Outrunning Pain

My self-love phase

The faster you run from pain, the louder it asks to be felt.

We don't always realize we're running from pain. Sometimes running looks like a packed calendar, constantly taking care of everyone else, saying yes when we want to say no, or convincing ourselves that we're simply "too busy" to deal with what we're feeling. We become incredibly good at functioning while hurting.

From the outside, life keeps moving as it should, but underneath all that doing is something we haven't allowed ourselves to feel. And the thing about pain is, it doesn't need our permission to exist. We can distract ourselves from it, bury it, intellectualize it, or pretend we've moved on, but eventually, it finds a way to ask for our attention.

Pain has a language, but it doesn't always speak through tears. Sometimes it whispers through exhaustion. Sometimes it shows up as anxiety, burnout, chronic stress, loneliness, brain fog, or a body that no longer feels like home. For many of us, emotional pain eventually finds its way into the body. When we've spent years pushing through, ignoring our needs, and convincing ourselves we're "fine," the body often becomes the messenger.

For me, burnout, stress, and emotional exhaustion didn't just stay in my mind. They became polyps growing in my uterus that required surgery. My thyroid numbers became elevated. I struggled with gut issues, kidney stones, heavy periods, and unexplained weight gain. It felt as though my body was waving every red flag imaginable, and yet I kept asking myself, Why is this happening to me?

I hadn't even turned 40.

I remember sitting with questions that felt impossible to answer. Is this really what life is supposed to feel like? Is adulthood just surviving? What's the point of all of this? What is my purpose? Looking back now, I realize those questions weren't signs that I was broken. They were invitations to finally stop and listen.

As I began opening up about my experience, I discovered I wasn't alone. I've had this conversation with countless women, and the themes are almost always the same. We talk about rest, slowing down, and giving ourselves permission to breathe, yet almost every one of us feels anxious at the thought of stopping.

Somewhere along the way, we learned that our worth was tied to our productivity. We normalized being busy, glorified exhaustion, and confused constant performance with purpose. Rest became something we believed we had to earn instead of something our bodies naturally required.

So we keep moving.

We ignore the tension in our shoulders. We dismiss the headaches. We explain away the fatigue. We convince ourselves that one more week, one more project, one more obligation won't make a difference. Until one day, another question quietly appears: How did I let this happen? How did I ignore so many signs?

The truth is, most of us don't ignore pain because we're weak. We ignore it because acknowledging it means something has to change. It might mean setting a boundary, walking away from a relationship, grieving a version of ourselves we've outgrown, or admitting we've been carrying far more than we were ever meant to. Staying busy often feels easier than facing what's underneath.

But pain doesn't disappear because we ignore it. It simply changes its address. It settles into the body. It shows up in our relationships. It steals our joy, clouds our decisions, and slowly disconnects us from ourselves. The harder we run from it, the louder it asks to be felt.

What I've learned is that healing doesn't begin when the pain ends. Healing begins the moment you stop running long enough to listen. To the tears you've been holding back. To the conversation you've been avoiding. To the boundary you've been afraid to set. To the grief you've convinced yourself you've already healed from.

That is where your freedom lives.

Today, I no longer see pain as something that came to destroy me. I see it as the messenger that finally got my attention. It wasn't asking me to give up; it was asking me to come home to myself. To slow down. To choose differently. To remember who I was before the world taught me that my value depended on how much I could carry.

Maybe your purpose isn't found by running faster. Maybe it's found in having the courage to sit still long enough to hear what your soul has been trying to tell you all along.

Because the moment you stop outrunning your pain is the moment you finally start running toward yourself.

My hope is to inspire you. My purpose is to pay it forward with my wisdom and lessons. If you feel lost, alone, drained and need guidance, I’m here to help and heal.

Disclaimer: This article is the original work of Deepti Prakash and is intended for educational and informational purposes only. All content is protected by copyright law. Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of any part of this work without permission is strictly prohibited. To share or reference this material, please credit the author appropriately and obtain prior written consent.
The views expressed here are rooted in personal experience and reflection. This writing addresses patterns of behavior rather than specific people or events.