just a few short months of blogging from my heart has made me a stronger advocate. And that is cathartic: it gives shape and shade to my pain. It has a purpose.

It’s for this reason that blogging just fits. I’m making my own rules and trusting my gut when it comes to the messages I leave in each piece. Chronic illness has made me more bold: I publish my take and I feel validated. My pain and experience are validated. The world may not understand my condition, but writing about it and sharing it feels right because my deepest hope is to make others feel less alone and elevate awareness. It has given me the creative confidence I need in the voice I have now as a writer, as a woman and as a “warrior,” a badge a dear friend gave me early on in my diagnosis and one that I want to live up to.

This is about you

A lot of what I write today — even the fiction — is influenced by my chronic illness. I don’t want to make TN the center of my life, but it is a big part of my life. I have assigned purpose to my pain and I have found, even as an anonymous bystander, belonging and confidence through the brave accounts of others.

I want you to know that there are merits to sharing your pain, but you won’t always see it that way. Sharing your story reconnects you to some vital part of yourself that you may not have known was missing. It allows you to set your burden down for a breath and find solace in a community that is willing to help you along, even if all that means are general positive affirmations and well wishes — somehow they are more precious because they come from people who, on some level, understand your experience.

My art has allowed me to celebrate that every single week without fail; I hope your art give that to you too.