Detailed guides to painful problems, treatments & more

Pain is Weird

Pain science reveals a volatile, misleading sensation that can be profoundly warped by the mind — but does that mean we can think the pain away?

SHOW SUMMARY🔗 updated  by Paul Ingraham


Modern pain science shows that pain is a volatile, complex sensation that is thoroughly tuned by the brain. It functions as an overprotectively exaggerated warning, so much so that sensitization (a false alarm tendency) often becomes more serious and chronic than the original problem. Pain is completely brain-generated, and signals from damaged tissues are only one factor of many that the brain uses to create the experience of pain. There are many fascinating cases of relatively painless trauma, and relatively trauma-less pain. None of this means that pain is “all in your head,” but it does mean that psychology has a profound influence on pain. In particular, if the brain controls all pain, does that mean that we can think pain away? Probably not, because conscious minds are not the boss of our much busier brains. However, we do have some “neurological leverage” of great value — we can influence pain, if we understand it.

Word count: 16,000
Reading time: 70 minutes
Updates: 12 major, 15 minor Since comprehensive update logging began in 2016. Document history is detailed at the bottom of the page.
Footnotes: 48
Citations: ~81

Pain is not just a message from injured tissues to be accepted at face value, but a complex experience that is thoroughly tuned by your brain. The results are often strange and counter-intuitive, like quantum physics, but the science is clear: every painful sensation is 100% Brain Made®, and there is no pain without brain.1

Does that mean can we think pain away? Just how much power does the mind have over pain? Can confidence and education cure?

Articles about this are now common, but most just tease readers with the hopeful implication that pain can be “hacked,” but deliver no practical advice. In this article, I get specific about what’s actually realistic and practical with “mind over pain.” There’s bad news, but there’s also good news — if you understand how pain works.2 Many discoveries about the physiology of pain34 have been painfully slow to reach the public, or even health professionals. This is useful stuff, and it needs to be shared.

Mostly we need to stop thinking of pain in terms of single causes or cures: “It’s all coming from the ____, I know it!” It almost never is.5 We have many non-specific vulnerabilities to pain. Pain is not a reliable sign of what’s really going on. Chronic pain is a witch’s brew of different factors, complex by nature (not just coincidence or bad luck). At the very least, pain always has a layer of brain-generated complexity. At the worst, the pain system can malfunction in several colorful ways, causing pain that is much more intense and interesting than just a symptom — sometimes the pain is the problem.

The biology of pain is never really straightforward, even when it appears to be.

“Reconceptualising pain according to modern pain science”, Lorimer Moseley

One of the principle qualities of pain is that it demands an explanation.

Plainwater, by Anne Carson

Perception is the brain’s best guess about what is happening in the outside world. Perception is inference.

Scratching an itch through the scalp to the brain, by Atul Gawande

Watch it! 2 good videos on this topic

This well-produced short video neatly summarizes many of the key points of the content of this article. Great explanation of how pain works! (But their advice about what to do with that knowledge is off-key — more on this later in the article.)

Another fine video “summary” of a different sort: this hilarious TED talk about a snake bite and pain neurology. No, really, you will actually laugh! It’s like stand-up comedy. Australia’s Lorimer Moseley, Professor of Clinical Neurosciences and tireless pain researcher, is one of the best public speakers I’ve ever seen — a must-watch for anyone with chronic pain, and the professionals who care for them. Does he say “groovy” just a couple times too many? Maybe! But it is groovy … mate.


“Pain is an opinion”: Ramachandran’s excellent phrase

Ramachandran said that “pain is an opinion” — which sounds like a flaky New Age mind-over-matter theory. But Ramachandran is no mystic or guru: he is a neurologist and scientist. This passage is mainly known for the first few words, a pithy statement of the modern understanding of how pain works:

Pain is an opinion on the organism’s state of health rather than a mere reflexive response to an injury. There is no direct hotline from pain receptors to ‘pain centers’ in the brain. There is so much interaction between different brain centers, like those concerned with vision and touch, that even the mere visual appearance of an opening fist can actually feed all the way back into the patient’s motor and touch pathways, allowing him to feel the fist opening, thereby killing an illusory pain in a nonexistent hand.

Phantoms in the brain, by VS Ramachandran and Sandra Blakeslee

He then tells the story of an extraordinary cure of a man with phantom limb pain, tortured by agony in a clenched fist that was not there. With a clever arrangement of mirrors, Ramachandran created the illusion that the man’s amputated arm was restored — a sort of “virtual” limb. The mere appearance of his phantom hand opening and closing normally cured his agonizing “spasms.” He felt better because of the illusion that he was better — because he thought he was better. The mirror-cure of phantom limb pain is one of the most curious anecdotes in all of pain science. In all of medicine, in fact.

Since then, “mirror therapy” has been studied and applied in many ways. A good quality 2007 study showed that mirrors aren’t actually necessary to achieve this effect.6 Mirror therapy is probably just a “fun” way to visualize healthy movement — which also works quite well without a mirror!7

Stranger still are tales of severe pain without injury, illustrating that pain can be entirely in the mind. (Technically, it always is.) One of the strangest of these was reported in the British Medical Journal in 1995:

A builder aged 29 came to the accident and emergency department having jumped down on to a 15 cm nail. As the smallest movement of the nail was painful he was sedated with fentanyl and midazolam. The nail was then pulled out from below. When his boot was removed a miraculous cure appeared to have taken place. Despite entering proximal to the steel toecap the nail had penetrated between the toes: the foot was entirely uninjured.

JP Fisher, senior house officer, DT Hassan, senior registrar, N O’Connor, registrar, accident and emergency department, Leicester Royal Infirmary8

His pain was a “nocebo” — the opposite of a placebo.9 Extreme examples like this are rare, but probably not as exotic as you might think. More to the point, even if they are rare, for every case like this there must be hundreds more where the injury is real but the patient is convinced that the damage is much worse than it really is — with proportionately exaggerated pain. And indeed there is evidence of this: in a 2012 experiment, for instance, fear of pain made people more sore for longer after a workout.10

Happily, it also works the other way: people may feel much less pain than they “should” when they are confident for any reason, such as not realizing how bad the damage is.

Injury and pain are not in lock step with each other. And yet that is exactly what nearly everyone assumed for a long, long time. And many professionals, even though they may “know” better, often seem to forget how powerfully pain is influenced by perception, context, and meaning.

