Why Positivity and Gratitude Beat the Alternative

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

As I write this, I am 33 years old.  And I've lived in pain every day for almost 23 years.

My pain has only gotten more complicated over time, more difficult to deal with and manage. It is intractable, as well as incurable. There have never been treatment options for me that truly worked, only those that temporarily masked the pain or worsened the symptoms and caused irreversible complications.

Those of you who at any point gained access to something that worked or alleviated your discomfort to any extent are privileged. Because some of us have literally not experienced that.

As a 10-year old child whose life was forever changed by a bacterial infection and near death experience, there was no other option for me than to cling desperately to the concept of  "positivity." The only other choice at that point would've been a defeatist, victim mentality:  Why did this happen to me?  I don’t deserve it. My life is ruined. There’s no hope for the future.

I still have those thoughts at times, but I consciously choose not to accept them as the final say or whole picture.  Life hadn't even begun for me when I was stricken, yet I was strong enough to stand firm in my Truth:  I'm not yet ready to die or give up on my quality of life.

As time went on, things got even harder and without any dependable relief. I was often pushed to what felt like my breaking point. It dawned on me that a “positive” attitude was not going to be enough to survive, so my thought process and mindset had to evolve.

Looking at the bright side, being thankful I wasn't dead, and acknowledging that things could have been worse (and might still be) wasn't sufficient to peel my fragmented sense of self off the cold hard floor. So, my focus in life turned to gratitude. 

I became grateful for that cold hard floor, where I could curl up in a fetal position and count my blessings. At least I was still above ground and could find solace in the ability to live on for the sake of other people, so that they wouldn't feel as rejected, alone, forsaken and shunned as I was.

This approach worked, until it didn't.

When even the “attitude of gratitude” didn't suffice, I had to re-examine it and take it all back to basics, recalling things I'd often skip over and take for granted, such as the gift of my senses, the ability to fill my lungs with air, and possessing access to endless knowledge at my fingertips.

Of course, I could never lose sight of the fact that I was incredibly lucky to still be alive, even when it didn’t feel like it.  But these beliefs were undeniable pillars that held me up through times when I couldn't move, think straight, or do anything but stay in bed and cry.

More recently, even this approach was falling short. I was sick and tired, nearing the point of no return. All the motivational tools I cultivated on my own were falling short. What do I do now?  Where do I turn?

These efforts do not come easily and certainly do not represent an absence of intrusive thoughts or negative feelings. Remaining consumed in the darkness has almost cost me everything, on more occasions than I'm able to keep track of. 

But it dawned on me early on that I had a choice. Instead of investing energy in my ailments, I could focus on my response to them. It was a no-brainer to realize that fixating on all that was wrong in my life doesn't improve it or help me feel any better. To choose that kind of suffering is far more toxic and tragic than my pain ever could be.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She is the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a Facebook advocacy and support group, and Peace & Love, a wellness and life coaching practice for the chronically ill. 

Why Words Can Hurt

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

When my pain journey began over two decades ago, I didn’t have a “survival technique” or “coping mechanism.”  It was the ideology behind "positivity " that aligned most with me.

Any fixation on my ailments would have surely led to my death. In fact, it almost did, because anyone would start to lose it after experiencing what I and many others have: a lifelong, incurable, untreatable and unending physical discomfort.

Given the negativity that surrounds such an existence, my mission in life became to seek out the silver lining of things. I remind myself that life is a fragile gift, which helps to center and ground me. A slogan I've lived by is: I'd rather be alive and hurting than 6 feet under and feeling nothing.

But as the years passed and medical complications intensified, making the choice to strive toward an attitude of empowerment became not quite as achievable or potent as it had been. I found myself struggling in ways I wasn't sure how to manage. A life I'd rebuilt from scratch began slipping away into chronic oblivion -- yet again.

The distress reluctantly led me back into a clinical setting, where a healthcare professional shook me to my core by declaring: “You claim to be positive, but you're not. You aren’t living that." 

I was stunned! This person did not really know me. I felt overwhelmed at their audacity to make such an outrageous accusation! 

"I’m one of the most positive people I know," I told him. 

"It's not a decision you've made," was his reply.   

I left so perturbed. How dare they?

This individual knew nothing about how my body typically feels, the strength it takes to greet a new day, or to spend and wager absolutely every energy penny I possess just to make it through.

I sat with this experience for a long time, until a light bulb went on and I was faced with the realization: the provider was right!

As my disorders evolve or shift, different approaches and modalities are going to be required. This includes our attitude and mindset. Until then, I wasn’t fully embracing a more uplifting way to live. The pursuit of wellness had been solely residing inside my head, as opposed to being a place where I operated from. Positivity is a lifestyle that needs to be practiced.  

It wasn't possible for me to move forward while also clinging so tightly to my past. I have been shaped by those experiences and wouldn't be who I am without them, but they are not an adequate reflection or accurate depiction of my identity.

For example, a loved one recently shared their disinterest in associating themselves with the word “trauma.” This is somebody whose life has consisted of experiences most would consider to be the worst trauma, but they’ve chosen not to embrace that terminology. Someone else I care about refuses to identify with the word “victim.”

Personally, I attempt to steer clear of words such as “suffering” or being a “patient.” I also refrain from describing something as “negative” or “positive.” That labeling limits my overall perception and eliminates the ability to accept something as it is happening. 

The more I’m preoccupied with judgment or labeling, the less space there is for compassion and curiosity to exist. Of course, there’s nothing wrong in identifying with these phrases -- I certainly have. We’re also trying to gain acceptance from the general public, and relating to our “suffering” and “trauma” makes it more understandable. 

But the power of words and the way we refer to ourselves, interact with one another, and tell our stories, does matter. We need to use the words selectively, without letting ourselves be defined by them.       

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She is the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a Facebook advocacy and support group, and Peace & Love, a wellness and life coaching practice for the chronically ill. Mia is the recipient of the International Pain Foundation’s “Hero of Hope” award for 2022.