By Michele Rice

Living with chronic pain has a way of quietly drawing lines around your life.

Some of those lines are physical. Some are emotional. Some are routines we build to survive the day. Over time, those lines can start to feel permanent—like invisible boundaries that define what we can and cannot do.

For me, mornings have always been one of those lines.

I’m not someone who jumps out of bed ready to start the day. It takes me a long time to get moving. My body is stiff, my pain is loud, and my brain feels slow to wake up. I also tend to resist change. I like knowing what to expect and staying within the routines that help me manage my health.

So if you had asked me not long ago whether I would ever lead a chronic pain support group that meets in the morning every day, I would have said, “No way.”

And yet… Here I am.

A Decision Made From the Heart 

I recently learned that the U.S. Pain Foundation’s daily peer support group needed a new leader. For many people living with chronic pain, these groups are more than just a meeting on a calendar. They are a lifeline, a place where people understand each other in ways the outside world often cannot.

In that moment, I didn’t stop to analyze whether I was capable of doing it.

I didn’t weigh the pros and cons.

I didn’t even really think about how hard it might be.

All I thought about was the people in that group.

I didn’t want them to face each morning without the place they relied on for connection and support.

So I stepped forward.

At the time, I believed I was doing it for them.

What I didn’t realize was how much it would change me, too.

Pushing Past My Own Boundaries

Leading the group every weekday morning has not been easy.

It means getting up earlier than my body prefers.

It means showing up on camera even when pain or fatigue are loud that day.

It means being present and prepared to guide conversations when my instinct might be to stay quiet and conserve energy.

In many ways, it pushed me outside the lines I thought my life had to stay within.

And honestly? At first, it felt uncomfortable.

But something unexpected happened as the weeks went on.

Instead of feeling like something that was draining me, the group began filling me up.

The Joy I Didn’t Expect

There is something incredibly powerful about gathering with people who truly understand what it means to live with chronic pain.

Every morning, people show up with honesty, humor, vulnerability, and resilience. Some days we talk about the difficult realities of living with pain. Other days we laugh. Often we learn from each other in ways that no textbook or medical appointment could ever teach us.

I started the group thinking I was offering support.

But what I discovered is that support flows in every direction.

The people who attend the group have lifted me up just as much as I hoped to lift them. On days when my own pain feels heavy, their courage reminds me that none of us is carrying this alone.

Finding Community in Unexpected Ways

Another gift that came from stepping into this role has been the deepened connections with people who have helped along the way.

Leading a group like this is not something you do alone. There are people who check in, help facilitate topics and conversations, offer encouragement, and simply show up day after day.

Through this experience, I’ve built stronger bonds with people who share not just similar challenges, but similar compassion for others living with chronic pain.

That kind of connection is rare and incredibly meaningful.

Growing Outside the Lines

Chronic pain often teaches us to live carefully. We learn our limits, adjust our routines, and try to protect the energy we have.

Those boundaries are important.

But sometimes we discover that the lines we thought were permanent are actually more flexible than we imagined.

Stepping into this role showed me that growth can still happen, even in a life shaped by chronic illness. It reminded me that purpose can show up in unexpected ways. And it taught me that sometimes the things we do to help others end up helping us just as much.

Or maybe even more.

If there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it’s this:

Chronic pain may change the shape of our lives, but it does not erase our ability to grow, connect, or contribute.

Sometimes growth doesn’t look like climbing a mountain or running a marathon.

Sometimes growth looks like logging on to a morning support group, turning on your camera, and saying, “Good morning, everyone.”

And discovering that in doing so, you’ve stepped just a little bit beyond the lines you once thought you were stuck inside.

—by Michele Rice