What is surprising is how malleable pain signals are—how readily the intensity of a pain signal is changed by the sensations, feelings, and thoughts that coincide with the pain. … The brain is not a mindless pain-ometer, simply measuring units of ouchness.

Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, by Robert M Sapolsky, 187, 193


The perception of the perception of pain in olden times (and not so olden times)

For most of the history of medical science, pain was believed to work more or less the way the French philosopher René Descartes described it: a simple signalling system.

  1. The flesh is wounded. (“It’s just a flesh wound!”)
  2. Nerves send an unambiguous message to the brain about the damage. The intensity of the message is directly proportionate to the severity of the injury.
  3. The brain interprets that message at face value — that is, if the message says, “There’s some bad damage here,” we believe it.

Based on this model, almost everyone still — today, in 2021 — assumes that any message sent to the brain by a certain kind of nerve will always cause pain. Health care professionals everywhere still believe that the nerve is “sending pain,” that the signal is pain — and therefore these nerves are habitually called “pain fibers” and their messages are called “pain messages,” an equivalence between signalling and pain baked right into the language. This is wrong! And it’s worse than an oversimplification.

The labeling of nociceptors as pain fibers was not an admirable simplification, but an unfortunate trivialization under the guise of simplification.

The relationship of perceived pain to afferent nerve impulses, by Patrick Wall and SB McMahon, 254–255

The first dent in this paradigm came in 1965 with the discovery of the gate control theory, which showed that other sensations can pre-empt pain, the first good clue that pain isn’t a completely predictable reaction. Ever since, it’s become increasingly clear to pain scientists and neurologists that the simplistic pain-fiber model is hopelessly inaccurate. In fact, they call it “the naïve view”!11 Even microscopic worms with only two trouble-detecting nerves, compared to our billions, have context-sensitive pain experiences.12 Even their pain is an “opinion,” an interpreted experience. And of course it makes complete evolutionary sense. Pain is clearly more useful as an experience when it is “smarter.”

So the way pain really works is much more complicated, interesting, and in some ways useful. A nerve should never be called a “pain” nerve. It doesn’t detect “pain.” It only detects some kind of stimulus in the tissue … and the brain decides what to make of it, how to feel about it, and what to do about it, if anything.


What goes up, must come down

Pain is less painful when we are confident that we are safe. This was demonstrated early in the history of pain research by a famous paper about wounded soldiers in WWII: they experienced surprisingly little pain for the severity of their injuries, probably because they were just so glad to be off the battlefield.13 Ever since, researchers have been trying to understand just how that actually works, and these days we have a rough outline of how that works.

The brain is not just a passive, gullible receiver for whatever messages the peripheral nerves send upstairs. And, if you think about it, it’s kind of strange that we would ever have thought of it that way, because this is, after all, the brain we’re talking about: seat of consciousness, the generator of your reality. Brains critically evaluate all the danger messages and put them in context before deciding how seriously to take the situation.

Once a danger message arrives at the brain, it has to answer a very important question: “How dangerous is this really?” In order to respond, the brain draws on every piece of credible information — previous exposure, cultural influences, knowledge, other sensory cues — the list is endless.

Pain really is in the mind, but not in the way you think, Moseley (

As if that didn’t complicate things enough, once your brain has made up your mind, it also sends messages downwards that actually affect the sensitivity and behaviour of the nerves.14 Thus everything that hurts involves a conversation, a sort of debate between the central and peripheral nervous systems. It could be dramatized like this:

NERVES Got problems here! Bad problems! Red alert!
BRAIN Yeah? Hmm. Okay, so noted. But you know what? I have access to information — sorry, it’s classified, you’ll just have to take my word for it — that suggests that we don’t have to worry about this much.
NERVES I’m telling you, this is serious!
BRAIN Nope, I don’t buy it.
NERVES Look, I may not have access to this “information” you’re always talking about, but I know tissue damage, and I am not kidding around, this is a credible threat, and I am going to keep telling you about it.
BRAIN Actually, you’re having trouble remembering what the problem is. You’re going to send me fewer messages for a while. Also, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for.
NERVES Uh, right. What was I saying? Gosh, it seems like just a second ago I had something important to say, and it’s just gone. I’ll get back to you later I guess …

The brain can boss the nerves around, tell them how sensitive to be. When anxious, the brain might request “more information” from the peripheral nerves, ordering them to produce more signals in response to smaller stimuli. Or it might do exactly the opposite. There is extensive recent evidence that the peripheral nerves can even physically, chemically change, perhaps in response to brain requests, tissue conditions, or both. To extend the analogy, this isn’t just twiddling the volume knob, but changing the equipment, changing the signal before it even gets to the “amplifier.”

(Just for fun, have a look at the complex version of that diagram. SHOW)

In short, messages don’t just go up to the brain, they go down. This two-way functionality in the pain system is the main difference between modern pain science and old-school pain science.

But most of the modulation is probably central: we only feel what our brains allow us to feel. Even “loud” sensory messages can be filtered down to almost nothing by the central nervous system … or, conversely, “quiet” sensory messages can be amplified. The quality and intensity of the final experience is clearly the product of an elaborate set of neurological filters.

Perhaps many patients whom doctors treat as having a nerve injury or a disease have, instead, what might be called sensor syndromes. When your car’s dashboard warning light keeps telling you that there is an engine failure, but the mechanics can’t find anything wrong, the sensor itself may be the problem. This is no less true for human beings. Our sensations of pain, itch, nausea, and fatigue are normally protective. Unmoored from physical reality, however, they can become a nightmare … hundreds of thousands of people in the United States alone suffer from conditions like chronic back pain, fibromyalgia, chronic pelvic pain, tinnitus, temporomandibular joint disorder, or repetitive strain injury, where, typically, no amount of imaging, nerve testing, or surgery manages to uncover an anatomical explanation. Doctors have persisted in treating these conditions as nerve or tissue problems—engine failures, as it were. We get under the hood and remove this, replace that, snip some wires. Yet still the sensor keeps going off.

So we get frustrated. “There’s nothing wrong,” we’ll insist. And, the next thing you know, we’re treating the driver instead of the problem.

Scratching an itch through the scalp to the brain, by Atul Gawande


PAIN WEIRDNESS EXAMPLE: Metal rod embedded in arm painless for fifty years

Sensation and pain are nothing if not mercurial. On the one hand, we can be driven half out of our minds by a bit of beef wedged between a couple teeth. Or, stuck right in the other hand, a large piece of metal can be painless for 50 years. Like a turn signal lever.

