Pain is information. Reflection is a key to transformation.
Have you ever experienced pain? What did you do with it? How did you approach it?
This could be a topic in itself. However, today I would like to touch on a few of its aspects from a therapeutic perspective — both as a therapist and as a client. In this text, I would like to inspire you to reflect, to pause, and I am also curious about your experiences and your point of view.
At the outset, I would also like to emphasise that this text is not directed against painkillers, nor is it against anything in particular.
In our society, we have somehow, almost magically, lost the ability to learn from pain. We have bought into the idea of a quick fix — instantly switching pain off and continuing life as before.
Yet pain, in itself, is information. It tells us that something is not right in our lives. It signals that some part of it needs to change, or that something that is happening is no longer serving us. This has a multidimensional meaning — not only on a physical level, but also emotional and mental. Everything is connected. Whether we like it or not, our emotional states are reflected in our physical body. Whether we accept it or not, our mental states manifest in the body.
Due to the way we are educated and conditioned, this is often not obvious to us. It is difficult to connect the dots. It becomes even more challenging because part of our behaviour and emotionality happens subconsciously. What does that mean? Simply that we are not fully aware of ourselves — our reactions, thoughts, and emotions. This does not mean that anything is wrong with us. It is simply the nature of life.
However, it is worth studying ourselves. Getting to know ourselves on multiple levels. Tools such as meditation, movement, journalling, and others can support this process. But that is not the focus of today’s reflection.
Let us return to pain as information.
Our body activates pain in moments of uncertainty (a new, unfamiliar situation or a stimulus that may threaten the body’s integrity), or when other signals fail us. It is the body’s final “NO”. A call saying: “Hey, stop.” In these moments, we should take a closer look at what we are doing in our lives — both physically and emotionally.
Physically, we often have too little movement, or the way we move needs to change. Movement is a natural human need and is essential for maintaining homeostasis — the body’s balance. Most mechanisms in our body rely on pumping, fluid pressure, and negative pressure that enables flow. Without sufficient movement, the body cannot function properly.
It is also worth noting that fascia requires movement to maintain its sliding capacity. The longer we sit, the higher the likelihood that compressed areas of fascia lose their natural ability to glide. As a result, we begin to rely on compensatory mechanisms, which ultimately lead to overload in specific parts of the body — and consequently to pain and chronic inflammation.
The paradox is this: the less we move, the less we feel like moving, and the less pleasure we derive from movement. Conversely, the more efficient our fascial sliding system is, the more enjoyment we experience from movement — and the more we want to move.
As a therapist, I have observed this most clearly in children. Initially, parents often complain that their children are “lazy”, unwilling to move, preferring to stay at home. However, usually after just two sessions of Holistic Fascia Release, “magic” happens — parents notice a significant increase in physical activity. They often say: “Where does this child get so much energy from?” This is exactly the mechanism I described earlier.
Another example is adults who introduce alternating walking for seven days after starting sessions. Suddenly, they realise that 30 minutes of walking passes without them even noticing — and they ask if they can walk longer. Of course they can, as long as they want to and their body allows it.
Another topic, still not widely recognised socially, is emotional accumulation and its influence on pain. Clients increasingly — though not always — come to the clinic unaware that the pain bringing them in may be linked to emotions and accumulated stress in the body. The mechanistic view of pain still dominates.
I admit, I was the same at the beginning of my career as a physiotherapist in a hospital. I tried to “treat pain” because that is how I was trained academically. However, I quickly realised that this approach was not very effective — especially in the long term.
When I worked in a chronic pain clinic and reviewed patient files of people who had been “treating pain” for twenty years or more, I began to question: Does what we do actually make sense? Would it not be simpler to just prescribe painkillers permanently?
Speaking with these patients, I noticed that no one had previously looked at them holistically. At best, they were told: “With this pain, you should see a psychiatrist.” At the time, this was often poorly received. I heard responses such as: “I’m not imagining this, I’m not crazy.” Fortunately, awareness of mental health has improved since then.
To summarise: the fact that emotional and mental aspects play a significant role in pain does not mean there is something wrong with us. It simply means we may be in an unfavourable situation — in our family life, work, or elsewhere. Something is calling for change and manifests as physical pain, because that is the only way it can prompt us to stop and reflect.
As I often repeat after my teachers, including Dr. Andrzej Rakowski: “Everything is connected with everything.” Nothing functions in isolation, and nothing happens purely “by chance”, even if it appears so. With time, we are usually able to recognise the meaning and cause behind these “coincidences”.
Let me give you an example of seemingly unrelated events.
I had the pleasure of first playing, and later working as a medical support member, with the volleyball team Polonia London Volleyball Club in the UK. It was a crucial period — we had a decisive match over the weekend that would determine whether we made the playoffs. Expectations were high, as we had been national champions for three consecutive seasons and had even played in a European competition.
However, this season was not going well. On Monday training, the coach significantly increased the pressure. There was noticeable tension ahead of the match. Our main setter finished training with an injury that threatened his availability. On Wednesday, tension remained high, and our best middle blocker severely sprained his ankle.
After this, I spoke privately with the coach. I suggested reducing the pressure, or ideally releasing it entirely. Otherwise, I warned, we would see a series of injuries, and end up playing with a second or third squad — not ideal, especially against the strongest team of the season.
Initially, the coach resisted, given the importance of the match. But after reflection, he agreed to take the risk.
Thursday’s training was full of laughter and joy. We played freely. The injured players were present. On Friday, the atmosphere remained relaxed — and suddenly, something remarkable happened. The injured players approached the coach halfway through training, saying they felt much better and wanted to play at full capacity. And they did. There were no visible limitations.
After training, the coach asked me: “What should we do tomorrow — push or relax? How did they recover so quickly?”
My answer was: they were unconsciously trying to avoid responsibility for a potential loss. They provoked injuries as a way to justify not performing at 100%. Once the pressure disappeared, they were willing to return.
The coach chose a balanced approach. No excessive pressure, but also no lack of seriousness.
It turned out to be our best match of the season. We won 3–0, playing with complete ease and enjoyment. Everything worked. For volleyball fans — as a libero, I made 115 defensive plays in that match.
This is just one of many examples showing how mental tension connects with physical pain.
However, if we choose to suppress pain with painkillers or other substances — including psychotropic medications, alcohol, or cannabis — we remove the opportunity for reflection and transformation. While working in London, around 40% of my clients experiencing pain at a level of 8 or higher on the VAS scale were prescribed medications such as GABA-related drugs.
By suppressing pain, we deny ourselves the chance to explore its causes.
Let me be clear — this is not an easy process. It is often not obvious at first. Many of our behaviours are so automatic and natural that we do not question them. Yet it is worth pausing and examining ourselves. Sometimes we discover that certain patterns are no longer needed — that they no longer serve us.
That is why I encourage you to reflect when pain appears — or even better, if possible, before it does.
With appreciation,
Krzysztof Klimek