When The Body Remembers Pain

I was lying flat on my back on the floor recently, noticing how my body was settling against the ground. I've experienced discomfort in my lower back in this position before, and as I lay there, I could sense the beginnings of that familiar pain.

But I also noticed something else.

Even before the discomfort had fully developed, my body was anticipating it. There was a tightening around my lower back, a sense of holding myself slightly away from the floor, almost as though I was preparing for the pain I expected to come.

As I stayed with the sensations, I began to notice a slight fear of the pain returning. There was the discomfort itself, but also the memory of previous pain and the expectation that it would happen again. My body seemed to be responding as much to what I thought was about to happen as to what was actually happening – and all based on a memory from the past.

I was curious about this, so I stayed with what I was noticing. The tightening, the slight fear of pain, the expectation and the instinct to protect myself were all there. I wasn't trying to change anything or make myself relax. I was simply noticing what was happening.

I also noticed a strong urge to move, to get up or change position before the pain became worse. There was a thought telling me to do something about it, and I could feel the pull to act on it. I didn't need to follow the thought immediately, so I remained there, noticing what was happening.

And as I did, I became aware that all of it could be present. The discomfort, the tightening, the anticipation and the urge to move. I didn't need to do anything about them or try to make myself feel differently. I could simply allow everything to be as it was, with a sense of curiosity about what was happening.

I continued to listen, without knowing where any of this would lead.

Then, quite unexpectedly, my lower back dropped towards the floor. There was a little pop as something shifted, and my body settled into a position that felt remarkably comfortable.

I hadn't consciously relaxed my back or tried to make it move. It had happened by itself.

We tend to think of fear as a response to something happening around us, but it can also arise in anticipation of something that hasn't happened yet. A memory of pain, an expectation of discomfort, or even a thought about what might happen next can bring about a physical response.

We might tighten our shoulders before a difficult conversation, hold our breath while waiting for news, or brace ourselves when we recognise a familiar sensation. Sometimes we're aware of doing this, but often we're so accustomed to the holding that we barely notice it.

Lying on the floor, I could sense how closely the discomfort in my back and my anticipation of it were connected. The pain was beginning, and at the same time my body was responding to the possibility of more pain. It was fascinating to see how a memory of something that had happened before could influence what I was experiencing now.

When we become aware of tension or discomfort, there's often an immediate impulse to do something about it. We might stretch, adjust our position, breathe differently or try to relax. Sometimes that's exactly what the body needs.

But on this occasion, I found myself simply listening. I wasn't trying to release the tension or persuade my body to relax. There was something very simple about this, although it's difficult to describe without making it sound like a technique - I wasn't practising anything to achieve a result.

The release in my back came unexpectedly. It would be easy to look back and say that allowing the fear caused my muscles to relax, but I don't know that. There may have been several things happening physically. What I do know is that I hadn't deliberately tried to bring about the movement.

We have all sorts of ideas about what our bodies should be doing, how we should sit, stand, breathe, move or relax. We can become so involved in trying to make the body comfortable that we hardly notice what it's actually experiencing.

Yet the body is constantly making adjustments without our conscious involvement. Breathing continues, balance shifts, muscles respond and sensations change.

I wonder how often our expectations influence these natural movements, particularly when we're anticipating something unpleasant. And what might we notice if, occasionally, we simply listened?

Afterwards, I found myself wondering about the relationship between sensation, memory and anticipation. How much of what we're experiencing is the sensation itself, and how much is our response to what we think it means or what might happen next?

Pain sometimes needs movement, treatment or medical attention, and I'm describing one particular experience rather than suggesting that discomfort will disappear if we allow it to be there.

But I wonder whether we can begin to recognise the difference between a sensation and our anticipation of it, and allow both to be present without immediately trying to change anything.

What might we discover if, instead of immediately responding to an uncomfortable sensation, thought or expectation, we took a moment to notice what's actually happening?