Diana-Ashley Krach

If you have chronic pain, you are all too aware of the stigma surrounding the condition. Whether it comes from a disbelieving health professional, an intrusive pharmacy technician who does nothing to hide their suspicions, an employer who wonders why you can’t get off the couch today when you appeared “fine” the day before — it seems like everywhere you turn, someone is saying you don’t deserve pain relief.

My mother saw in my brother a carbon copy of herself; every side-eye and negative comment was an echo of offensive remarks made about her own behavior as a child. Whenever my brother got into trouble for his disregard for authority or bad attitude, my mother saw it as a victory: My brother wasn’t just sticking up for himself, he was sticking up for my mother.

[CN: Toxic parents] I am a big fan of inappropriate humor (especially when said humor is tinged with sarcasm), and I’m an even bigger fan of using comedy to deal with life’s ugliness. But when the humor is at the expense of someone unknowing and innocent, like a child, I no longer consider it funny.

Prescribe, refer, repeat — that was the drill for several years. It wasn’t until I started to explore the impact of childhood adversity that I saw the big picture, and it began to make sense.