Pain is Relative

I attended my first aquatic therapy session last week, and it was not at all what I expected. The pool was very small. It wasn't a class but rather a small group of people, with one physical therapist for every one or two people. How hard we exercised or on which side of the pool depended on our levels of ability, flexibility, or pain. I was feeling well, so I got a great workout and left feeling refreshed.

What was memorable about the hour in the water was not how well I felt but how others around me were feeling. Two people caught my attention—a middle-aged man and young woman. They were both in a great deal of pain. In fact, they said so.

I recognized the tight facial expressions and stiff posture, and my heart went out to these two strangers. That acerbic saying, "I feel your pain," took on new meaning. But even more meaningful to me was the realization that everything is relative, especially pain.

A nagging headache may not be a migraine, but it hurts nonetheless. People tolerate pain differently. Some can take a lot; others not so much. Some days are pretty good; some are terrible. Some people wear pain on the faces; others hide it well. Out in the world, most of us aren't as open as we may be in the safety of a warm-water, therapeutic setting.

We encounter people every day—those we know and strangers—and we have no idea what they are feeling inside. It's worth remembering that it might be pain.