Art Lampitt got one of those embedded in his arm in a car accident long ago. What with all the other injuries, no one noticed. It didn’t give him any trouble until recently. His arm began to ache and swell and an x-ray revealed a strange, thin third arm bone.

“I was hoping it might be shiny still,” he said in an interview with CBC Radio One’s “As It Happens,” but it was badly corroded — perhaps the reason it finally caused some symptoms, but who knows.

I love medical marvels that challenge our preconceptions about what will hurt. It’s noteworthy that it didn’t hurt for decades — because if that’s possible, just imagine how unpredictable the symptoms of a little arthritis can be — but it’s also noteworthy that it did start to cause trouble eventually. It’s a great example how pain is weird.


The Chronic Zone: The dysfunctionality of some persistent pain

Acute pain usually correlates quite well with tissue damage — although even horrible tissue damage can be surprisingly painless in the right context, that’s the exception to the rule.

Most of pain’s weirdness happens when you enter … The Chronic Zone. As pain drags on, its relationship to actual tissue trouble gets sloppier, and in some cases breaks down altogether. Pain can even cease to have anything to do with tissue damage whatsoever: such patients are effectively hallucinating pain, “false alarm disease.” This phenomenon is broadly known as “sensitization.”15 It’s probably a major factor in most of the pure chronic pain conditions — nasty chronic pain that seems disconnected from any cause, like fibromyalgia or complex regional pain syndrome.

More commonly, chronification of pain involves mere exaggeration of ordinary pain problems. This may actually be the much bigger problem for our species. Imagine the tragedy of billions of cases of low back pain, headaches, plantar fasciitis — and many others — that are all 20–60% louder than they really “should” be. Not “false” alarms, just obnoxiously and unncessarily noisy ones.

Sensitization really needs an entire article to itself, and it has one: Sensitization in Chronic Pain: Pain itself can change how pain works, resulting in more pain with less provocation. As big as this article is, you can’t really be done learning about how weird pain is until you’ve read that one too. Sorry about that. It’s a big topic!

The chronification of pain is dominated by the concept of sensitization, but not entirely. Another weird thing about pain, another major wrinkle…


What if the alarm isn’t false? Not all chronic pain is weird!

Pain perception can be badly distorted, and that is weird and cool, also relatively rare. We can make pain up out of thin air, like the guy with the nail driven between his toes, but we rarely do. And we can have painless trauma — like the soldier who barely feels his wound — but we rarely do. All the famous and fascinating examples are famous because they are rather exotic.

For most people, most of the time, pain is a relatively consistent, predictable, and sensible warning system about tissue danger — just like the “naive view” always assumed. The boring-but-basic reality is that tissue trouble still usually leads directly to pain. Just because that correlation can get messy and break down does not mean that it always does. Pain has to be reliable: that’s why it exists.

Most importantly, not all chronic pain is dysfunctional.

Much is made of the difference between acute pain and chronic, generally assuming that acute pain is accurate, while chronic pain is exaggerated or outright bogus. But there’s another important possibility: accurate acute pain that just keeps happening, a renewable resource, an ongoing credible threat to tissues that the brain should take seriously.

Some causes of persistent pain — a thorn, an old wound, a tumour — are almost too obvious to be worthy of mention. But the cause of persistent pain is often baffling. There is a cause, a “thorn” of some kind, but a largely invisible one. For instance: my friend who had an almost literally invisible tumour pressing on a nerve root, a pathology that could only be seen if you looked in just the right way, with just the right kind of imaging. Until diagnosed, he was treated by more than one healthcare professional as a dysfunctional chronic pain case — but it was actually a clear cut case of chronic-acute pain, not dysfunctional at all, not a false alarm at all, but pain that was definitely not.

It was just hard to diagnose.


Two very important types of chronic pain… that don’t even have names to distinguish them

This discrepancy between dysfunctional and functional chronic pain is a huge clinical challenge and another face of pain’s weirdness and complexity. In this case, the weirdness is just as much about our lack of clearly labelled concepts as it is about the nature of pain itself. There actually isn’t even a name for the difference between these two classes of chronic pain! When there’s a persistent or recurring cause of pain, I call it “chronic-acute” pain — but that’s my term.

When there’s no known damage, there are two possibilities (other than hypochondria):

  1. either there is tissue insult (a source of nociception) that just can’t be identified (surprisingly common I think), or
  2. the relationship between tissue insult and pain has broken down (also quite common).

And, of course, these scenarios are not mutually exclusive: you can have both tissue damage and a wonky, disproportionate relationship to pain. There’s plenty of overlap. It’s basically impossible to know how much of each is contributing to a given case.

But the existence of chronic-acute pain is an important source of hope and reassurance for many people. I’m speaking both professionally and personally here. I once had a persistent pain with no apparent cause, so much so that I was told by a series of professionals that my only problem was pure “pain dysfunction.” But then, rather better late than never, the %#!!$& source was found and removed … and that was the end of my pain. Ta da!

So I suffered a year of serious chronic pain with no apparent source that absolutely was positively, strongly correlated with a tissue insult. My brain was not lying. The alarm was not false. There was just a sneaky reason for it.


Part 2

Can We Think the Pain Away?

I have good news and bad news…

100% of the time, pain is a construct of the brain.

Lorimer Moseley, from his surprisingly funny TED talk, Why Things Hurt 14:33

If that is true — and it really is technically true16 — does that mean can we think brain-built pain away? Can our minds un-build pain? Yes and no, because, as Dr. Moseley explains, “Pain really is in the mind, but not in the way you think.”17 This is a good news, bad news kind of thing. I will get to the good news, but let’s get the bad news out of the way first:

It’s not really possible to think pain away in general. Many wise, calm, confident optimists still have chronic pain.

Pain is a motivator. It exists to get us to act. We hurt when our brains reckon we should do something differently, for safety … but safety is not always possible. The nature of the danger isn’t always clear, or avoidable.

And the brain worries too much: from hangnails to fibromyalgia, it overstates the danger (for rock solid evolutionary reasons), and it can’t be overruled by wishing, force of will, or a carefully cultivated good attitude. The brain powerfully but imperfectly controls how we experience potentially threatening stimuli, but I’m sorry to report that you do not control your brain.

