When Your Safe Person Needs Safety Too: Finding Balance in Chronic Pain Communication

I had one of those conversations recently that stopped me in my tracks. You know the kind where someone you love gently points out something you've been doing without realising it, and suddenly you see yourself from the outside.

My family member mentioned that the atmosphere in our home had been feeling quite low lately. As we talked, I realised something uncomfortable: although they're the person I feel safest sharing my ups and downs with, I'd been literally always sharing the downs. Every conversation seemed to centre around my pain, my struggles, my complaints. And it was getting difficult for them because, unsurprisingly, it was bringing the mood down.

That hit me like a brick wall. Here I was, someone who preaches about communication and sharing your needs, and I'd forgotten that my safe person is also, well, a person. With their own needs. Including the need not to live in a house that feels like a constant cloud of doom and gloom.

The Guilt, The Anger, Then The "Ah, Shit" Moment

First came the guilt. That horrible realisation that I'd been the cause of someone's discomfort. Then came the anger. Why couldn't I just vent when I wanted to? Don't I deserve a place to express my reality?

But then my rational brain kicked in (thank god for therapy training, even when applied to myself). I needed to find a happy medium.

Looking back, I'd gotten caught in what I can only describe as a self-pitying cycle. I knew my family member was carrying emotional weight from my constant complaints, but I'd forgotten just how much. I was so wrapped up in feeling like my pain (both emotional and physical) was worse than anything else that I'd stopped considering their experience entirely.

I desperately wanted them to understand what I go through, just for a minute. But they never can. And honestly? I'd never actually want them to be in pain.

The Pattern I Didn't Want to See

The scary part is, I wasn't even aware of this day-to-day. I just knew I was struggling generally. Feeling overwhelmed, comfort eating, all the usual suspects. But I didn't recognise that I was complaining more and more. Maybe I didn't want to admit it to myself.

It's frighteningly easy to fall into that trap. When you're in constant pain, it becomes the soundtrack to your life, and naturally, it dominates your conversations too.

But interestingly, in the days since I've made an effort to change this pattern, I actually feel mentally better. Even though my pain levels haven't shifted all that much. That tells me something important about how our communication patterns affect our overall wellbeing.

Changing communication when you have chronic pain

What Change Actually Looks Like

So what does trying to fix this actually look like in practice? It's been about a few key shifts:

• Looking for glimmers: I'm trying to remember to notice the small good moments in each day and be mindful of what I'm grateful for. Not in a toxic positivity way, but in a genuine "this cup of tea is lovely" way.

• Proactive rest: Instead of waiting until I'm in agony, I'm leaning into rest when I need it. Like today. I'm manageable pain right now, but I had a busy day yesterday, so I'm going to lie down later because I don't want to feel the repercussions tomorrow.

• Changing the conversation flow: I communicated with my family member that I still wanted them to check in with me so I felt cared for (and they said they'd obviously still do that anyway). But now I try to wait for them to ask rather than pushing my agenda on them first. When they do ask, I feel respected and cared for, and we have shorter but more meaningful conversations about how I've been feeling.

The Professional vs Personal Reality Check

Working with clients around chronic illness means I know a lot about what helps. But putting it into action when you're in the thick of your own pain and emotions? Still difficult! I'm still human.

This experience has definitely deepened my empathy for what my clients go through. Every client and relationship is different, but I think it'll help me challenge clients to see both sides of a picture. Not just their own experience, but how their communication patterns might be affecting their relationships too.

The Safe Person Paradox

I think this pattern happened specifically with this family member because they are my safe person. With everyone else, I still have that public mask on. The "ah, it's grand" front that I know so many of my clients wear too. That mask uses energy, but I'm also mindful of choosing how to spend my mental energy and what presence I want to put out into the world.

I'm the funny person, the helper, the listener in most of my relationships, and I love that about myself. On higher pain days, it shows up as me using my energy for work and then withdrawing when I come home. That's not necessarily bad. It's strategic.

But when you have one person who feels completely safe, sometimes all that suppressed frustration and pain comes pouring out in an unfiltered way. And that's where the balance got lost.

What I'd Tell Someone in the Same Boat

If you're reading this and thinking "shit, that sounds like me," I absolutely get it. It's lovely to have that safe person. Treasure them. But be mindful of their mental health too.

Whilst I'm all about sharing and communicating your needs, recognising that constant doom-and-gloom sharing isn't fair to the people we love is part of being a reasonable adult. They have needs too, including the need for some lightness in their own home.

Therapy is a great alternative for processing the harder stuff. Your safe person can still be safe, but they don't have to be your only emotional outlet.

Moving Forward with More Mindfulness

I'm hoping to maintain a more mindful approach to all of this. I know it won't always be straightforward. Chronic pain has a way of hijacking your brain and your conversations. But I'm trying to stay aware whilst still being open and communicative.

The goal isn't to suppress my reality or go back to the "everything's fine" mask with my safe person. It's about finding a balance where I can share honestly without turning our relationship into a constant therapy session.

Because at the end of the day, the people who love us want to support us, but they also deserve relationships that bring joy, not just emotional labour. That's not too much to ask from them or from ourselves.

If you’re reading this and thinking of exploring therapy as an outlet, I’d love to hear from you. Pop me an email and we can have a chat about getting started.

Here rooting for you always,

Kirsty x