Today was a very difficult day for me. I can’t stop wondering why this condition marked my arms. I c

Hoy fue un día muy difícil para mí. No puedo dejar de preguntarme por qué esta afección me marcó los brazos. Me comparo mucho y sigo buscando a alguien que haya mejorado y tenga algo similar a lo que yo tengo.
He visto personas con síntomas neuropáticos, pero en mi caso, las sensaciones son móviles. Mi sistema nervioso marcaba mis brazos como algo muy peligroso. Al principio, las sensaciones eran más fijas, pero con el tiempo empezaron a cambiar de forma caótica: de un brazo a otro, del codo a la muñeca, hasta el hombro.
No siento que provenga del músculo; simplemente está ahí, lo percibo y ya está. Y no son solo mis brazos: tengo sensaciones neuropáticas por todo el cuerpo, como descargas eléctricas, como clavos calientes, toda la mezcla. Ojalá fuera solo una cosa, pero siento que lo tengo todo a la vez.
Cuando leo historias de recuperación, mucha gente dice cosas como "simplemente vive tu vida" o "no le des importancia", y me cuesta entender cómo llegaron a ese punto. A veces pienso que quizá no tenían una zona tan marcada como mis brazos, o quizá solo tenían síntomas de movilidad, pero no ambos a la vez.
Lo que más me pesa es no poder sentirme como debería para mejorar. Soltar y vivir mi vida se vuelve extremadamente difícil cuando se trata de los brazos, que son tan importantes en la vida diaria. Ahora siento incluso más intensidad en el hombro, y en lugar de alivio, siento como si hubieran aparecido más síntomas a la vez.
Realmente me gustaría saber qué piensan sobre esto las personas que están más avanzadas o en remisión, si también pasaron por momentos de profunda desesperanza, incluso cuando ya estaban en el camino de la mejora.

 

A la gente le lleva tiempo llegar a ese punto, y debes empezar a superar la ansiedad y la verdad que se esconde tras los síntomas. Deja de preocuparte por cada músculo, por cada punzada. Es muy difícil, lo sé. Hay dos tácticas que puedes probar: una es dejar que los pensamientos fluyan sin intentar controlarlos. Simplemente obsérvalos. Son solo pensamientos; se sienten reales, las sensaciones SON reales, pero la causa que te preocupa no es la verdadera causa. Es la causa que tu mente inventa, porque pensar que estas cosas son físicas es más fácil que comprender la verdad: que son de naturaleza psicológica.
El otro método consiste en desviar tu mente de esos pensamientos hacia otras cosas de tu vida. Descubrí que seguir mis pasiones me ayuda mucho a distraer mi mente. Esto también me llevó tiempo debido a la hiperconcentración en las sensaciones, pero poco a poco, repitiendo esta lección una y otra vez, se vuelve más fácil. Yo uso ambos métodos. El truco, cuando piensas en cosas catastróficas, es reconocer que no son reales. Pensar en lo que *podría* pasar no hace que suceda. Solo te genera ansiedad y preocupación.
Cuéntanos cuáles son tus pasiones en la vida, o cuáles eran antes de que aparecieran los síntomas. ¿Qué es lo que más valoras?

It takes people time to get to that point, and you must begin to conquer the anxiety and the TRUTH behind the symptoms. Stop worrying about every muscle, every twinge. It is very hard to do. There are two tatics you can try: one is to think the thoughts and just let them come. While you think the thoughts, just let them be. They are thoughts - they FEEL real, the sensations ARE real but the cause you worry about is not the true cause. It's the cause your mind makes up because thinking these things are physical is easier than understanding the truth that they are psychological in nature.
The other method, which is to turn your mind from the thoughts to things in your life. I found that following my passions is so helpful in distracting my mind. This too took some time because of the hyperfocus on the sensations, but slowly over time by reapeating this lesson a thousand times it is easier. I use both methods. The trick when thinking about catastrophic things is to recognize they are not true things. Thinking about what *might* happen does not make things happen. It only makes you anxious and worried.
Tell us what your passions in life are, or were before the symptoms? What do you hold dear to your heart?

 

Hi! Like Cactusflower said, it's all about the truth of what is going on.

