Can chronic pain be a “learned response” to things that shouldn’t hurt? It’s an interesting idea, with obviously optimistic implications, because what is learned might also be un-learned. If so, it’s a bit of a brain hack, a clever and surprising solution around one of the hardest problems there is. It’s a bit unlikely, but it’s also such an interesting idea that it’s worth discussing and exploring regardless.
A learned response refers to the well-understood psychological phenomenon of classical conditioning. A classically conditioned response is a business-as-usual response to something that wouldn’t normally call for it. If we hear a bell every time we eat a cookie, soon our brains think bell equals cookie, and soon enough we start respond to the bell exactly as if a cookie is surely coming: happiness, salivation! It’s cookie time! New signal, same old behaviour.
We can be conditioned to link almost any stimulus with almost any response. There are many fascinating examples in the history of psychology. A particularly relevant example is that anxiety can be a conditioned response, and it’s a short hop from anxiety to psychosomatic symptoms, which can include pain. This is a key point in case for the basic plausibility of chronic pain as a conditioned response.
Sensation versus perception
Chronic pain is notoriously a different beast than acute pain, and it’s clear that we still have a lot to learn about how it works — enough that there’s probably still room for a major insight like “it might be a conditioned response.” While it remains speculative and debatable, there is plenty of directly relevant evidence,12 and it’s generally plausible based on what we know about chronic pain.
Pain is an experience made from a fairly predictable sensation that has to pass through the complex filter of perception, countless contextual factors that “tune” the pain, dampening or amplifying it, or changing it’s quality. Acute pain is usually almost pure sensation, with only a little perceptual modulation — stepping on a piece of lego causes strong pain for basically everyone. But even with acute pain, there are examples of perception overriding sensation to a surprising degree.
And with chronic pain? The big story of pain science over the last few decades is that perception is a big factor in chronic pain. The longer it lasts, the more likely pain is to get louder and stranger.
Pain as a conditioned behaviour is a plausible mechanism for how that works: that we can learn to perceive pain even where there is little or no sensation left to base it on. If pain can be learned, it’s mainly perception we’re learning — but that can be very powerful, and we know that it can probably defy sensation.
There are three main types of pain. There is still a lot of room for speculation & debate about the nature of the “other” category. If pain can be a conditioned behaviour, it’s part of that “other” circle.
Some “simple” psychosomatic pain is probably a good example of conditioned pain
It’s a dangerous game diagnosing anyone’s pain as psychological or “just a perception,” because there are so many hard-to-diagnose organic conditions that do cause long-term pain (the sensation).3 One of the worst things any healthcare professional can do is imply that a patient’s pain is their “fault” in any way. But I’m not prepared to be so extreme with that caution that I ignore reality.
The uncomfortable truth — for every compassionate person, patient or pro — is that there is indeed such a thing as psychosomatic illness, disability, and pain. The functional neurological disorders (FND, formerly “conversion” disorders) are the most dramatic example of the extraordinary power of the mind to make us suffer. They are all too real.
If such dramatic psychosomatic symptoms exist, then they also exist in smaller doses — one ingredient in a pain cocktail.
It’s quite clear that these symptoms are a kind of “behaviour,” and equally clear that many of them are predictably triggered by specific non-painful stimuli. And this is a fairly obvious extension of the universal human experience of physical responses to psychological stimuli.4
Blushing occurs when the blood vessels of the head and neck dilate and become infused with blood. It is an instantaneous physical change seen on the surface but reflecting a feeling of embarrassment or happiness that is held inside. When it happens I can’t control it. That point is important. My blushes betray a feeling and, even when they increase my embarrassment, I cannot stop them.
~ It's All in Your Head, by Suzanne O’Sullivan, 3
It’s a short leap from “I always blush in this situation” to “I always hurt in this situation.” It strongly suggests that pain could be a conditioned response.
Another perspective on this is that psychsomatic symptoms are basically just a form of anxiety disorder… and anxiety as a classically conditioned response is already a well-established idea.5 And I know how this can go from personal experience, alas.6
Disrupting the pain habit
Sensory Disruption of Reconsolidation (SDR) is an experimental chronic pain therapy method pioneered by Christine Sutherland, an Australian behavioural therapist and researcher. At first glance, SDR looks like exactly the sort of thing I am likely to scoff at. The central claim is huge: that true chronic pain almost always consists of conditioned responses of the brain and central nervous system, and that these conditioned responses can be extinguished rapidly and permanently.
If that’s true, it would be a big deal! So I am not a “believer” in SDR, but I have been persuaded to take it seriously — not by Christine’s confidence, but by her humility and intellectual honesty. This is a rare example of a treatment modality founder who understands that her method is experimental — but also thinks it’s an interesting and worthwhile experiment. And I agree.
