Why is it that small things hurt, yet we can handle hard and painful wounds with apparent ease and fortitude?
Why do we handle big things, and decide we are brave, but sometimes the little things cut really really deep and hurt?
What am I talking about?
Tonight I gave myself a paper cut. It hurt. It doesn’t seem logical to me. I have had my knee placed back into position after it dislocated, without pain relief (I don’t react well to the medication they give for that) and I have given birth to an almost 4kg baby with no pain meds. They both hurt, but I handled them. Yet, a tiny paper cut makes me cry and sends me rushing for my first aid kit and a mini pity party.
You see birth and knee injuries hurt, they hurt like hell, but once they are over, they are over. Once my knee is back in place it doesn’t hurt. Once you have delivered your baby with it’s 98th percentile head and shoulders, the pain is over. You feel better.
A papercut, however, stings and carries on stinging. It takes days to heal, and it hurts when you wash your hands, or get any liquid on it. It throbs away quietly, reminding you it’s there. It eventually heals, but it takes it sweet time, and you know it’s there. A tiny cut can cause more of a nuisance than a knee injury or childbirth. Bizarre, isn’t it?
I think it’s pretty much the same with life. Sometimes we face things that really seem scary and painful, to our hearts and minds, yet we bear them because we know we have to, and we know that when we get them over, the pain will go and it will be done. Yet, sometimes life can feel like a papercut. Nagging, throbbing, taking ages to heal, and it stings and reminds you it’s there.
Life. It’s like a papercut, at the moment. It will heal, but it’s not going to let me forget.