Why Minimizine Pain and a poem

Why Minimizine Pain and a poem

Why do I minimize my pain?

No one can read my mind or feel my pain. This is the truth. Really. I’m not lying. Can anyone truly read your mind or feel your pain? Didn’t think so.

So why?

I’ve gotten so used to pain that it has become normal. I want to be the other normal. I don’t want people to view me as lazy, but yet, I sometimes view myself that way. So when I tell people how I think I really feel, it sounds exaggerated and sounds like excuses.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Yet, I do owe the doctors a better idea of what I am feeling so they can truly help me.

I think I’ve started to change, yet I get irritated when others express pain because then I’m worried I can’t help them because I am unable.

I feel like I talk about my pain all the time. Yet some say they had no idea, when I really tell them. Others don’t want to hear it…. They act like it is in my head.


Why don’t you believe me
when I tell you I have pain
Do you think I want this?
What have I to gain?

I long for empathy
Not pity or disregard
Hear me. Believe me.
Tell me that you care.

I don’t want you to fix it
I am not helpless
Just some adjustments
An ear to hear a steadying hand

Be by my side
Walk with me, not ahead of me
If I can’t keep up
You have my blessing–go ahead

Encourage me to try
Help me unobtrusively
I’m not a baby
Even if I cry

Believe me when I tell you
I am slow today
Believe me when I say
I can’t do it

Believe that I want to
Yet can’t makes me sad


Do you have pain?

Do people believe you?

Do you have a brave face?

Today 3 years ago

Yesterday 3 years ago my 6th grandchild was born.

Today 3 years ago

My mother Aka mommy

Entered hospice


My Mooch (Cat) died

ALL while we were across the pond

My passport was in the hands of the UK gov getting a one year extension visa.

I didn’t know if I would make it there to see her one more time before she died.

I arrived at her bedside 4 days later, about an hour after she took her last breath. (She was still warm to the touch.)

My siblings (I have 3), my dad, and I were there. We all cried together with lots of very mixed emotions. (Only one of us was in good religious standing with our parents.)

Three years ago today I wrote;


The cycle of life is unending bringing joys and sorrows.

Birth, growing, dying, death. Birth, growing, dying, death. Birth, growing, dying, death.

Birth, growing, dying, death.

Joyful and simultaneously full of sadness.”