Adapting to chronic pain isn’t something that happens just once. Pain can change over time, and when it does, we have to learn how to live with it all over again. Adapting doesn’t make life perfect; it just makes some things possible — until the next change comes along and we have to adjust again.
Pain gets in the way of life so often that it can start to feel almost normal. We learn to work around it. We pace ourselves. We rest. We even make plans with the assumption that they may need to change at the last minute.
Adapting to Chronic Pain Doesn’t Just Happen Once
Life happens — a phrase often used when plans change. But when you’re living with chronic pain, “life happens” too often.
For me, life really changed when I was ten years old when my scoliosis developed. That’s when things began to look different — hospital appointments, missing PE at school, living with pain, retiring from work at 28, and not having children. I adapted. I had to take it all in my stride — because what else could I do?
I had to keep giving up things that mattered — even hobbies. For every hobby I’ve had, life has eventually thrown a spanner in the works. My pain said no, despite me desperately wanting even a short time doing something I enjoyed.
I Wanted to Enjoy Art, Despite My Chronic Pain
If you read my blog regularly, you’ll know I love art. I learned to paint in my thirties after joining an art class. But my pain stepped in again, and eventually I had to stop going. I promised myself I would continue at home, but as my pain worsened, I very rarely picked up my paintbrushes.
When pain interrupts things like that, I lose confidence. I look at old drawings and paintings in disbelief. Did I really create those? Then I feel overwhelmed at the thought I may never reach that again, and I start making excuses — too busy, visiting family, the room is too cold. I’ve become very good at finding reasons not to try.
I started drawing again a couple of years ago. I fell in love with my old hobby again and became determined not to let life stop me. I adapted how I worked to fit around my pain — a supportive chair, a height-adjustable desk, and only working in very short bursts with frequent breaks. For a while, it seemed to be working.
My Pain Worsened, and I Needed to Adapt Again
Then chronic pain did what chronic pain does best — it changed things again. I went through a bad spell with my back last year and couldn’t get into my art room, never mind sit at an easel.
Last November, I realised I was heading back into that familiar territory again. But I also realised I didn’t want to be “the person who used to draw.” I wanted to find a way back.
My art room is in the loft — a lovely space, but not practical when pain is bad. Getting up there was becoming too difficult, especially knowing I could only manage 10–15 minutes at a time. So I had to adapt again — if I couldn’t get to my art room, my art room would have to come to me. For the first time in months, I felt hopeful again.
The kitchen became my new art space. Ian brought down my easel and supplies, and I followed one of the tutorials from the Bonny Snowdon Academy. I eventually completed a drawing of a cat, which for most people might have taken a few days at most. But I worked on it over several weeks because I could only manage about 10 to 15 minutes of drawing a day. The timescale didn’t matter to me though. I was back drawing again, and that was what mattered most.
For a short while, it really felt like I had found a way back into my art.
Pain Changed the Rules Again
But pain has a habit of changing the rules. It increased again, sitting became too painful, and I couldn’t continue drawing at all. Unfortunately, it still hasn’t improved.
As I said in my last post, even when I’m not able to draw, I still enjoy art. I take part in group chats and look at my own past work — partly with pride, partly with amazement that I created it, and partly with that quiet question of whether I’ll be able to do it again.
At first, I believed it was just a bad spell and that I’d be back to drawing soon. But months have passed, and my back is still not allowing that.
No More Art…For Now
Eventually, seeing my easel sitting in the kitchen became difficult. I wasn’t looking at something I had done — I was looking at something I couldn’t do. So Ian took everything back upstairs. I still hope I’ll return to it, but for now I have to listen to what my body is telling me. Right now, adapting looks very different for me. It means spending a lot more time resting and listening to what my back is telling me, even when that isn’t what I want to do.
I first started writing this post months ago, when I felt hopeful about a new way of continuing my art. I don’t regret trying it — it did work for a short time. But living with chronic pain means learning, again and again, that adaptation is not a one-off solution. It’s an ongoing process.
Pain changes, we adapt. It changes again, we adapt again. And we keep adapting — not because we’ve done something wrong, but because pain never stands still.
Living with chronic pain often means learning and adapting as things change. I’d love to hear about any adaptations you’ve made, or ways you’ve held onto the things that matter to you.
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Thank you so much for reading.
If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
And feel free to share it with your friends or support groups.
Take care,
Liz.
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Thanks for this, Liz. It’s such a great reminder that developing chronic pain or illness may be an event but adapting to it is a process. And as you said, that condition can deteriorate over time and even when you think you’ve reached the bottom, it can get worse. There is so much grief that goes along with the acceleration of chronic pain..
I’m so sorry that you had to give up your artwork. I had to do that with music. I have always loved music and I used to make music but now the pain in my head prevents me from even listening to a song or two here or there. I try to force myself but whatever pleasure used to be in the listening is gone and now it is something I make myself go through, which seems pointless.
I do hope that this is a hiatus and that you can eventually find another workaround with your art because you are the queen of resilience!
I’m so sorry, Liz. I think your attitude to it is incredible. I’d see myself getting too frustrated with myself and giving up, but not you. You tried a workaround, you listened to your body, and you adapted again. You should be proud of yourself because that can’t be easy. I’m hoping you can get back to some art in the near future, even if it requires another adaption so you can do it to suit your needs at the time. But to acknowledge it’s a no-go for now is painful, and it’s challenging to do it without feeling it’s a failure or a permanent no-go, or without letting it put you off anything else going forward.
Another really helpful post. Thanks for sharing your experience with this as I’m sure there are a lot of people who can relate and likely feel very disheartened by the whole process.
Caz xxxx