Hip Pain - I nearly laughed out loud

I used to wake up every morning like I’d been hit by a bus.

My lower back felt welded shut, my knees throbbed, and my right hip sometimes locked just climbing out of bed.

I blamed the desk job, the bad mattress, maybe the running shoes I’d worn flat. I went through the checklist - GP, physiotherapist, chiropractor, even a rheumatologist who ordered enough bloodwork to make a vampire dizzy. Everyone shrugged, offered pills, exercises, or vague reassurances. None of it helped.

When I came across Dr. John Sarno’s work, I rolled my eyes. It sounded like another wellness fad. But at that point, I’d have tried chanting to the moon if it meant walking without wincing.

The whole idea that repressed emotions could cause real, physical pain felt impossible, or maybe just too personal. I was a logical guy. I didn’t “do” feelings. Still, something got under my skin.

One morning, after another night of tossing around with hip pain, I read a passage about the unconscious mind distracting us from uncomfortable emotions through pain. Could this be me?

I remember arguing with myself all day. My inner critic sneered. But some small, hopeful voice whispered, “What if he’s right?”

I wrote down all the things I was angry about but never said out loud - work stress, perfectionism, always trying to keep everything smooth and under control. By the end, my chest felt lighter, but my back throbbed worse than ever. I cried for the first time in years.

That night, I decided to commit. Every time the pain flared, I’d talk back, “I see you, pain. I know you’re emotional, not structural.”

It felt ridiculous, like arguing with a ghost. But something started to shift. I kept journaling, tracing how certain thoughts or arguments could trigger the pain.

One morning, I realized I’d walked from the train station without even noticing my hip. It hit me halfway to work, and I nearly laughed out loud.

For two weeks, I felt unstoppable - running again, lifting weights, sleeping like a kid. I preached to my friends like a converted zealot. “Your body’s fine - it’s your brain playing goalie with your feelings!” They humored me with polite smiles.

Then, out of nowhere, the pain came roaring back. My mind spun. What did I do wrong? Did I fall back into denial? Maybe it wasn’t TMS after all. I could feel the old fear creeping in. I wanted to quit.

One night, sitting in the dark living room, I felt my hip burning again, and I finally shouted, “What do you want from me?” The tears came without warning. I admitted how scared I was. Scared of failure, of losing control, of never being enough. It wasn’t about my body. It never had been.

The next morning, I felt calmer, softer. I stopped fighting the pain and started listening. When it flared, I took it as a cue to check in with myself - “What am I avoiding right now?”

Weeks later, I realized I hadn’t thought about my hip in days. It was over, not with a dramatic cure but with quiet acceptance.

Now, when people ask me what fixed it, I tell them it wasn’t stretches or medication - it was learning to stop being at war with myself. Dr. Sarno’s work didn’t just heal me, it gave me back the part of me I’d buried under responsibility, fear, and silence.

This morning I ran by the river trail, sunlight on my shoulders, wind in my face. My body felt weightless.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t just pain-free, I was truly free.

Matt

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