Your story has the power to connect, comfort, and inspire.

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Whether you’re navigating the hardest days or discovering moments of healing, your story can inspire and connect others who feel alone. 

The submission guide is attached above to get started, and when you’re ready, email your story to togetherthroughpain@gmail.com with the subject line:
"My Story – [Your Name, Instagram Handle, or Both]."

If you prefer to remain anonymous, just let us know in your email — we respect your privacy and your choice.

My name is Sarah Silva-T. and I’m 38 years old. I spend my time living between Mexico and Canada.

I used to work as a veterinarian in Mexico but in January 2024 I was in a very bad car accident while in Mexico where I suffered many injuries to the right side of my body (I was in the passenger seat) being a broken upper tibia the one of most significance. My traumatologist put a cast from my toes to my groin (soooo uncomfortable) and I became a wheelchair user. The doctor said I would be all well in about three months.

By April 2024 I had my cast removed and I was in excruciating pain still, I could almost feel that my leg was still broken but the X-rays showed it was all healed up. I had never experienced a broken bone before but I knew my pain wasn’t normal and also being a vet and having a medical background I knew something else was going on I just didn’t know what exactly.

The doctor sent me to physical therapy to start walking again but I couldn’t, I would tell them the pain was unbearable and they said “I had to push through it” and to “not be so dramatic”. PT was so painful and when I tried to use crutches or a walker my leg would start to swell and turn blueish red and I could feel it on fire and then get ice cold and kind of clammy feeling.

I couldn’t sleep at night, the pain was unbearable, certain movements would make me cry because of the pain, the mere touch of certain fabrics of my clothing or my bed sheets where painful and even the water from the shower would cause me pain, putting lotion on my leg is a very painful experience because of how painful it feels. The doctor couldn’t understand at first what was going on, the X-rays where ok but the pain was terrible.

By July 2024 the doctors wanted to put a bone graft so I was prepped for surgery. The surgery was very long and I lost a lot blood and when I woke up I felt so much pain and I could now feel pain near my ankle and my foot and they said they had to manually break my fibula so the bone graft and all the hardware for my tibia could fit. I was one week in the hospital and they sent me home but the pain was so much worse. A few months past and I could not take a single step and all of my symptoms were worse and there was no improvement.

By October 2024 I started to attend physical therapy (in a different place than the first one I attended in April) and it wasn’t working and I was in too much pain. They didn’t believe I was in pain, they said I was exaggerating, they performed a psychological exam because they said it was all in my head, they sent me to get new X-rays and the bones showed they were healed and they didn’t believe me, I was told to go to the doctor to see what was going on.

I went to my traumatologist and he couldn’t believe at first that I was still in a wheelchair and in so much pain. In October 2024 he then mentioned CRPS for the first time and recommended I see an algologist. And I did. Not only did I see an algologist but I also went to another traumatologist, a neurologist and had an electromyograghy done.

In December 2024 the neurologist and the algologist finally gave me my diagnosis: CRPS Type II from the knee down in my right leg. I remember coming home and googled it because I had NEVER heard of it. As I was reading about CRPS it all started to make sense, I had every single characteristic of this illness, even symptoms that I had disregarded and never mentioned to my doctor such as brittle nails, abnormal hair growth/loss, super dry skin, etc.

I was crying because I felt relieved that I finally had an answer to why my pain, why I couldn’t get better but also sad that this is my diagnosis and that my case is quite severe and I will always have CRPS. The algologist recommended I use buprenorphine patches. They didn’t help at all, they just made me feel very sick.

My next plan is to return to Canada in August-September of this year to seek treatment there, to see what options I have there, perhaps a spinal cord stimulator or something. My case is so severe that I don’t have good days, all of my days are bad. I can’t walk at all. I can’t even stand on my own two feet because it’s much to painful. It has been almost 19 months of being stuck in a wheelchair and not walking at all. I really hope to one day be able to walk again.

I miss walking, being fully independent, I miss my job as a vet, I miss going out freely, taking long drives, meeting people, partying, dating. But most of all I miss not being in excruciating pain all day everyday.

I’m happy that I was finally diagnosed because there was a moment when I thought I was going crazy and that maybe it was all in my head. I was accused by family, friends and medical professionals of faking it, of it all being inside my head. That I had a bad mindset and this was all just psychological and just attention seeking.

Or then people would tell me that if I went to church and prayed hard enough I would get better or that if I had happy thoughts it would all go away. I was told I deserved this because it was my choice to get into that car that particular day and it was all my fault. I was told that CRPS didn’t exist since they had never heard of it and they didn’t know anybody else that has it.

Living with CRPS is so hard. Not only physically (the excruciating pain and the discomfort present everyday) but socially and mentally. My “friends” abandoned me and stopped inviting me to events. Some had the nerve to tell me “I didn’t invite you because I wouldn’t want to go anywhere as a wheelchair user” or “when you’re able to walk again we can go out”.

