Yesterday, I found myself in a moment of raw, undiluted pain. A cortisone injection into my thumb—a pain that was deep, unrelenting, and completely out of my control. As the doctor came into the room, he said “I’m not going to play this down, it’s going to hurt.” When the doctor admits that, you know it’s not going to be fun…

As he prepared the needle, I could feel the familiar rush of anticipation, my body’s instinctive bracing against what was coming. But because of my years on my mat, I knew exactly what to do.

Breathe.

Not the shallow, tense kind of breath that tries to escape pain, but the deep, steady breath that meets it head-on. The breath that allows you to witness the pain without giving yourself over to it. To observe, acknowledge, and let it be… until it’s over.

At one point I noticed that my whole body was tense. So I softened my shoulders and made my exhale long and smooth. I noticed the pain, felt it (A LOT), but I didn’t let it consume me. And just like that, the moment passed. The pain was very real, but so was my ability to hold space for it without spiralling into panic.

On my mat, I’ve held postures that have taken my muscles to their limits, sat in stillness when my mind begged for movement and leaned into vulnerability when I wanted to retreat. And today, as the needle went into my hand, I called on that same practice—not to make the pain disappear, but to meet it with steadiness instead of fear.

This is yoga’s wisdom in action—teaching us we can endure more than we think, that we can meet pain, uncertainty, and challenge with an inner steadiness that no external force can take away.

Discomfort will come, in a thousand different forms. The question is, how will we meet it

© Julie Smerdon 2025