Mind versus brain

Consciousness and “mind” are by-products of brain function and physiological state. (Deep, eh?) It’s not your opinion of sensory signals that counts, it’s what your brain makes of them that counts — which happens quite independently of consciousness and self-awareness. The independence of brains is obvious with something like blushing:

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

But it is also true of pain. As Todd Hargrove put it, “Pain is sometimes immune to logic,” because pain is handled by a part of the brain that is not easily over-ruled by other brain “modules” — like an optical illusion that you can’t “un-see” even when you understand it.18 As he put it elsewhere:

Humans don’t get to decide what they find threatening, stressful or painful any more than a cat does. That decision is left to ancient unconscious systems that can’t really be reasoned with.

Todd Hargrove, Treat Your Client Like a Wild Animal

And that is why many wise, calm, confident optimists still have chronic pain. Your brain modulates pain based on factors that are completely out of your control. Or rather difficult to control, or even just impractical to control.

But it’s not hopeless. We have some leverage, albeit usually indirect. This is the first sparkle of good news in this story.


Cool 😎 examples of the power of brain over pain (but not necessarily “mind”)

Here are some examples of ways that the mind definitely has power over pain, but without much practical value, at least so far: being in love, looking through filters, and not looking at all! These are mostly examples of our lack of control, but also point to some potential opportunities to workaround that limitation.

Romance as a pain-killer

Thanks to a quirky 2014 study, science has confirmed that being in love relieves pain — a wonderful example of the potential power of the mind over pain.19 Falling head-over-heels is not exactly a convenient solution. As researcher Dr. Sean Mackey put it, “We can’t give you a prescription for love” — not one that’s easy to fill, anyway. But we can work to give love more of a chance to grow and thrive. You can’t benefit from the pain-killing effect of love if you aren’t in love.

Closely related: pain is also muted when romantic partners hold hands. Aw.20

Weird illusions! Shrinking pain with de-magnification

If you view a painful hand through a magnifying glass, it will actually get more swollen and inflamed — that is, if you make it look bigger, it will feel like a bigger problem.21 And the reverse is true too! Use optics to make it look smaller, and swelling will go down. Incredible, right? Jedi pain tricks! But … do you have a de-magnifying glass handy? Where do you buy even one of those, let alone a big one? (They really are hard to find. How about looking backwards through binoculars? Not a great solution.22) And what happens if the pain isn’t in a place that’s so easy to de-magnify, like your low back?

The de-magnification trick is dang interesting, but it’s obviously not a practical approach to most pain. The effect is real under the right circumstances, but trying to use it as a treatment is like trying to take a magician’s trick home with you.

Maybe someday virtual reality tech will make “visuotactile illusions” like this a lot more accessible and convenient. A nifty proof-of-concept study demonstrated that a couple of other illusions can reduce osteoarthritis pain by up to 40%, at least temporarily.23 So what visual sorcery can kill more pain than any other known treatment for that condition? Two similar illusions, using virtual reality goggles to make it look like the knee was either shrinking or stretching. 😜 Whoaa, duuuuude …

Not looking! What you can’t see can’t hurt you (as much)

Getting an injection actually hurts less when you don’t watch.24 Out of sight, out of mind: if the brain can’t see the threat, it is less sensitive to it. That’s interesting, and like the magnification/stretching/shrinking experiments, it clearly demonstrates that the brain modulates pain and, in that circumstance, we can modulate it. It’s easy to look away from a needle, but with most chronic pain, what is there to avoid looking at? We usually can’t see the threat.

Although it is technically the brain’s prerogative to ignore painful signals from your tissues, that doesn’t mean that there’s any way we can convince it to do so — if there is a destructive disease process going on, for instance, the brain will usually not ignore those signals! The pain system evolved to report problems, and you can count on it to do so most of the time.

The broken cat demonstration

Three-legged cat Isaac, trying to scratch himself with his missing leg:

Now a little to the left …

That has got to be super frustrating! The pathetic futility of Isaac’s scratching does not stop his brain from trying. Poor little guy! His brain has a picture of how things should be, and he acts accordingly. The impulse is like a freight train, irresistible even when it’s blatantly ineffective.

So it often is with pain: if the brain believes there’s a threat, you’re going to hurt, no matter how pointless it is or how intensely you focus on trying to have more reasonable and rational sensations. It’s mostly just not up to you. But that doesn’t mean that we’re completely powerless. Mind has some influence over brain. Below I will continue with some practical ways we might be able to “hack” pain neurology a little bit.


How pain education can go awry

Early in this article, I shared the Australian video about chronic pain. Its main messages are mission critical stuff, and I give an A-grade to their explanation of the nature of pain. They explained pain well.

Their advice to pain patients? Not so good! Much too trite and impractical — which is a common problem with this topic, and I am going to use it as a negative example. The video comes dangerously close to just advising patients to “don’t worry, be happy” and it flirts with the dreaded “all in your head” implication — and that’s really not what we want here.

Yes, pain is indeed a brain thing, but this must not be dumbed down to the point that people have no idea what to do with it or, much worse, feel blamed for it. People with chronic pain feel bad enough already!25

The video portrays pain as a problem with a dysfunctional brain that can be “trained” back to good behaviour, like a terrier with behavioural issues. That is way too optimistic. Brains are not terriers. Although it makes sense to try, there is no good evidence that this actually works, and clearly it’s just impossible in some circumstances. There are many possible reasons why.

For instance, mood disorders (depression, anxiety) and stressors can be virtually invincible. Most people with chronic pain aren’t just a little stressed, they are a lot stressed, and often by major life challenges and social injustices that they absolutely cannot solve.26 Even when those problems are theoretically more manageable, most people find it extremely difficult to troubleshoot their own mental health. So while it’s technically correct to tell patients to “learn to reduce stress” and “consider how your thoughts and emotions are affecting your nervous system,” that advice is shallow to the point of being useless. The video sinks all the way down to advising us to “recognize deeper emotions.” 🙄 I think most patients will dismiss that as insultingly flaky. Don’t underestimate how hard that kind of talk can rub people the wrong way. Consider this comment I got by email:

Your ‘nitpicking’ of the cute cartoon video — which had already infuriated me before I found your analysis — was just spot on. You so eloquently expressed my feelings that I almost wept. And I’m English! We don’t do that!

I applaud the emphasis on psychological and social factors, but it’s also really important to keep it real and make it practical.


PAIN WEIRDNESS EXAMPLE: Pain is the eye of the beholder (literally in this case)

This one’s from my own medical history, in the aftermath of corrective eye surgery in 2011, and some odd consequences shed good light on how pain works: insight from eyesight. Recovery went well initially; a few weeks later, my optometrist couldn’t even find any sign that anything even happened to my left eye. No laser tracks. No remaining signs of recovery. It was ahead of schedule.