People still think I’m faking it even with my official CRPS diagnosis. People tell me that I should try yoga or Pilates to get better. SMH. I mean, I can’t even walk and you really think yoga is going to help me??? It’s soooo frustrating.

Mentally I have been in a dark place since my accident. Of course I’m in psychotherapy and it has helped me but it’s a long tough bumpy road. Another thing is that sadly here in Mexico there are so many places that are not wheelchair friendly so it’s also hard to go to many places such as restaurants, movie theatres, malls, etc. People don’t respect disabled parking spots or wheelchair ramps. There’s not a lot of empathy towards disabled people.

I wish more people knew about CRPS. It exists and it’s real, it’s not a psychological issue!!! It’s so easy for people to brush off my situation but I hope that someday there’s more awareness and people can understand CRPS.

I send my sympathy and empathy and a big hug to anyone living with CRPS or any type of chronic illness.

My name is Paula. I am a 43-year-old mother of three from Wasaga Beach, Ontario. I was in a car accident when I was 18 years old, that almost killed me. I moved to Timmons, Ontario for college; however, I was extremely homesick and found myself driving home almost every weekend to see family and friends. On the weekend of September 17, 2000, the weekend of my mom’s birthday, I headed back to school and flipped my car seven times on Horseshoe Valley Road. I was taken to Royal Victoria Hospital in Barrie where it was determined that I had sustained five fractures in my cervical spine. I had a hairline fracture of C1. I had nondisplaced fractures of C2 and C3 and I had compound fractures of C4 and C5 with a ruptured disc. I was still able to move and feel my lower extremities, and I was quickly transferred to Toronto Western Hospital to undergo surgery.

The surgery ended up taking 10 hours to complete. I underwent an open reduction and internal fixation of C4 and C5 with fusion and discectomy. They took a graft from my hip and used hardware and screws to secure everything in place. I was in the hospital for two weeks and wore a soft neck brace for six months. The spinal surgeon had told me that he couldn’t give me a measurement of how close the spinal fragments were to my spinal cord which contributed to his amazement at my recovery. It wasn’t until my case that he considered divine intervention a plausible option. The fact that I beat the odds and lived through my accident was one thing, but to beat the odds and not be paraplegic was completely another. I was walking within a few days with assistance, and I did physiotherapy to assist with one arm that had extreme nerve damage, and subsequently I ended up with full range of motion in that arm. However, the soft tissue damage was something that I wouldn’t be able to tackle for a few years. Many medical professionals stated it was my young age that contributed to my miraculous recovery. I went on to have three viable pregnancies, however, delivered via c-section. I am lucky. I know this, and when I am having bouts of pain, I try to remember all that I have accomplished and overcome. 

Living with chronic pain, I have found a way to downplay my pain. To live with it. When I complain, it usually means that it is really bad. When my neck freezes in a certain position because I was looking in one direction too long, or when I slept on the wrong pillow and cannot turn my head in a specific direction for the whole day. Or, when my neck pain triggers a migraine and I am stuck with pain in both my neck and my head, it can be extremely frustrating. I knew post-traumatic arthritis would be an issue at some point, but I never felt like I ever had a time since the accident when I was pain-free. As I have aged, I have found the pain harder to manage. It is harder to motivate myself to do things as I try to avoid anything that might trigger my pain. Exercise in particular is an issue, which in turn affects my weight, which in turn affects my mental health. I am starting to see a physician at a pain clinic that I am hoping will start to diminish some of my symptoms thus making life a little more bearable. I refuse to let my pain define me and as the scar on my neck fades, I try to focus on the strength that has brought me this far, knowing that I can continue. 

I wish more people understood how exhausting pain is. That carrying pain with you everywhere you go drains you physically and mentally. People who suffer from chronic pain are not lazy and even when they rate their pain as a 6/10 on a specific day...that 6/10 is still probably a lot higher than what some people could tolerate at all. People who suffer from chronic pain remember that 10/10, the worst pain ever, was the initial pain. So, getting there is hard to do. But whatever that 10/10 experience was... for me my neck fractures... there are days where I hurt, where I am exhausted, and I would guarantee that for someone else, my 6/10 would be a 10/10 for them. It is all subjective. We just learn to live with our pain. To numb it to a tolerable level with flare ups. Pain may be invisible, but it is very real. I wish more people understood that even after a person “heals” from an injury, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are no longer in pain. Everyone’s journey is different; compassion and tolerance go a long way. 

Hi, my name is Hannah Saunders, and I’m a 29-year-old from a small town about an hour outside of Ottawa. I recently began treatment for an autoimmune disease called Axial Spondyloarthritis, which I started this summer after developing severe symptoms in February. If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s an autoimmune condition that causes significant inflammation in the spine and joints, resulting in intense and often chronic pain. Over time, this inflammation can lead to something known as “bamboo spine,” where the vertebrae in the spine begin to fuse together.

