How Chronic Pain Impacts Romantic Relationships

By Crystal Lindell

The more you love someone with chronic pain, the more likely it is that their pain will cause you emotional distress. 

That’s according to new research published in the Journal of Health Psychology, which looks at the ways middle-aged romantic partnerships are impacted when one person has chronic pain. 

The researchers collected twice-daily surveys over the span of 30 days from 147 couples who were at least 50 years of age and had one partner who suffered from chronic back pain. 

Using the couples' answers to questions about distress and relationship closeness, as well as reports of pain severity from the pain-affected partner, they examined how emotional, behavioral and cognitive closeness affected the quality of couples’ daily interactions.

On the positive side, researchers found that emotional closeness between couples dealing with chronic pain led to more marital satisfaction on days when the couple felt close. 

However, on the other side of things, the closer the couple felt emotionally on any given day, the more likely it was that the non-pain partner experienced more distress. The non-pain partner apparently feels empathy for the pained partner, which results in them feeling stressed. 

As anyone who’s ever been in love knows, empathy is the required price. When your partner is sad, you will also tend to be sad on their behalf. 

This is not inherently a bad thing. Feeling empathy for your partner when they are dealing with pain makes it more likely that you’ll work harder to ease their pain, by doing things like advocating for them in healthcare settings and allowing them to rest while you do the household chores. 

The researchers framed this as something to avoid though, which I guess makes sense if it’s happening excessively.

“Couples have to find a balance that is ideal for them in managing closeness versus independence — this is true for all couples, not just those dealing with the impacts of chronic pain. But for those dealing with chronic pain, we can help them learn how to balance the benefits of closeness with minimizing shared distress stemming from a chronic condition,” lead researcher Lynn Martire, PhD, a professor of human development and family studies at Penn State’s Center for Healthy Aging, said in a press release.: 

The findings suggest that methods could be developed to help couples find the right balance in closeness, which would protect them from causing more pain and distress for each other. Martire and her colleagues plan further studies on the roles of behavioral and cognitive closeness.

“I’m excited to dive deeper into the other research questions we can examine from this data set,” Martire said. “We gathered data using different measures of relationship closeness, how they differ between patients and partners and how relationship closeness changes over time. We are poised to learn a great deal about the impact of pain on couples.”

Prior studies show that closeness is associated with many positive and beneficial relationships, including higher levels of commitment and satisfaction, and a lower risk of the relationship ending. 

However, researchers also say their findings suggest that too much closeness may transfer negative emotions and physical symptoms between partners.

“These findings illustrate a complex interplay between closeness and personal well-being in couples managing chronic illness and suggest the need for interventions that target both the benefits and potential costs of closeness,” they concluded. 

Yes, indeed, there are “benefits and potential costs” in any close relationship. It’s a contradiction that countless poets have spent centuries trying to navigate. 

Love comes at a price, but most of the time, the price is worth it. 

Finding Love Again While Living With Chronic Pain

By Crystal Lindell, PNN Columnist 

When you have chronic pain, love stories can be triggering.  

For a while, I had to Facebook mute everyone on my friend’s list who posted about their relationships. I hated them so much for being happy. And I hated myself for hating them. 

My last boyfriend and I started dating before I had debilitating chronic pain. As my health declined, so did our relationship.  

I knew it was the beginning of the end when he finally said the unsayable out loud to me on the phone.  

“Look. I just don’t want to have to take care of you for the rest of your life.” 

The words struck me like a punch in the eyes. I honestly hadn’t seen it coming. Worst still, we dated for three more months because I didn’t have the strength to leave him.  

Those words left sprawling scars. And in 2017, when I started to suspect that I might have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome — a painful genetic condition that has no cure — I burned them into my brain like a prophecy. 

The idea of never getting better was now knotted up with the idea that no man would ever love me. Somehow, I convinced myself that I deserved such a fate.  

I mean, I can’t expect a guy to take care of me for THE REST OF HIS LIFE. It’s rude. It’s cruel. Men deserve more from their lives than my doctors’ appointments, ER trips and medical debt. My ex was right.  

I resigned myself to a lifetime of horrible Tinder dates and one-night stands. After all, what right did I have to expect anything more than that?  

Ok, yes, this is the part where I’m going to tell you I met the love of my life. I know. Gross. 

If you want to stop reading now because you hate love, I completely understand. But I want to tell you something real quick before you go — it is possible to find love when you have chronic pain.  

I found him. He found me.  

We found each other.  

We met at a local political meeting. I went up to a local candidate to ask about opioid access for pain patients, he overheard me and asked for my number.  

Hydrocodone literally brought us together.

Yes, we both have chronic pain. I think that’s the secret. 

People will tell you that two sick people shouldn’t date, but in my experience, it makes for a much better match than one sick person and one healthy person.  

There’s a uniquely humbling empathy you develop when your body falls apart. It’s the kind of empathy that only comes when you lose your childhood sense of invulnerability.  

The truth of it is, like most stories involving real people, our fairy tale wasn’t a straight line.  

While he asked for my number in August of 2017, we went on one date and then mostly lost track of each other. Other than some social media comments and a couple run-ins at local political events, I didn’t really hear from him again until March 2018. 

