The Pain Memory

It was the first day of my little vacation back in Maryland with my family on my Dad’s side.

We went to this little motel on the Chesapeake Bay. The same place we used to go when I was a kid. 

On that particular day, I had woken up with a little crick in my neck.

Just a little stiffness, no big deal.

As the day unfolded, I found myself revisiting some epic childhood memories at the pool—specifically on the diving board at the pool. 

It was like I was 9 years old again: front flips with a twist, gainers, backflips,

then, ouchh! 

I tweaked my neck further on my first attempt at a 1 and a half (front flip + a dive). 

I exited the pool with a lot more stiffness in my neck than I’d had when I entered, plus a healthy dose of pain.

That, of course, didn’t stop me from continuing to play on the diving board on and off for the rest of the day (and perfect my 1 and a half). But it did leave me with this stiff neck to work with for the next two weeks or so. 

And this process of working with my neck required dealing a lot with The Pain Memory.

What is A Pain Memory?

My neck pain/stiffness was primarily provoked by looking down or bringing my chin toward my chest. It was responsive to repetition and would loosen up fairly decently as I gently stretched it. As I did so, I would progress toward a movement that is part of my daily movement practice called Halasana, or plow pose. 

Halasana, or plow pose. Courtesy of TheYogaCollective.com

When I first began to do this pose again, there was considerable tightness and pain. But again, it improved with repetition, so I commenced.

But I began to notice that even after I had done the pose several times and my neck had loosened up considerably, the pain seemed to come on at the same time in the pose.

As I zoomed in on it, examining it in more depth, I noticed a few interesting things. At the point in the movement at which the pain had initially come on:

• My face would scrunch

• My breathing would either speed up or stop

• My body (especially my neck) would tense

• There would be some fear

What I began to appreciate was that there was an anticipatory pattern occurring. In other words, my body was expecting the pain to come on at the point that it had come on previously.

It was as if I was experiencing the shadow of the previous pain, a mirage.

Learning, Neurons, & Sea Slugs

You may have heard of Hebb’s law: “Nerves that fire together, wire together.” Donald Hebb hypothesized this back in the 1940s, but it wasn’t until many decades later that it was proven correct by Eric Kandel when he proved that it actually occurs when he demonstrated it in a sea slug (whose neurons are large enough to be visualized on a standard light microscope).

What Kandel showed was that when the sea slug was given a simple learning task, the neurons involved increased their connectivity to other related nerves. The learning process that the slug underwent created new connections between its neurons. 

This exact thing occurs in humans: every time we learn something, new connections are established and new circuits are formed in our brains. So nerves that fire at the same time, or in response to the same stimulus (fire together), make connections that make them more likely to fire together again in the future (wire together). It’s neuroplasticity 101.

Back to the Plow Pose

So here I had a situation in which the first several times I did a particular movement (the plow pose), it hurt quite a bit.

• Plow pose = pain

• Pain = facial scrunching, breathing changes, muscle tension, fear

Then I loosened up my neck through some stretching and movement, and it felt better.

And when I was there again, in the same situation, same conditions, same movement, but with a looser neck, the pain continued to come on at the same time, along with its associates: tension and fear. 

Why?

Could there have been a wiring together of the movement, the pain, the tension, and the fear?

There was certainly a firing together of those components.

Perhaps in a relatively short amount of time, my body/brain/pain system had created a Pain Memory.

What’s a sea slug to do?

Retraining the Pain Memory

Just as the sea slug experienced neuroplastic changes through a rewiring of its nervous system in response to a learning task, so could I. 

My task: to make new memories. Memories that associate the movement with safety, comfort, and relaxation.

Step 1: Addressing the add-ons

My first steps were to address the pain’s associates: tension and fear.

As I repeated the pose, I went to the point where the pain, tension, and fear began. 

There I stayed, consciously breathing deeply. Sometimes softly, sometimes with more vigor, but deeply, with consciousness and control. 

As I did this, I reminded myself that I am safe. After all, there were no signs of injury (no bruising, swelling, redness; no numbness/tingling/weakness in my neck, arms, or legs; no pain at rest or at night). And perhaps the best sign of all: the pain was getting better every day, and responded favorably to stretching and movement—a hallmark sign that movement is safe. 

As I stayed at the threshold of pain, the threshold began to move, and I sank deeper into the stretch.

Step 2: Shifting expectations

My next step was to repeat the plow pose from the beginning, while paying close attention to my direct sensory experience.

The neck was looser, more relaxed. I had my breath under control. The fear was less. Still, the memory of the past experience with pain was still present, ready to fire in association with the performance of the familiar movement. 

As I rolled backward and my feet moved overhead toward the floor behind me, my chin moving toward my chest, as they had all done before, I directed all of my attentional gusto toward my body and what I was actually feeling. Not what my mind/body expected to feel. What I was actually feeling.

What I found when I paid attention to my direct sensory experience was that the pain had changed. It came on later than it previously had and was reduced in intensity. I repeated this several times with similar results: later onset, less fear, less tension, less pain.

What I also found, though, was that the previous memory—the shadow or mirage mentioned above—was still there. I could still notice it in the periphery of my awareness. But staying focused on what I was actually feeling reduced its weight, and its effects became less and less.

By working with the add-ons: the tension and the fear through conscious breathing, relaxation, and affirmations of safety, and re-doing the movement while paying attention to my direct sensory experience, I was creating a new memory circuit. One that associates the plow pose with safety, comfort, and relaxation.

Stick With It

It would take me several hundred more plow poses to fully wire a new (plow pose = safe, comfortable, relaxed) memory circuit. 

Seems like a lot to overcome the memory of just a few painful plow poses, doesn’t it?

Well, it doesn’t always take that many. Sometimes it only takes one, or a few dozen, or just a few. As with all things relating to pain and the human organism, the strength of memory circuits is based on a multitude of factors.

But the important thing to remember is that things can change. In fact, they are always changing. New circuits are constantly being wired in our brains based on our experiences and how we relate to those experiences. 

And I can thus rewire my own neural circuitry using my awareness and intentional action. It’s really a matter of repetition, repetition, repetition. 

After all, nerves that fire together, wire together.

Happy rewiring,

Andrew