I don't really love the idea of "trying" not to dwell on it so much. To me, it's a natural consequence of the process. Once I knew and truly believed that nothing was wrong with me + I was then able to see the emotional triggers and what was truly causing my pain, I dwelled on it less naturally as a consequence. I didn't need to really try and it wasn't a matter of willpower (maybe it was a little bit to begin with to push my limits a bit whilst I still had doubts over TMS). You're naturally going to freak out more if you think something is physically wrong (it's human nature), so don't think those people you are referring to have some innate ability that you don't. They are just clearer on what is actually going on (and you'll get to that point through the process).

Don't be too hard on yourself and focus on the process, it's a belief and evidence driven process (which anyone can accomplish)

 

I have no doubt that what I have is TMS. I knew it even before I learned about the condition. What I want to explain is that, although my symptoms did not start in my arms—I first had paresthesia in my foot, which wasn’t painful and I ignored it—everything changed once my arms became involved.
In my arms, it started with pain: elbows and fingers. After many tests and treatments that didn’t help, and after being told I had golfer’s elbow, I began to realize something wasn’t adding up. I thought it might be ulnar nerve entrapment, even though all my tests were normal. I also believed it was intermittent because the sensations in my arms fluctuated a lot. They moved, even within the same arm, and the quality of the pain kept changing. I held on to the idea that if I avoided bending or twisting my arms during physical therapy, things would improve. But over time, with no real improvement, my intuition made me understand that this wasn’t coming from my arms at all. My arms were healthy. This was coming from my nervous system. It was creating false signals. I didn’t fully understand why, but I knew it wasn’t structural.
The way this began for me was very traumatic. I had panic attacks, and during one of them I felt a cold line behind my elbows. After that, something shifted. Once the panic attack passed, I felt almost nothing at first. Days later, when I started using my arms again, the pain appeared and gradually intensified. From very early on, it was strong. I believe my brain created a neural pathway in which my arms were labeled as dangerous.
What makes this especially hard is that the pain in my arms is not fixed. It’s not burning, and it doesn’t feel like it’s inside the arm itself. It feels electrical—deep, dull, and uncomfortable—but the worst part is that it moves. It changes location constantly, sometimes even with the movement of the same arm. When pain stays in one place, you can eventually learn to live with it. But when it keeps moving, it becomes much harder to ignore.
Not using my arms is not an option. I have to use them—otherwise, what message would I be sending to my brain? But when I do use them, that’s often when the pain appears or shifts. It has never stopped me from sleeping, but many mornings I wake up and, as my body starts moving, the pain begins again.
When I read other people’s recovery stories, many talk about burning sensations or more classic pain. I find myself wishing I had that instead, because this electric, moving pain is terrifying. It makes it very hard to imagine how I’m supposed to ignore it, live my life, and try to be happy. I often feel at a disadvantage compared to others, even those with neuropathic symptoms, because so many people say that recovery came when they slowly stopped fearing the symptoms and saw them as non-dangerous.
In that sense, I have improved. I no longer have panic attacks. I can be with the pain without immediately panicking. But what remains is the fear of time—the fear of the future, of not knowing whether I’m actually improving. There are no clear indicators. Since I started working on reducing fear, my symptoms seem to have multiplied, which I know can be part of the process, but it’s still very discouraging.
This type of pain in the arms—especially because it moves—makes this work extremely difficult. I try to remind myself that this is a long process, but I won’t deny how hard it is. I sometimes wish I only had burning, tingling, or numbness like many others, instead of this very specific, electric-type pain that keeps shifting in my arms.

 

Like I said, I really think that the emotional work should be the focus. The focus above is a lot on the symptoms (which I understand given they are so intense and restrictive) and how to combat them in the moment rather than potentially what is driving them under the surface. Additionally, a huge hint of this is the fact that you successfully treated in a sense one symptom (in your foot) by ignoring it, only for something more intense to pop up (which is unavoidable. This is a great signal to look deeper and inwards (the brain has successfully got your attention this time around, for what reason that's part of the process to assess).

Hopefully that helps and makes sense - and hopefully I haven't been too presumptuous! Feel free to take what resonates (if anything) and if you have any questions please let me know Sorry I stuffed up the formatting, basically my responses are in the yellow part for some reason in bold (what a mess).

