Chronically Catherine: Discovering the lyrical connection between Kelly Clarkson and chronic pain

Kelly Clarkson once said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” When that iconic 2011 bop came out I was a 13-year-old skinnymalinks with a mouth full of braces and a sexy set of side bangs. I memorized every word to that song and sang it as if I’d lived through some serious hardship that totally jaded me. When the chorus rolled around and that beat dropped, I’d strike a pose and belt out, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…” 

Flash forward to 2018. I’m sitting in my doctor’s office waiting room, curled up in a ball, hood pulled over my eyes, melting from pain and furious that nothing was working to treat it. I was desperately trying to block out the Pandora radio blasting through the tinny ceiling speakers until that fateful guitar line kicked in. As the song crescendoed to the chorus and the beat dropped, Kelly belted out that seminal line, and something unexpected occurred. 

I felt my blood begin to boil. My cheeks and ears were red hot, literally. I didn’t feel kinship with Kelly — I felt betrayed. Cheated. Lied to. What does she mean what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger? I spend every day fighting chronic illness that causes pain beyond description, so, no, I reject the idea that my suffering makes me stronger. I don’t want it to make me stronger; I want it to go away, forever.

However, in all my fury I had an epiphany. Kelly’s lyric did one thing successfully: It made me think about the total paradox that is living in chronic pain. Let me explain. 

While I agree with my girl that, yes, I refuse to let my pain kill me, in the same breath, I disagree because, no, I don’t believe being in chronic pain has led to this sparkly amazing journey of personal growth. It f-ing sucks, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy for the sake of it making them stronger or teaching them something about life. 

And that is where I find myself presently stuck in this paradox — feeling like I’m living in a constant state of contradiction. Where one moment I’m crying because my pain levels on a daily basis are unacceptable, and the next I forcibly collect and tell myself an all-too-common line to justify suffering: “But at least I’m not dying.” 

That’s where Kelly’s lyric really gut-punched me. What if she’s wrong, and my chronic pain that feels like it’s trying to kill me actually wins? What if I crumble under the weight of all this pain, and I don’t rise from the metaphorical ashes like an early-2000s bedazzled butterfly? What if I just want to leave my body for a bit and take a break from being confined in skin that feels like it’s bursting with inflammation and pain?

And here’s the deep, dark Kelly-kicker: Who am I if I admit out loud that sometimes I think about the peace and final relief that comes with death?

I was forced to confront the fact that my pain wasn’t going away any time soon. I was forced to reconcile with the truth that my chronic illness and chronic pain were just that — chronic — with no expiration date. 

It definitely didn’t happen overnight, and it’s something I’m still working on, but I found that living in a contradictory state of I-hate-my-chronic-pain-but-at-least-I’m-not-dying is just as crushing as the chronic pain itself.

More importantly, escaping that state of contradiction is not as easy as simply having a positive attitude. Let me make that clear for the people in the back: A positive attitude will never cure an inherent illness.

Although, changing my attitude towards my chronic pain did do something. It took time, but finally realizing my juxtaposing emotions of  I-will-fight-I-can’t-take-this-anymore gave me emotional relief. I’ll never say shifting my attitude gave me ultimate clarity and peace with my circumstances. In the end what it did do was allow me to loosen the vice-like grip of black-and-white thinking I had around chronic pain. It helped me comprehend that I’m allowed to feel two things at once. 

I can be angry about my circumstances and still be profoundly humbled by them. I can hate my body for the pain it causes me, but I can also love my body for keeping me upright to do the things I’m passionate about. I can hate the depression and anxiety I feel living in fear of a flare, while also bowing down to this beautiful vessel for my soul which makes me who I am. 

I’ve come to understand that changing my attitude towards my chronic pain doesn’t equate to accepting the amount of physical pain I’m in. It means choosing to try my best despite daily physical and mental challenges. 

Ultimately, the challenge I do accept is to find the adventure — however that may look — in the face of such uncertainty, unpredictability and contradiction. It’s taken the support of my team of doctors, an amazing therapist, a family I can rely on for anything and my ride-or-die BFFs to see what they’ve always known — that you can be in chronic pain and still have a meaningful and fabulous life, just in a new, different and unexpected way.

So maybe Kelly actually did get one thing right. I just had to reframe my thinking and keep on singing to the next line, which is more in line with my thinking now: “What doesn’t kill you makes you a fighter, footsteps even lighter.” 

Writer’s note: Feel free to reach out to Chronically Catherine if you’re also a student of different abilities working to coexist with daily adversity without losing sight of your fabulosity – [email protected] or @itschronicallycatherine on Instagram.

Catherine Ames is a junior writing about life as a young person coexisting with chronic illness. Her column, “Chronically Catherine,” runs every other Friday.