Few pain treatments work out, and SDR could easily fail when tested in a rigorous trial. (A trial is in development right now, and is now seeking participants. It isn’t geographically limited, so you can apply no matter where you are in the world if you’re otherwise eligible.) Meanwhile, it has fascinating foundations and it’s something I want PainScience.com readers to know about and try if they have the chance.
Exactly what SDR looks like
- A lot of chronic pain may be a learned response (classical conditioning) to harmless stimuli, and can be unlearned quickly and easily in principle, with a kind of mental hack: “disruption of the reconsolidation phase of the response.”
- “Reconsolidation” refers to the neurological process of regenerating a link between a stimulus and a behaviour. And that process can be disrupted by juxtaposing the conditioned response with a strong sensation — almost any sensation as long as it is a vivid one, with good timing. This disruption is a fairly well-studied phenomenon; when it occurs, reconsolidation fails completely the conditioned response simply ceases to exist. It’s like knocking the baton out of a relay racer’s hands just as they are passing it.
- So SDR therapy artfully evokes both reconsolidation and ways to disrupt it. A simplified example: focusing on thoughts and feelings that are precisely linked to the pain can trigger reconsolidation, and then it can be disrupted with contrasting behaviours and stimuli, such as a physical action (a slap, a hop, or a pinch), and visualization of a nice sensory experience (like petting your cat). The conditioned response has to be “caught in the act” of reconsolidating. If reconsolidation isn’t occuring, there is nothing to disrupt!
- The results of this process can seem simple, but getting it right is a lot like a plumber who solves a problem “easily” by knowing exactly what to do. For most people, disruption can only be achieved in a context of more comprehensive therapy — it takes real skill to identify and guide people through the identification and exploration of their triggers, and finding and interjecting the most apt and practical disruptive factors, and with good timing.
- And that's not all! Pain is complex, and the more entrenched and severe it is, the more finicky this process can be. So SDR therapy also involves more conventional approaches to pain chronicity, by addressing major risk factors like sleep dysfunction, stress, poor nutrition. None of these are what makes SDR unique, but they are still important.
Similar to EMDR, EFT, NLP? Nope!
SDR is superficially similar to Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, Emotional Freedom Technique, and Neuro-Linguistic Programming — all notoriously dubious psychotherapeutic modalities that skeptics have been warning people about for a long time. But the theory and principles of SDR are not the same. Christine says that she was once “one of the ‘energy psych’ crew, so I understand their perspective, as much as it frustrates me at times.” But she left that world behind, and SDR is a different kettle of fish.
DIY SDR? Can you do this for yourself?
Mostly no — too many cases are too complicated and difficult. An expert guide is probably needed for any result in most cases, let alone best results. And, of course, finding someone trained in SDR therapy to help you is probably going to be difficult. This isn’t a well-known modality.
The primary utility of this information for my readers is that mostly just that it has some really interesting implications for how chronic pain works, and that knowledge is inherently valuable. It’s good to know things.
That doesn’t mean you can’t try some self-serve SDR though. Here’s the DIY version:
- Study your pain. Keeping this technique and the phenomenon of classical conditioning in mind, explore your experience. This phase could go on for days or weeks. Your ultimate goal is to trigger reconsolidation so that you can disrupt it: to actually recreate the link between a trigger and the pain. Therefore, you need to understand your triggers as well as possible. And they could be subtle! Once you believe you have a fairly good idea what constitutes a conveniently reproducible trigger for your pain…
- Invoke reconsolidation as best you can. This is a quick step, taking a few minutes at most. You focus on the trigger and the feelings you expect/fear it will create. This is largely a mental/meditative process, but could also involve an action or physical situation. And then, when you judge that you are right in the middle of rebuilding the link between the trigger and the pain…
- Disrupt reconsolidation! Like continuing to stir a sauce while adding a new ingredient, continue to focus on the link but mix in something completely different: a physical action, a vivid sensation, probably something pleasant, probably something functional.
- Repeat at semi-regular intervals. A sensible “dosage” might be twice a day for a week. Less risks failure due to simply not having enough disruption. More risks wasting too much time and energy on a highly experimental.
Finally, do not neglect the broader context of your chronic pain! This is all probably doomed to failure if it’s done in a therapeutic vacuum. Nearly every chronic pain patient is dealing with extensive stresses and vulnerabilities. It’s important to tame those as well as you possibly can, both for the sake of this experiment and because it’s important for chronic pain patients regardless of SDR.