 

@Alouqua47
Let go of the story, the explanations, telling us all the details of your physical sensations. The physical sensations do not matter in TMS.
The true pain, the truth of TMS is the mental suffering, the constant thoughts and focus on the physical and the difficulty facing our emotional truth and personality habits.
I did ask you what your passions and interests are. What you love.
You wrote only about your symptoms. You must work hard on opening your mind and finding your interests in life not connected to symptoms or TMS.

 

Honestly, I’m aware of my own desperation. Sometimes it feels like I’m constantly looking for someone to talk to and complain to, and I end up feeling like I’m in a very unfair position. I don’t remember ever being a bad person, and it often seems that situations like this happen to people who are actually very sensitive and have been through a lot.
I know this may sound silly, but it’s how I feel. I’m sorry for complaining so much. Maybe I’m just looking for reassurance—for someone to tell me that everything will be okay and that this is a process.
I truly want to recover, or at least feel that I’m making progress, but I also try to be realistic. I understand that recovery is different for everyone, and that the timelines I read about may not apply to me. I tend to imagine the worst-case scenarios, and that sometimes makes this process harder.
Right now, everything revolves around my pain. There are moments when things feel calmer, and I feel more hopeful, but then everything changes again and I feel discouraged. That instability is what I find most difficult.
As for my interests, I’ve always enjoyed singing, reading, and researching, which is partly why I came to this forum—to keep looking for answers instead of giving up. I also love photography, especially taking pictures of my daughter. Walking is another activity I still enjoy and do regularly, as it helps me get out of the house and manage anxiety. Being able to walk is something I’m very grateful for.

 

I think we've all been there so don't feel bad!

You're looking for reassurance which makes complete sense. It's all part of the process. As someone too who always goes to worse-case scenario (especially with my health), you can heal! In fact, most people who get TMS are like this (a lot of it is in the personality).

Trust the process, you're on the right track

 

Walking is wonderful, as is singing! Keep doing these things that bring joy - this is how you keep on working back to living a regular life (and, as you mention, deal with anxiety and stress). As soon as you feel the desire, take pictures of your daughter. Those are lovely interests.
Be careful of immersing yourself in too much TMS research - TMS is not a hobby or interest (although it can be, once you have a better grasp on it) and the search for “knowledge” mixed with the desperation can become a distraction from the emotional work. Such is the TMS brain, always looking for ways not to deal with emotions until you can teach it that emotions are safe.

 

I struggle to understand the TMS approach, especially the focus on emotions. I have strong emotions because of my pain, not the other way around, and it feels like a vicious cycle.
The way I see it, the brain learned to associate emotional threat with physical danger. Emotional pain and physical pain are processed in the same brain areas, so the brain stopped distinguishing between a real threat—like being attacked—and an emotional one. Now my brain is stuck in an “on” state, constantly signaling danger and producing pain. It’s not that I’m suppressing emotions; it’s that my brain learned this pattern.
When people talk about “working on emotions,” I don’t really understand what that means. What emotions am I supposed to feel or not feel? To me, recovery should be about showing the brain safety. The problem is that this is extremely hard when the brain itself creates intense and frightening sensations. My fear has decreased over time, yet my symptoms remain.
That’s why advice like “enjoy life” or “be happy” can feel disconnected from my reality. It makes sense for people who have good days or days without symptoms. I wish I had that. A day without symptoms would feel like rest, like finally being able to breathe.
I do wonder whether my past plays a role. Looking back, my life lacked a sense of safety—bullying in childhood, fear at home during adolescence. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of that now. Digging into the past endlessly doesn’t feel helpful; I already understand that fear was a constant theme.
I’m living my life with pain. There is always some fear in the background—not panic, but fear that this won’t work for me. I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be doing to heal. Sometimes I wonder if people truly recover or if symptoms just change form. At this point, I just want a clear sign that I’m doing something right.

 

A lot of TMS techniques come from psychoanalysis, figuring out one's defense mechanisms and what triggers them. Nowadays we have devices like fMRIs that show that "bad" synapses can't be unmade. Reliving the trauma won't make these pathways go away, but it's necessary in order to create a new and safer interpretation. You made a list of your perceived dangers and wrote about them, right? There you go. If you feel like writing about it again, you do it, but going over and over your traumas trying to find the missing piece... well, that's a recipe for anger and hopelessness. And it will throw you in the victim mindframe, which is terrible for mindbody recovery.

Unfortunately we don't have a quick solution yet for TMS. But we know acceptance plays a big role, and that's why it's such a hard work.