But my right eye was a bit blurry, and it ached. In reality, it was also healing on schedule — but it was lagging behind the ahead-of-schedule left, and it was freaking me out a bit. Get a load of what my science-minded optometrist said (paraphrasing) when I told him about this:

People’s eyes often hurt when they think there’s something wrong with them.

That demonstrates that “pain is an opinion” rather well. My optometrist described the following scenario (paraphrasing):

Someone can “discover” an eye problem they’ve had for twenty years and start hurting. They accidentally cover one eye while watching television, happen to notice that the vision in the free eye is a bit off. It’s been off all along — almost everyone is at least a wee bit astigmatic, but the brain completely takes care of that when both eyes are open. But if they notice it with an eye covered, a week later they’re in my office complaining of blurred vision and an ache.

Fascinating. I was paying close attention to my vision in the aftermath of the surgery — probably too close. I “discovered” that the right wasn’t as good as the left, and started checking it even more obsessively. And so it started to ache. And yet it’s only problem was being less awesome than my left. Good grief.


The science of confidence: does it reduce pain?

How do we convince people in pain that we understand that they are in pain but it’s not just about the tissues of their body? A key conceptual shift that we think is really important is that you can understand that pain is the end result, pain is an output of the brain, designed to protect you … it’s not something that comes from your tissues.

Lorimer Moseley, from his surprisingly funny TED talk, Why Things Hurt 14:33

Probably confidence can reduce pain, directly and/or indirectly. It’s time to start focusing on the positive implications of the brain’s role in pain, and the power of confidence is a good place to start.

One of the top five questions I am asked, about any condition, is simply Is there hope? The answer is nearly always the same: yes, there’s hope. There’s never a guarantee, but there’s always hope, and recovery from most kinds of severe chronic pain is not only possible but fairly common. Unless you have a known serious aggravating factor — a major trauma, for instance — there is almost never any reason to fear that recovery from any chronic pain problem is impossible. For the same reason that pain can be absurdly persistent and out of proportion to any clear cause — because it is so brain-tuned — it also never rarely loses the potential to finally shift and evaporate.

For instance, just a change in confidence can make a big difference.

There’s been a lot of indirect evidence about this for a long time, but one of the first really good, direct scientific tests was finally published in 2013 by Vibe-Fersum et al.27

Classification-based cognitive functional therapy (CB-CFT, or just CFT) for low back pain is a “body/mind approach to understanding and managing this complex problem” that “targets the beliefs, fears and associated behaviours” of patients (what I have called the “confidence cure” for many years). The big idea of CFT is that the cycle of pain and disability can be broken by easing patient fears and anxieties, specifically “reframing the persons’ understanding of their back pain in a person-centred manner, with an emphasis on changing maladaptive movement, cognitive and lifestyle behaviours contributing to their vicious cycle of pain.”

Translation: pretty much any strategy that restores confidence.

In that 2013 trial, CFT was tested on 62 patients with moderate back pain, and compared to 59 who were treated with manual therapy and exercise. Three months and a year later, the CFT group was much better off.28 CFT was “more effective at reducing pain, disability, fear beliefs, mood and sick leave at long-term follow-up than manual therapy and exercise.” As the authors put it for, “Disabling back pain can change for the better with a different narrative and coping strategies.”

There were some blemishes on the study methods, but nothing dire; the results can be safely regarded as actually promising29 while we wait for replication from larger studies.

So: just learning about this could be therapeutic, but how else can you apply the good news? How else can you CFT yourself, or otherwise get your brain to downgrade your pain?

Whilst the problem is superficially a physical one, the real challenges faced by someone with chronic pain are mental. Mental state is the biggest modulator of physical pain. Things hurt more when you’re stressed or sad, and the increased pain makes you both stressed and sad. The way out of this vicious circle is a wholesale change to how you perceive fear, suffering and setbacks.

How chronic pain has made me happier, by Rob Heaton


Part 3

Jedi Pain Tricks!

What are the practical applications of knowing that pain can be brain-tuned?

Chronic pain is not all about the body, and it’s not all about the brain — it’s everything. Target everything. Take back your life.

Dr. Sean Mackey, Pain & the Brain lecture

Pain is “another *%[email protected]!! growth opportunity” — an intense provocation to mature as a person. For many people with severe and chronic pain, learning coping skills is a necessity. But personal growth is a much greater opportunity than merely coping with pain. We may not control our brains, but we do have considerable indirect leverage. We can’t micromanage every sensation, but we can tinker on a large scale. We change the context and direct our experience of life on a large scale. For instance…

Animated GIF of a realistic looking brain wobbling.

Mind ≠ brain. But mind can, maybe, exert some influence on the brain, which is quite “plastic.”

Huff, puff, and blow your pain down: changing state with vigorous breathing

We can alter our physiology with deep, vigorous breathing, instantly creating new feelings — and your brain will go along for that ride, and perhaps re-interpret your experience of pain. For more about this odd idea, see The Art of Bioenergetic Breathing.

There are many similar ideas, and what they all share is changing your state in some way. I chose vigorous breathing as the primary representative because I think it’s one of the most practical and direct.

The other particular popular one — vigorous exercise — is a bit too familiar and problematic for many pain patients. Lots of pain patients can’t go for a run, or don’t want to, or can’t do it three times a day — but almost anyone can do a couple minutes of huffing and puffing five times a day.

And it’s strange and novel, and that’s a feature: when you’re trying to affect your brain, “change is as good as a holiday.”


Create new social contexts

There are many ways you can create new social situations for yourself, but playing a team sport is a really powerful one. This one is definitely not for everyone, but it is for some of us — I love playing ultimate for exactly this reason — and it illustrates an important principle.

In team sports, because other people are counting on you, the painful consequences of intense exercise are usually re-contexualized as tolerable, even desirable, and you can put up with quite a lot more. You can’t think your way to that kind of pain tolerance — but you can place yourself in a situation where it is a likely outcome.

This is why Haven — a counselling school, which many people go to just to learn more about themselves — uses “experiential” workshops, putting people through a bunch of interesting and intense experiences together. They tinker with your social context, because humans beings are so interested in each other that our social experiences utterly dominate our consciousness. Change your social experience, change your brain!