Completely unscientific anecdote
Clearly the DIY approach could easily fail even if professionally guided SDR proves to be genuinely effective. But I wouldn’t hesitate to try it myself if I needed to… and I have, and it worked extremely well. In only about three sessions, I “nuked” an extremely persistent case of hip pain (greater trochanteric pain syndrome). It had been unrelenting for more months and had started to interfere with sleep. This was not a subtle or erratic pain that might have just happened to have backed off by chance or with a little optimism. It was a serious problem that evaporated more or less immediately after I took a swing at with SDR.
It seemed remarkable, and that experience is probably chiefly responsible for the energy I’ve put into this article. Although I was intellectually interested before that, relief from a really nasty hip pain was quite inspiring.
About Paul Ingraham
I am a science writer, former massage therapist, and I was the assistant editor at ScienceBasedMedicine.org for several years. I have had my share of injuries and pain challenges as a runner and ultimate player. My wife and I live in downtown Vancouver, Canada. See my full bio and qualifications, or my blog, Writerly. You might run into me on Facebook or Twitter.
- 34 Surprising Causes of Pain — Trying to understand pain when there is no obvious explanation
- Anxiety & Chronic Pain — A self-help guide for people who worry and hurt
- Sensitization in Chronic Pain — Pain itself can change how pain works, resulting in more pain with less provocation
- Pain is Weird — Pain science reveals a volatile, misleading sensation that is often more than just a symptom, and sometimes worse than whatever started it
- Vulnerability to Chronic Pain — Chronic pain often has more to do with general biological vulnerabilities than specific tissue problems
- The 3 Basic Types of Pain — Nociceptive, neuropathic, and “other” (and then some more)
- Pain Relief from Personal Growth — Treating tough pain problems with the pursuit of emotional intelligence, life balance, and peacefulness
What’s new in this article?
June — Added evidence that chronic pain can be a conditioned behaviour, plus some reading recommendations.
May — Publication.
- Flor H. New developments in the understanding and management of persistent pain. Curr Opin Psychiatry. 2012 Mar;25(2):109–13. PubMed #22227632 ❐
This paper describes the evidence for chronic pain as a conditioned response.
- Simons LE, Moulton EA, Linnman C, et al. The human amygdala and pain: evidence from neuroimaging. Hum Brain Mapp. 2014 Feb;35(2):527–38. PubMed #23097300 ❐ PainSci #52566 ❐
This paper explores some of the key neurobiological support for chronic pain as a conditioned behaviour.
- Ingraham. 34 Surprising Causes of Pain: Trying to understand pain when there is no obvious explanation. ❐ PainScience.com. 10567 words.
- O’Sullivan S. It's All in Your Head: True Stories of Imaginary Illness. Chatto & Windus; 2015.
This book consists mainly of well-told stories of severe psychosomatic illness and functional neurological disorders (neurological symptoms without diagnosable disease). The key take-away is that psychologically powered illness is common and can be amazingly severe. Although Dr. O’Sullivan is clearly concerned about the risk of incorrect diagnosis, and she is cautious and compassionate enough that I think she mostly gets it right (with the notable exception of the chronic fatigue chapter). It’s well-written and fascinating and has plenty to offer. I do wish there were citations.
- Anxiety is not a well defined part of the human experience, and never has been. People have been arguing about it’s nature for millenia: is it a philosophical problem or a biological one? Driven by nature or nurture? Congenital or acquired? Anxiety disorder is well described, but not well understood. One possibility that has been taken seriously by many experts for decades is that it is a classically conditioned behaviour: a learned response to things that shouldn’t be so scary. When anxiety is about our health (hypochondria), we can easily generate a wide variety of psychosomatic symptoms that are terrifyingly real to the victim. So we can probably learn to experience symptoms as a response to all kinds of subtle cues — and one of those symptoms can be pain. Therefore, if anxiety can be a conditioned response, so can pain.
In 2015, I had a rough time with withdrawal from an accidental addiction to benzos. Benzo withdrawal can cause both strong anxiety and bizarre, hallucinatory symptoms. I suffered greatly, reacting fearfully to strange sensations dozens of times a day for weeks. My standard reaction was basically “that sinking feeling,” a swoon of dread, but the swoon became just another symptom to be afraid of: rather than perceiving it as fear, I experienced it as a woozy, sickly exaggeration of whatever little sensation triggered it. Small ordinary pains almost instantly turn into bigger, weirder ones. It’s basically exactly like being alone in a scary old house and overreacting to every noise and shadow, perceiving what you fear rather than what is actually there.
The withdrawal slowly eased, but the damage was done: I had learned to respond to odd sensations with nervous reflections of them, many of them painful.