My Story: From Flare-Ups and Frustration to Finally Healing

I’ve dealt with some form of physical symptoms for most of my life, including acne, gut issues, muscle and nerve pain. Psychological symptoms too: anxiety, OCD, ADHD, depression. But for a long time, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed that’s how life was… hard, messy, unpredictable. That pain was just part of living.

The Early Signs

As a kid, I had “growing pains” that no one could explain. I also had anxiety, but I didn’t have a name for it then. I thought it was normal to feel on edge all the time.

I had chronic acne in middle school, high school, and college. My lower back always felt tight, and that tightness just lingered.

The First Flare-Up

Then when I was 19, I had my first sciatica flare-up. It came out of nowhere, just as I went to lie down on a workout bench. The pain was sharp, shooting, relentless.

And from that moment on, I started living in fear of my own body.

For over a decade, the flare-ups came and went. They were bad.
Like, crawl-to-the-bathroom-just-to-pee bad.

I was young and athletic. No injury. No trauma.
But my body kept doing this to me, and no one had any real answers.

Searching for Relief

I went through it all:
Steroids, physical therapy, injections, massage, acupuncture, yoga, stretching, inversion tables.
None of it changed anything long-term.

Doctors kept pointing to a mildly herniated disc that showed up on three MRIs over fifteen years.
That was the story. “This must be it.”

But it never explained:

• Why the pain moved around

• Why it would show up overnight

• Why it would disappear just as quickly

I’ll never forget a doctor in Chicago looking at me and saying:

“This is just something you’ll have to live with.”

And something in me just snapped.
Or maybe it finally clicked: No one really knew what to do with me.

The Mental Toll

When you’re in that much pain and no one can explain it — and no path forward seems to work — it starts to feel like maybe there isn’t one.

I started taking pain meds just to sleep. Just to work.
And I hated how much I liked them.

I could see how easily someone could fall into that hole.
It’s not weakness. It’s survival.

And no one really understood.
People were fine hearing about the physical pain…but if I shared how it was messing with my head?
That made people uncomfortable.

So I learned to keep it in.
I felt alone.

Discovering Dr. Sarno

Eventually, I found Dr. Sarno’s work during a brutal flare-up in Arkansas.
I was lying on the floor in the middle of the night, stuck in a fetal position that barely helped.

Someone had sent me a short article that mentioned Sarno. I downloaded The Mindbody Prescription and started reading.

I saw myself in every chapter.
The patterns. The personality traits. The connection between emotions and pain.
It felt like someone had written a book about me.

By the time I finished most of it, I could stand and walk again, more easily than I had in weeks.
All I’d done was learn something new… and believe it.

That moment changed everything.

Not Quite Ready to Change

But I didn’t fully commit.
The pain eased and I moved on.

I didn’t do the emotional work Sarno emphasized.
I didn’t build new habits or explore what was underneath.

I figured I was fine because the crisis had passed.
That was my mistake.

The flare-ups kept coming back… and every time, Sarno’s work would find its way back to me.
I’d re-read, get some relief, and then forget again.

Finally, Something Shifted

Then, at age 30, something shifted.
I finally rejected the idea that there was anything physically wrong with me.

And the flare-ups… stopped.

But the pain didn’t vanish.
It morphed.

Instead of muscle spasms and nerve pain, I was flooded with:

• Anxiety

• Depression

• Rumination

• Panic

• Fear

• Hopelessness

All the pain that used to live in my body now took root in my mind.
From ages 30 to 37, the flare-ups were psychological.

There were days I didn’t want to be here.
I wasn’t in physical agony, but the emotional darkness was just as unbearable.

Looking Deeper

And here’s the thing I finally had to accept:

It had never just been about the body.

I was the youngest of four boys, raised in a Midwestern home where love often felt like something you earned.
Do well, be good, don’t complain.

My parents weren’t cruel, but they were distant — and seemed tired.
I was a sensitive, intuitive kid in an environment that didn’t leave much room for big feelings.

I learned early on to bottle everything up and survive.

That emotional backlog had to go somewhere.
So it went into my body.
Into my back. Into my nervous system.
Into my skin. Into the voice in my head.

Losing My Brother

And then, in the middle of all of this… my oldest brother passed away suddenly.

It shattered me.
It also cracked me open.

All the pain I’d held in for decades — for him, for myself, for the family — came pouring out.
I sobbed for days. I felt it all.
And in doing so, something inside me reorganized.

This Is What Healing Means

That’s when I understood what Sarno meant:

Repression was the true danger. Emotional expression was the real cure.

Since then, I’ve lived differently:

• The muscle pain is gone.

• The suicidal ideation is gone.

• I still get tension. I still get activated.

But I’m no longer afraid of my symptoms.
I listen now. I understand what my body is trying to say.

Why I’m Doing This

What I want to offer now is what I needed back then — not just information, but guidance from someone who’s lived it.

Someone who’s:

• Tried everything

• Thought he was beyond help

• Finally learned how to feel, and in doing so, finally started to heal

This project is for anyone who's been dismissed, misdiagnosed, or misunderstood.
It’s for the people who have no physical diagnosis but feel like they’re falling apart.
It’s for those who are done searching for the next fix… and ready to finally turn inward.

And most of all, it’s for my brother.
He kept his pain to himself too.
I don’t want anyone else to have to.