What Is Our Pain Trying to Communicate to us?

There is a whakataukī that says, “Whāia te māramatanga” — seek understanding.

When discomfort enters our lives, our first instinct is often to make it stop. We reach for medication, rest, treatment, or answers.

While there is absolutely a place for modern medicine and skilled healthcare, I also believe there is value in becoming curious.

Rather than asking only, “How do I get rid of this?” perhaps we can also ask, “What is this experience asking me to notice?”

Within Te Ao Māori, we understand wellbeing as extending far beyond the physical body.

We are made up of tinana (body), hinengaro (mind), wairua (spirit), and our relationships with whānau, whenua, and the wider world.

When these parts are in harmony, we often feel grounded. When something falls out of balance, that imbalance can begin asking for our attention.

In my experience, wairua often communicates long before the physical body does.

Sometimes it arrives as a quiet knowing that we can’t quite explain. Sometimes it is a persistent thought that keeps returning, no matter how much we push it away. It might be an inner feeling that a relationship has changed, that a job no longer aligns with our values, that we need to slow down, forgive, grieve, or choose a different direction.

These gentle whispers can be easy to dismiss.

Life is busy.

We tell ourselves we’ll deal with it later.

We keep pushing through, carrying responsibilities, expectations, and old stories. But often, what isn’t acknowledged doesn’t simply disappear.

Instead, it asks again.

If those subtle messages continue to go unheard, they may begin expressing themselves more loudly. For some people, this may coincide with increased stress, persistent fatigue, recurring headaches, muscular tension, digestive issues, illness, or injury.

While these conditions can have many biological and medical causes, they can also become an invitation to pause and reflect on what else may be happening in our lives.

This isn’t about blame or believing that every illness is caused by emotion or spirituality. Rather, it’s about recognising that moments of physical pain can sometimes become powerful invitations for self-awareness and catalyst for change.

When our body asks us to stop, perhaps it is also asking us to listen.

If you’ve sprained your ankle, what has life been asking you to slow down from?

If you’re experiencing recurring headaches, what pressure have you been carrying?

If your back feels heavy, what burdens have you been holding for far too long?

These questions don’t replace medical assessment or treatment. They simply create space for another layer of understanding.

Sometimes there are profound lessons waiting beneath the surface.

One of the most important things I’ve learned is that the physical body is often the last place change becomes visible.

Awareness usually begins long before that.

It starts in our thoughts.

Our intuition.

Our emotions.

Our dreams.

Our relationships.

Our sense that something no longer feels quite right.

By the time our body is asking us to stop, there has often been a journey unfolding long before the symptoms appeared.

The beautiful thing is that healing often follows this same pathway—but in reverse.

As we begin to understand ourselves more deeply, our thinking changes. We make different choices. We set healthier boundaries. We grieve what needs to be grieved. We release what no longer serves us. We reconnect with our values, our purpose, and our wairua.

The energetic shifts often happen first.

Yet because the physical body was the last to carry the message, it is often the last to reflect the healing.

This can be one of the hardest parts of recovery.

We begin doing all the “right” things, but our body still aches.

We understand the lesson, yet the injury remains.

We have changed, but our symptoms haven’t caught up.

This doesn’t mean healing isn’t happening.

Healing is rarely linear.

It unfolds through awareness, acceptance, integration, and time.

Each step teaches us something about ourselves.

Each challenge asks us to become a little more honest, a little more compassionate, and a little more willing to listen.

Perhaps our pain is not simply something to fight against.

Perhaps, at times, it is also a messenger.

A messenger asking us to slow down.

To soften.

To let go.

To choose differently.

To honour our needs.

To remember who we are.

When we approach our experiences with curiosity instead of fear, we create space for deeper healing—not only of the body, but of the mind, the heart, and the wairua.

Maybe the question isn’t only, “How do I heal?”

Maybe it’s also, “What is my body, my heart, and my wairua trying to teach me?”

Sometimes, the greatest healing begins the moment we become willing to listen.

Ngā mihi