Reduce fear and anxiety, increase confidence, especially with education

And what does modern pain education look like? “It is not reciting pages from a textbook or giving a patient ‘the pain talk’.” Dr. Lorimer Moseley explains that “education is universally recommended as first-line treatment for acute and persistent back pain.”30

Fear and anxiety probably have more power to aggravate pain than any other emotional state, and acquiring knowledge and perspective are superb medicine for fear and anxiety. A confident and happy brain amplifies danger signals less than an anxious, miserable brain. This explains some interesting results in pain research (not to mention clinical observations), such as:

So seek out as much information as you can find, because nothing causes more anxiety than uncertainty, and education is a proven cure for uncertainty. One of the most important reasons to be educated is so that you have the power to be skeptical about diagnosis…


Doubt all diagnosis!

Be extremely skeptical of diagnosis — both your own ideas, and the theories of healthcare professionals. Most ideas about what causes persistent pain are bogus or exaggerated, and mostly serve to convince us that we are more broken or fragile than we actually are — causing anxiety that has real power to make pain worse. There are many classic examples, like the infamous predeliction for diagnosing back pain as a “slipped disc,” a scary-sounding, specific diagnosis that is much less common and serious than most people believe, a major reason why so many experts think of MRI as a false alarm machine.34

Meanwhile, alternative medicine churns out diagnostic speculation that is overconfident and simplistic at best. All freelance healthcare professionals, even relatively mainstream physical therapists,35 have a nasty habit of diagnosing problems that they can sell their solutions to, profitably pathologizing people, a road to hell paved with the best of intentions.36

Everyone is guilty of perpetuating this pattern — even patients themselves, who encourage it with their routine refusal to take “I don’t know” for an answer and willingness to pay for anything that gives them hope. It is vitally important to be extremely slow to believe any specific idea about what is causing your pain.


Early intervention is vital

“As early as possible” is the best time to prevent acute pain from transmogrifying chronic pain.37 It is clear that chronic pain can cause significant neurological changes, both in nerves themselves and in how their activity is interpreted by the brain, a state broadly known as sensitization — in which we feel more pain with less provocation. Pain chronification probably has many mechanisms, like becoming “pathologically emotional,”38 or even classical conditioning — a “reflex.” Remember, the theme of this article is “pain is weird”!

Regardless, however it happens, it really happens — and once those changes occur, recovery is much harder, at great cost in suffering and medical expenses. Persistent pain should not be ignored. Deal with it sooner, not later, as best you can. Don’t wait around just hoping things will get better. Obviously this is the mother of all “easier said than done” challenges, but here’s a potent practical example: a strategic temporary prescription of tranquilizers. This needs some serious elaboration…

The transition from acute to chronic pain if often a time of howling anxiety, both because of the pain and often other stresses. Treating anxiety during that transition is difficult but potentially high value and urgent, time-sensitive — this is exactly when “freaking out” may actually drive chronification! But how do you treat anxiety “urgently”? Easy: cautious use of Benzodiazepines (Valium, Ativan, etc), a modest dose for a couple weeks at most. More is flirting with disaster.39 But for that two weeks? Nearly magical anxiety relief — seriously, that stuff really works — right when you most need it (and probably better sleep too, another high-value benefit).

Naturally, you should also use that opportunity to do everything possible to start taming anxiety in other, safer, more sustainable ways: see Anxiety & Chronic Pain. Many of the other ideas here harmonize with that goal.

The brain cells that produce pain get better and better at producing pain. They become more and more sensitive …

Lorimer Moseley, pain researcher, Why Things Hurt 14:33


Reject the self-hating idea that your pain is “just” psychological or merely psychosomatic

Paradoxically, even though pain is strongly modulated by your central nervous system, it is rarely “all” in your head. Although pure psychosomatic pain probably does exist, it is disproportioantely and disrespectfully suspected and diagnosed. Using that brush to paint every other chronic pain patient is scientifically obsolete and can be thrown out with yesterday’s trash. Any health professional talking like that should just be ignored. We know better these days: pain does not have to be driven by easily diagnosed tissue damage to be “real” and serious, and it can have major psychological dimensions without being just psychological.

Patients often find themselves trapped in a zone between the worlds of medicine and psychiatry, with neither community taking full responsibility.

It's All in Your Head, by Suzanne O’Sullivan, 9

If you are going to confidently defend yourself from the corrosive idea/diagnosis of psychosomatic pain, you’re going to need a very clear understanding…

What’s the difference between “pain is an opinion” and “it’s all in your head”?

Unfortunately, it’s tricky to tell patients “sometimes pain correlates poorly with tissue damage” without them hearing “it’s all in your head.” It’s a hazard baked right into modern pain science, and I think it’s a serious problem. I have experienced it myself as a patient, and seen lots of other evidence of it.

For example, here’s the beginning of an amazing, uplifting back pain story, told by Dr. Jerome Groopman in his book, The Anatomy of Hope, about his own experience with super severe chronic low back pain:

Dr. Rainville planted the MRI scan of my spine on a lighted box on the wall and systematically inspected the film, vertebra by vertebra. Seemingly satisfied that he had reviewed all the relevant data, he turned and stood before me.

“You are worshiping the volcano god of pain,” he declared. “The volcano god of pain is your master.”

I had been warned that Rainville was a brash, in-your-face clinician who held contrary views. But what on earth was he talking about?

The “volcano god worship” lecture Groopman gets from Rainville is really great: an intense, dramatic version of the central idea of this article, that pain can get disconnected from reality. Despite the artfulness of the explanation, Groopman struggles with the implications like any patient:

And what was he really saying, in cold biological terms, not flamboyant metaphors of volcano gods? That changing my beliefs could dampen flaming circuits of pain? Was I some mystic or yogi who could walk barefoot over hot coals or lie down on a bed of nails?

Rainville was saying that the pain was not “all in your head” but his brain’s “opinion” of the situation. Hypchondria versus sensory dysfunction. Here is that difference “in cold biological terms.”

Awkwardly, there is overlap. These two concepts are on a spectrum, and some people are undoubtedly living in the confusing grey zone in the middle. Everyone wants to believe that the weirdness of their pain is the seed-of-truth variety, a distorted and exaggerated but legitimate signal. It cannot always be that way, but it routinely is.


Be kind to your nervous system

Create pleasant, safe sensory experiences — positive inputs. Seek comfort. Be a hedonist. If your brain thinks you’re safe, pain goes down — and pleasure almost always feels safe. Achieving pleasure is a good way to be sure that you feel particularly safe, at least temporary.

