"But You Looked Fine A Minute Ago!": Understanding the Hidden Build-Up of Chronic Pain

One of the hardest parts of living with chronic pain is how unpredictable it looks from the outside. You might be laughing and chatting with friends, focused at work, or out grocery shopping—seeming “fine.” And then you crash. You can’t do anything. You cancel plans, crawl into bed, or stare at the wall wondering what happened.

People around you may be confused. Sometimes you are confused. You were okay—until suddenly, you weren’t.

If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. What often looks like a sudden collapse is usually the result of your nervous system quietly working overtime in the background. It’s not weakness or lack of willpower—it’s a body doing its best to keep you going for as long as it can.

The Build-Up Beneath the Surface

When you live with chronic pain, your body and nervous system are constantly negotiating. On good days, your system is holding a delicate balance—managing pain signals, regulating energy, and helping you function.

But every activity, emotion, or stressor adds a small weight to that balance. Noise, light, social interaction, standing too long, concentrating—all of it takes energy. You might not feel each weight as it’s added. The nervous system works hard to keep you upright, engaged, and looking “normal.”

Until it can’t anymore.

And then comes the crash—the point where your body and mind say, “Enough. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”

That’s the moment you can’t fake it anymore. The pain is louder. The fatigue heavier. Your tolerance for conversation, noise, or responsibility disappears. You didn’t do anything wrong; your system just hit its limit.

Why Your Body Does This

Your body isn’t betraying you—it’s protecting you. Chronic pain often keeps the nervous system on alert, constantly scanning for signs of threat. When your system senses that you’re running out of energy or safety, it starts turning up the volume on pain or fatigue to get your attention.

In other words: it’s saying “please stop before we crash harder.”

The problem is that many of us have learned to ignore those early whispers—to push through, to smile, to function. By the time we feel the pain or exhaustion fully, it’s been building for hours or days.

Where to Start: Creating Small Routines That Build Stability

You don’t need to overhaul your life to find more balance—you just need to create small, reliable rhythms that help your nervous system feel safe and supported. These small routines act as anchors—steady points that keep you connected to your body instead of running on empty.

The key? They have to be small enough that you can do them every day, even on your worst days.

Here’s what that might look like:

Morning:

• Sit up in bed and take three slow breaths before you grab your phone.

• Drink a glass of water and gently stretch one area of your body

Midday:

• Step outside for one minute of fresh air.

• Do one small grounding action—a slow neck roll, a sip of tea, one full breath that actually reaches your belly.

Evening:

• Dim lights a half hour before bed.

• Reflect on one small thing that went okay today.

These moments don’t seem like much—but they’re signals of safety and predictability to your nervous system. They remind your body that it’s not always go-go-go, crash, recover, repeat.

Reframing Progress

Progress doesn’t have to look like doing more. Sometimes it looks like recovering faster, crashing less deeply, or noticing your limits earlier. Those changes mean your nervous system is becoming more flexible and less reactive.

On days you have energy, it’s tempting to push. But often, consistency beats intensity. A five-minute stretch every day helps more than an hour-long workout once a week that knocks you flat.

The smallest routines—done regularly—quietly rewire your system to trust that you’ll listen before it needs to yell.

A Kind Reminder

If you sometimes “seem fine” to others and then need to shut down, that doesn’t make you unreliable or fake. It means you’ve become skilled at coping in a world that often doesn’t see invisible effort.

Your body is communicating, not failing. And with small, steady routines, you can start catching those signals earlier—before the crash.

Tiny steps count. They always have.

~ Carla

Registered Clinical Counsellor (RCC)

Chronic Pain Coach

general contents of this website are provided solely for educational and informational purposes and are not meant to provide professional medical or psychiatric advice, counselling or therapeutic services.