is TMS like when you're a kid and...

[learningmore]

I kinda want to make this in two components.

1) you know how when you have pain or whatever, but then your friend calls you and wants to do something and suddenly you "forget" about your pain and have a nice time? That's what TMS sounds like to me from what I've read here. Is it just "forgetting" about your pain? Or maybe when you're in a good mood your endorphins override the pain?

2) This one time when I was in elementary school, we were on the playground and someone, maybe it was me, got hurt. And whoever it was, it might have been me, started crying. And I remember, one of my friends said "I know how to make him stop crying; make him laugh!" immediately before doing some funny stuff to make whoever it was or me start laughing. And then that person or me stopped crying. It's funny because I recall this event happening but I don't remember if it was something I experienced or someone else.

Anyway, appears like the same thing; you stop being in a bad mood and the pain vamooses.

 

[Ellen]

I think there are similarities. Mood and pain seem tied together in a feedback loop. But kids let go of stuff and forget faster and easier than adults.

 

[anacoluthon33]

1) It can be! Not necessarily, but it can be. Alan Gordon in “The Way Out” describes a situation—he was describing himself, if memory serves—where a basketball fan was so immersed in the game unfolding before him that he realized, once the game was over, that his habitual back pain had disappeared—despite the horrible arena seats.

“Forgetting” about your pain is one way of putting it. Another way is that by focusing on the good in your life, “resuming all activity,” you enforce positive behaviour and reinforce positive neurochemistry—all of which make the pain vamoose.

2) Absolutely. Make the kid laugh, give her a piece of candy, and so on. Redirect the attention from pain to pleasure.

Your story brings to mind another TMS-anecdote favourite. Maybe you’ll relate. (I think Alan Gordon brings this up, but others do, too.) Have you ever seen the moment a child has a small accident, on a playground, say, and rather than crying immediately looks up to find a parent? A moment of stunned surprise, combined with what seems like an inability to know how to react?

It’s an amazing moment because, in this instant, nature and nurture intersect. If Dad rushes over, worry on his face, fear dripping from his voice, and makes a big deal from a small scrape, odds are the child will feel that fear, causing pain to ramp up in that scraped knee. If Mom remains calm, takes a measured but objective look at the knee, and says the child will be okay, it’s nothing serious (i.e. medical clearance), the child will probably take that diagnosis at face value, dust himself off, and hit the playground once more.

What’s the takeaway? If we define an injury with disaster—if we write fear into it—we find ourselves in a lot of trouble. Sometimes, more trouble than its worth. If we see an injury with proportion, composure, and tolerance—if we do not become afraid—the injury is what it is, unmagnified by the catastrophizing mind, and we get on with life. We heal.

I hope my post has been of use to you!