31/08/2026
I was being stung — and I could not feel it.
It was a dream.
The mechanism was not.
Pain is not a damage meter.
It is an experience your nervous system constructs from far more than what is happening in the tissue:
Threat.
Context.
Attention.
Expectation.
What your body believes it needs to do next.
Melzack and Wall cracked that door open in 1965.
Sixty years later, the language is more sophisticated, but the principle survived:
nociception is not pain.
And under acute threat, something stranger can happen.
The nervous system can turn the volume down.
Because sometimes the most useful thing is not:
Feel everything.
It is:
Stay still.
Keep breathing.
Get through this first.
There are endogenous pain-inhibiting systems designed for exactly that.
Which means the absence of pain in the moment does not necessarily mean:
Nothing happened.
Sometimes it means:
Feeling it was not the priority yet.
I have done this awake.
In meetings.
In relationships.
Across whole stretches of my life.
Function beautifully.
Stay useful.
Keep moving.
Then, when the situation is over and the body no longer has to prioritise getting through it — something arrives.
Fatigue.
Pain.
Anger.
Grief.
And the bewildering question:
Why is this hitting me now? I was fine when it happened.
Maybe you were not fine.
Maybe you were functional.
Those are not the same thing.
And that distinction has changed the way I understand an enormous amount of my own history.
The full essay is on Substack today — including the number I think far more people should know, and the third word for pain almost nobody has been taught.
Tell me in the comments:
What did you only feel once it was safe enough to feel it? ❤︎