So be “nice” to your CNS in every way that you can think of. Make your life — or a joint — feel safer, gentler, more pleasant. Do it in general ways (soak the whole system in a hot tub), but also more specifically: pleasantly stroke a sore knee, give a screaming shoulder the “comfort” of a sling for a while, or cautiously but thoroughly move a troubled joint to demonstrate to your brain that it’s okay. See, brain? We can do this! No big deal! Here’s that Moseley guy yet again

To reduce pain, we need to reduce credible evidence of danger & increase credible evidence of safety.

Lorimer Moseley. Explainer: what is pain and what is happening when we feel it?


Change something — almost anything! — about how a painful area feels

Make it feel as different as you can (and as cheaply as you can). Sensation is one of the factors the brain uses to set pain levels. If you can make a body part feel significantly different in any way, it may help (but especially if you can make it feel safe, protected, stabilized). In fact, this probably explains why many treatments for pain problems are popular and seem to help sometimes, despite being unreliable and generally minor.40

Classic examples include: taping, bracing, strapping, splinting, salving, vibrating, heating, icing.

Regardless of how they supposedly work — there are many overly complex explanations — most of these methods mostly just change how a body part feels.41 The benefit of novel sensory input is probably not much more profound than being distracted by a loud noise … but we can add it to the toolkit, with reasonable expectations. Use any cheap, convenient, creative method — there’s little reason not to.


Fix the fixable in your life

Our major life problems are the elephant in the room, responsible for most of our stress, anxiety, and depression — which means that they also have a direct impact on how much we hurt. Of course many of those problems cannot be solved, or only with great difficulty.

But we humans also tend to be our own worst enemies, most of us aren’t quite as stuck as we think we are, and some of our worst and oldest problems probably can still be solved. There are many examples of hard life problems that can usually be fixed with hard work and a leap of faith: toxic marriages and friendships, bad jobs and bad bosses, a house or city or climate you don’t like; addictions, insomnia, and many more.

Finally taking action to fix such problems is a long and winding road to relief, and success is not guaranteed, or evidence based. It’s just too complex a strategy. But it is directly relevant in principle, and it’s not like such an effort will ever be wasted (which is lot more than you can say for most other pain treatments). For a deeper dive into this strategy, see Pain Relief from Personal Growth: Treating tough pain problems with the pursuit of emotional intelligence, life balance, and peacefulness.

I would apply the 80/20 rule to stress management: 80 percent of the stress reduction is accomplished with the first 20 percent of effort.

Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, by Robert M Sapolsky, 414


Positive movement

One of the big ideas in evolutionary psychology is that our minds have many specific skills, rather than an all-purpose intelligence. If the part of the brain responsible for pain — the pain “module” — isn’t easily swayed by the part that thinks, are there other modules that might have more influence?

Probably. Todd Hargrove: “The movement modules would be first on my list.”42

“Positive movement” may be more potent than “positive thinking.” And what is positive movement? Moving as if you are more comfortable than you are: build up your confidence with whatever movement you can reasonably handle. Move in ways that are as pleasant, fun, and/or inspiring as possible. Pain limits movement — so push against those limits gently, creatively, playfully.

By the way, you can reframe several of these ideas in terms of trying a different brain “module.” For instance, the “be kind to your nervous system” advice could also be described as using the “pleasure” module to tame the pain module. And the “Create new social contexts” advice? That’s leveraging the social module — the particularly huge subdivision of our neurology dedicated to social interactions.


Don’t be a pain drama queen!

“It feels like a jagged, flaming, poisoned sword ripping through my body over and over again.”

People really talk like that, when they are in pain. My father talks like that. And I too have the impulse — genetic and/or learned — to talk like that. The apple does not fall far from the tree.

We must beware of colourful and extreme descriptions of our pain. They are tempting. There are quite a few reasons to exaggerate pain. For instance, pain is such a private experience — so often minimized or even denied by health professionals — that patients are often tempted to dramatize the pain to make it seem more real. But it’s a trap! Before you know it, you’ll believe your own story. When you exaggerate and dramatize your pain, you directly exacerbate the neurological end of the chronic pain problem. The ability to weather emotional storms — being unflappable in the first place, or recovering relatively quickly — probably affects pain levels.43

The pain scale is the imperfect replacement for flaming, poisoned swords. If you have chronic pain, you’ve probably been asked many times to rate your pain, and probably on a scale of 1 to 10, and maybe with a visual aid like this:

A typical doctor’s office pain scale chart.

On the one hand, the pain scale is an essential pain research and clinical tool, with proven value — it’s the main way that we measure the effect of therapies, to see if they really work. On the other hand, the opportunities for abusing the pain scale are legion, and the pain scale is a source of perpetual confusion in health care offices throughout the land. It sounds so easy: just rate your dang pain! But people are often stumped by the question, or they overthink it, or they wildly exaggerate.

Many times I have seen pain-scale discussions nose dive into philosophy. Is #10 reserved for the worst pain we have ever experienced, or the worst pain we can imagine? “I don't know, I can imagine quite a bit.” Can we ever really know what someone else’s pain feels like? (No.) If pain fluctuates, do we take the average? For really horrible pain do we go off the scale? Or recalibrate?

The thing is, people like to go off the scale. Drama is fun. Hyperbole is fun.

“Definitely a 15. Having a baby, yikes, that was like a 19 with spikes to 38.”

The irony is that the pain scale is supposed to help you think more objectively and rationally about your pain, but it often just creates another opportunity for melodrama. So use the pain scale, but use it wisely. Use it as a tool for getting a little more real about your pain.

Speaking of hyperbole, this pain scale business was hilariously lampooned by Allie Brosh of the brilliant, scribbly blog Hyperbole and a Half. Look back at #8 on the pain scale chart above. Does that look like a #8? According to Brosh, #8 seems to be thinking: “The ice cream I bought barely has any cookie dough chunks in it. This is not what I expected and I am disappointed.” So she did her own. Here’s her take on #8:

“I am experiencing a disturbing amount of pain. I might actually be dying. Please help.”

Now that’s more like it! No ambiguity there! Brosh’s pain scale is so funny that you will spray milk out your nose. (Assuming you drink some milk first.) Read the whole thing. But get the joke!


Limit pain talk (and the “How are you?” problem)

Never mind being a pain “drama queen,” just talking about our pain is problematic. Any kind of “pain talk” at all, even just politely answering the question “How are you?”, may exacerbate pain. Avoiding pain talk might also just be a quality of life improvement. Adira Bennet for, on answering “How Are You?”:

Every chronic illness fighter has experienced the piercing awkwardness of sharing too much with the wrong person or at the wrong time where your pal is like, ‘Oh… uh… feel better soon. I gotta go.’”