For ten years, I worked in a factory and always assumed the pain I felt was just a result of my job or even anxiety. But after my body essentially shut down earlier this year, I finally got a proper diagnosis. I had to take extended time off work, and even basic activities like walking, standing, or sitting upright were nearly impossible. On top of that, this disease comes with digestive issues, so eating became difficult as well.

The hardest part of this journey has been the time spent waiting for a diagnosis. It’s incredibly challenging to navigate life while in constant pain, unable to perform regular tasks, and simultaneously trying to figure out what’s wrong. Before my diagnosis, I found myself in the emergency room more times than I can count. I even had to call an ambulance because I couldn’t stand without excruciating pain. I was often discharged with painkillers, but unfortunately, not even Hydromorphone could help. It was disheartening and left me feeling completely defeated.

I’ve also had some very difficult encounters with doctors that left me in tears. It’s hard to keep pushing for answers when you’re met with dismissiveness. But at the same time, I’ve also met some of the most compassionate nurses, paramedics, and doctors. There is so much kindness that still exists in the healthcare system. I once read that the same system that can feel dismissive or even abusive toward patients can do the same to medical staff. That perspective helped me realize that the pressure within the healthcare system affects everyone. I truly hope Canada can find ways to relieve some of that strain and create a better environment for both patients and providers.

Right now, I’m waiting to start biologic treatment, a self-administered injection I’ll take every two weeks that targets the part of my immune system causing the inflammation. I’m genuinely hopeful about it, as this will be the first treatment that actually addresses the root cause of my illness rather than just managing symptoms.

Through all of this, my partner, friends, and family have been my biggest supporters. I truly wouldn’t be where I am today without them. For me, healing means finding a new “normal”. Despite everything, I’m grateful for the perspective I’ve gained. I’ll never take my health for granted again. I never imagined I’d become this sick, but this experience has given me deep empathy for others who are ill, especially those who may never recover.

Many of the things that used to feel so important now seem trivial. My diagnosis and treatment plan have given me a sense of direction and hope. Even though my condition is progressive, I no longer feel as afraid because I finally understand what’s happening and know that things can improve.

I also wish more people understood what it’s like to live with chronic pain. It truly feels like a full-time job, even when we appear “fine” on the outside. I’ve had to learn to be more open about how I’m really feeling, even when it’s uncomfortable. For me, admitting when I’m struggling has never been the norm, but I’ve realized how important it is to be honest about it.

If I could give any advice to others dealing with autoimmune diseases, it would be not to give up searching for answers. Before my diagnosis, a well-meaning nurse told me that if I had something like fibromyalgia, it could take an average of eight years to be diagnosed, but that I would get there eventually. I was fortunate to receive my diagnosis within a few months, but I know that’s not the case for everyone. Keep advocating for yourself.

I’d also encourage others to pay attention to their stress levels. If your job is high stress or the people around you aren’t supportive, it’s worth making changes. Stress can be a major trigger for illness, and learning to slow down when your body needs it is essential. I am currently on my third of four MRIs of my spine and joints. Good luck to everyone on their healing journeys. :)

sincerely,

Hannah

Age 22, from Trinidad

I’ve been living with chronic pain for six years now, and each year feels heavier than the last. My journey began after I lost my mom, a pain that changed everything. Soon after she passed, I started feeling sharp chest pains and shortness of breath. I went to the doctor, did every test and scan they asked for, but all they said was “anxiety.”

Since then, my life has been a cycle of hospital visits, blood work, and unanswered questions. I’m still undiagnosed, still searching for the reason behind the pain that lives in my body every day. The symptoms never rest. I feel weak, tired, and drained more often than not.

The hardest part about living with chronic pain is how much it’s taken from me. I’ve lost my independence, my ability to work, and the freedom to do simple things I used to enjoy. There are days when flare-ups make it feel impossible to even move. It affects me physically, mentally, and emotionally. It feels like my body is fighting a battle no one else can see.

But even in the middle of the pain, I talk to God every single day. I ask Him for healing, for strength, for peace. Some days I cry and tell Him I can’t do it anymore, but somehow, I still wake up and keep holding on. My faith is my anchor. It’s the only thing that keeps me standing when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

I wish more people understood that not all pain is visible. You can look fine on the outside and still be falling apart inside. People with chronic illness don’t always look sick, but our bodies are constantly fighting battles that can’t be seen.

To anyone who feels hopeless right now: I see you. I know that exhaustion, that quiet sadness, that longing for answers. Please don’t give up. Keep praying, keep believing, and keep talking to God. One day, healing will come, maybe not when or how we expect it, but it will.

Even in pain, there’s purpose. Even in darkness, there’s still light. And even when you feel like all you have left is yourself and God, that’s still enough to keep going.

Ig: kxng_riri

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