Parenting and pain management – my personal journey
One afternoon on the school run, I found myself silently hoping not to bump into anyone I knew.
“Please don’t talk to me today... I just don’t have it in me.”
The pain that day was high. I’d used up every last bit of energy just getting out of the house and walking to school. I wasn’t sure I could manage a polite conversation. But, of course,
a friendly mum
I usually chat with spotted me and came over. She paused, looked at me and asked kindly,
“You don’t seem yourself today – everything okay?”
Normally, I’d give the typical parent reply:
“Yeah, just tired.”
I mean, who isn’t tired, right?
But that day, I told the truth.
“Actually, I’m in a lot of pain. I just need to get home and lie down.”
To my surprise, she didn’t back away or change the subject. Instead,
she kindly offered to collect my son from his classroom for me, so I could wait by the gate and avoid the crowded playground.
That moment taught me something powerful: being honest about pain can open the door to
connection and support.
These days, I try to be more honest when people ask how I’m doing.
I still have to judge each moment carefully, but I’ve found comfort in saying,
“Today’s a tough one, and I’m doing my best to get through it.”
The hidden work of managing pain as a parent
Working from home has been a lifeline.
It gives me space to pace myself — to take a stretch when I’ve seized up at my desk, to grab 10 minutes of rest when I feel completely drained, or simply to pause and re-centre. That flexibility means I can better manage the days when I’m out delivering parenting programmes, running workshops, or standing for hours at community hubs.
But even with all the tools and strategies I’ve built over the years, I live with pain every single day.
My crumbling hip is currently my biggest challenge. I live with a genetic condition — Sickle Cell Anaemia and Beta Thalassaemia — and years of managing sickle cell crises and low haemoglobin have led to a condition called
Avascular Necrosis (AVN). It affects the bones in my hips — essentially causing them to die, crack, and crumble from within.
Since my son’s birth 11 years ago, I’ve dealt with chronic back and groin pain, one successful surgery and one that needs a lot more consideration due to other complications, not to mention the emotional toll of facing another hip replacement surgery and recovery. I’ve even looked into regenerative stem cell treatments abroad, but those options are financially out of reach right now.
But I keep going — not just for my children, but for myself.
People often ask how I can relate so deeply to what they’re going through. The truth is, I don’t just coach families through chronic pain — I live it, every single day.
I’m a mum of two. I run a household, and my health coaching business.
And I also live with a complex chronic illness that affects my bones and joints, and causes daily, sometimes unbearable, pain.
That pain doesn’t politely wait for a good moment to show up. It doesn’t care if it’s the school run, a family dinner, or a day out we’ve been planning for weeks.
There have been times when I’ve had to change plans last-minute, cancel fun days with the kids, or sit things out while my body screamed for rest. And although I’ve come to accept that this is part of my life, it doesn’t make those moments any easier — especially when you’re trying to show up as a parent with love and patience.
Over time, I’ve learned a few things.
One of the biggest lessons? The importance of communication.
What Hasn’t Helped
For years, I didn’t tell people how bad things really were. I held it all in — the fatigue, the sharp pain, the stiffness, the sadness that often follows. And when I didn’t say anything, it started to leak out in other ways. I’d get grumpier. I’d snap at the kids more quickly. I’d feel guilty, they’d get defensive, and the whole atmosphere at home would shift.
Not explaining what I was going through didn’t protect my family —
it distanced me from them. I’ve since realised that when I communicate gently and honestly, everyone feels safer. Even just saying,
“Mummy’s in a lot of pain today, so I need to rest for a bit,” helps my children understand that it’s not about them.