That’s when he sent me a Facebook message. “Hey, are you going to that debate at the library tonight?” 

He sent it on March 15, 2018. I read it right after I got home from the doctor. The same day that I was officially diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.  

I went to the debate. He did too. 

The next day he sent me a text, “Apologies if this is a bit direct, but you’d been saying that you felt run-down and sick last time I saw you. But you looked freaking great yesterday.” 

A couple days later he took me to a movie. It was well past midnight as we left the theater, so he suggested a little gyro stand known for its authentic food and 2 a.m. closing time. 

As we sat in the car, getting Tzatziki sauce all over our faces, I told him the story of my ex. How he had hated my health issues. How he had told me he didn’t want to have to take care of me for the rest of my life. How much those words screwed with my head. 

About a week later he came over with a Blu-ray copy of “Thor: Ragnarok,” ended up spending the night and we never looked back. Other than work trips we haven’t spent a night apart since.  

Almost three years later, we now share heated blankets, coordinate doctor appointments and deal with weather-induced pain flares together on the couch. 

He proposed recently. On Christmas morning. he put a ruby ring under the tree and then made sure I opened it last.  

As I unwrapped the large box meant to disguise the ring’s shape, he leaned over to give me a kiss, completely oblivious to my unwashed hair and lack of makeup. 

Then, he went silent.  

“Um, are you proposing?” I asked when I saw the ring.  

“Yes,” he said.  

“So, like, you’re cool with spending the rest of your life with me?” I asked.  

“Well, I was going to do that either way,” he said.  

A proposal. At home. In my pajamas. With nobody else around.  

Only a fellow chronic pain patient could understand the magic in that.  

“I do have one more question,” he said.  

“What?” 

“Are you sure you’re never going to get better? Because I don’t want to have to take care of you for the rest of your life,” he said.  

Then he burst out laughing, so proud of his joke.  

Well look at that. Those words have been reclaimed. Our love took them back.  

They don’t control me anymore. Now, they belong to me and my fiancé. 

Crystal Lindell is a journalist who lives in Illinois. After five years of unexplained rib pain, Crystal was finally diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.

An Open Letter to a Loved One From a Chronic Pain Sufferer

By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

The sun is shining and the birds are singing. It’s a beautiful day.

I open the door to let my doggy daughter out and the brightness peers through like a lightning strike straight to the hypothalamus. I'm struck by intense searing pain that feels like a hot poker through my eye -- otherwise known as a cluster headache attack.

I try not to dwell on the inevitable reality of the hearty serving of migraine that's sure to make its encore appearance soon.

The next plan of action is to get my head into an ice bucket, but I first must draw all the blackout curtains in every room.  The day is done, at least for now, and I am at the mercy of these ailments. There's no way of knowing how long they'll last so I focus on breathing, as I attempt to calm my nervous system.

Me writhing in pain is the unfortunate greeting my loved one often receives after his long days of working in the world, while I’ve remained inside this cave, putting in long hours at the hardest job I've ever had -- surviving this. 

When we initially got engaged, I planned the entire wedding in only two weeks because I must take full advantage of the moments when I'm at my most able. At the time, I was still making a nursing salary and able to contribute my fair share to the festivities.

Much like any other couple, we had plans. To begin a family, travel the world and support one another in making our dreams come true.  

As things worsened through the years and pain levels heightened, my condition reached a point where even hugging hurt me. This was a very difficult loss and forced me to reflect on the situation – and what being and having a soul-mate looked like.

There are days it is almost impossible to take care of myself, and as heartbreaking as the realization initially was, the decision not to commit my life to another was made. 

This didn't change the fact that this person is my best friend. We have shared the purest form of intimacy, which is remaining present for one another throughout the worst of times -- when it's not ideal, convenient and downright hard.

Whether in the form of sleepless nights at the ER, helping to brush my hair, holding onto me to help my balance, or slowing his pace so I can keep up -- regardless of an official relationship or title that others understand -- he is and always will be my family.

I appreciate him for many reasons, one being that he accepts there's only so much I can do. He does not consistently attempt to “fix” me, because we've both learned the importance of surrendering to the current moment while always maintaining hope in better ones to come.

By remaining devoted to his presence in my life, he's making a conscious effort to reassure me that I am not alone — never losing patience or becoming resentful no matter how many times I have to postpone plans or cancel commitments.

He sees me as more than just the "Sick Girl." He's complimentary of who I am outside of these illnesses, as well as the warrior I've become as a result of them.  

Perhaps I won't ever have a glorious wedding and maybe this isn't going to be a white picket fence fairy tale. But to have someone who understands what I have to offer and what I don't, respects my need for freedom, and displays selfless acts of sacrifice is one of the greatest gifts in my life. Shouldering these burdens together is the truest testament to love I have ever experienced. 

It's beautiful to have that mutual acceptance, free from judgement or expectation, to simply just be who and what you feel. I thank the universe for this person, as well as the others in my support system.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster disease, fibromyalgia and arthritis. Mia is a patient advocate, the founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, an advocacy and support network, and Peace & Love, a wellness practice for the chronically ill and those otherwise lost or hurting.

The information in this column is for informational purposes only and represent the author’s opinions alone. It does not inherently express or reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of Pain News Network.