Anyone who has been in significant chronic pain for long enough knows how tiresome it gets trying to explain to people how you are doing. So you may benefit from learning not to. Tom Bowen of writes (and citing White et al):44

I recommend limiting pain talk. We can socialize without talking about pain, or worse complain about it. We are more than our pain. While pain talk can help us validate our pain, it has been shown to worsen pain. Conversely, well talk has been shown to reduce pain intensity.

I completely agree, but limiting pain talk can also be a tricky skill to learn. Finding graceful ways to answer as minimally as possible isn’t always easy. Important note: you *can* lie (“I’m fine, how are you?”) but you don’t have to. You can deftly, quickly navigate quickly to other topics, emphasizing the positive for the sake of avoiding the negative, even if feels forced and absurd to you. Remember that your pain is only the “elephant in the room” from your perspective.

There’s also a big ol’ grey zone between those times when candid conversation with good friends is truly cathartic, therapeutic, and useful… and, at the other extreme, pointless, reckless oversharing with acquaintances at the other extreme.

But learning to minimize pain talk as best you can is probably a wise course to set — and not just to reduce those awkward conversations trying to answer the dread “how are you?” question, but because it may actually help the pain. This is another great example of the indirect mind-over-pain power.


Part 4

Advice for Professionals

What are the clinical implications of all this pain weirdness?

Physical therapists, massage therapists, chiropractors and anyone who works with hurting bodies: please consider not focusing exclusively on “fixing” patient’s tissues. Often the problem is not the tissues, but a pain experience spinning out of control. Even when there is a tissue issue, it’s all too possible that fixing it is just impossible, that all the “tools” (treatment modalities) are largely useless,45 either entirely ineffective or, at the least, less important than then neurology

This can be extremely intimidating. Explaining pain is by far the most well-known strategy for dealing with it, and it seems to sideline clinicians. You may feel like it leaves you little to “do” to or for their patients. Professional paralysis.

The solution to this is to address the patient’s nervous system. Be kind to it. Help patients remember what it’s like to feel safe and good. Be the source of a positive sensory experience. Choose and exploit modalities not for their barely-there power to change/fix tissues, but for their power to comfort and soothe, to reframe sensory experiences.

And also educate to reassure, independently of whether you “explain pain” or not — though you will find that some pain-explaining is vital for achieving that goal.

And definitely avoid giving patients any new cause for alarm or worry.

When the primary complaint is pain, the treatment of pain should be primary.

Barrett Dorko, Physical Therapist, online discussion, 2010

Are clinicians becoming paralyzed by “Pain Science”?

That question was asked in a popular Facebook discussion group in early 2020. To be clear, it was not a reference to this website, but to ideas that are explored here (especially in this article), which are regularly mistaken for a treatment method (Explain Pain, either specifically or more generically).

That question attracted a lot of comments, but mine was rather popular, so I thought I’d transplant it to here, slightly edited and embellished for dramatic effect:

And what is “Pain Science” as opposed to the science of pain, exactly? Why capitalize it like a brand? What exactly are we talking about, if not “the science of pain”?

The owner of the domain (hint: it’s me) would really love to know what’s up with this capitalization bollocks. 😉 Because I know for damn sure that my brand is all about “the science of pain,” no capitalization, no modality or methology, no dogma or canon… just good information derived from the systematic investigation of the human experience of pain. That’s it.

If we are talking about the science of pain, then the question is effectively asking if clinicians are paralyzed by… knowing things. Are clinicians becoming paralyzed by the application of science to their work? By a modern and nuanced understanding of how pain works? Maybe they are!

But I’m sure that’s not a bad thing.

It’s true, knowledge can be paralyzing, and this has always been a challenge with evidence-based medicine: it’s hard! It’s the higher road. EBM is indeed harder than what came before. It is easier to just go with whatever witch’s brew of fact and fiction you’ve acquired from experience and mentors. Experience is especially seductive and misleading. But we do EBM not because it is easy, but because it is hard… and because it is better.


Pain may be a brain thing, but that doesn’t mean the body doesn’t matter

Sure, all pain is indeed completely generated by your brain, technically … but that is the nature of consciousness and perception. Most sensory experiences have strong roots in the world. Which includes the flesh.

Everything is in the brain, but when we want to learn about the universe, we look through telescopes, not brain scanners.

Dr. Rob Tarzwell of One-Minute Medical School. (Ironically, when Dr. Rob wants to learn about people, he looks at them with a brain scanner.)

If you want to know about nectarines, you mostly study nectarines, not the brains that perceive them. If you want to know about that nebula, you use a telescope, not a brain scanner. And if you want to know how back pain works, you are going to have to study back injuries and pathologies as well as the creative, colourful, and dysfunctional ways that brains play with perception of backs. But brains are still usually playing with the perception of something that is actually going on in the “world” of your back — in your tissues.

Is a nebula out there? Or is it just a mirage between your ears? Trick question! (Running Chicken Nebula, photo by Martin Pugh)


Myths and misconceptions about “Explain Pain”

Many moons ago I started trying to understand and explain pain, gradually producing this article, only dimly aware as I worked that I was re-producing some much more mature ideas.

I knew that modern pain science and treatment has deep roots, insights and research going back to the 1960s and Melzack, gate control theory and cognitive behavioural therapy, but my explaining was eerily similar to a recent and popular “packaging” of pain science known as Explain Pain (EP), from Drs. Lorimer Moseley and David Butler: “a range of educational interventions that aim to change one’s understanding of the biological processes that are thought to underpin pain as a mechanism to reduce pain itself.”46 There’s a book of that name — Explain Pain — and many other interpretions and riffs on the key ideas (like this article). It’s not that I invented my own version of Explain Pain independently, I was just trying to explain pain, you know? Lowercase!

Explaining Pain, according to Dr. Moseley, is about “wanting people to actually understand how and why they can be in horrible pain yet not in horrible danger.”

There have been a lot of misunderstandings about EP. Because explaining pain is tricky. (There are still plenty of unanswered scientific questions, too.) And because EP as a “brand” might be a bit of an over-hyped upstart, maybe given too much credit by too many people too soon — especially the idea that it actually reduces pain, which remains highly speculative. Nevertheless, for the record, here are some key misconceptions about EP …