I recently spoke in a group where people come together to share their personal journeys. That morning, I found myself opening up about the chronic body pain I’ve been navigating for several years now. It’s the kind of pain that doesn’t just hurt physically—it limits, frustrates, and quietly changes the rhythm of life.
The day before, I had tried on my backcountry backpack to see if I might be ready for another adventure soon. Within hours, my body gave me a firm “not yet.” And in that moment, grief came rushing in—the grief of not being able to do what I used to, the grief of wanting something so badly and feeling held back by pain.
During the group, I shared a parable that’s stuck with me over the years:
A monk, cornered by a lion, crawls over the edge of a cliff and clings to a vine. While he hangs there, a mouse begins to chew through the vine. He’s surrounded by danger—with the lion above and certain death below. But right in front of him, he sees a plump, red strawberry. He picks it and eats it. And it’s delicious.
There’s no clear ending to the story—you assume the outcome. But what inspires me is that in the face of fear, pain, and inevitability, the monk chose presence. He didn’t deny the danger. He didn’t pretend he was okay. But in that fleeting moment, he allowed himself to taste life.
After the meeting, someone from the group reached out to me. He shared his own journey with chronic pain—the betrayal he felt by his own body, the years of waiting for things to get better, and the ache of dreams deferred. He asked if I had any words of wisdom.
If I have any, they live in the realm of acceptance. Not the passive kind, where we roll over and give up. But the kind that begins with telling the truth—this is hard—and continues with asking, how can I love myself here, too?
I don’t always like what’s happening in my body. I don’t have to. But I’m learning that I don’t have to be at war with it, either. My body may not be able to do all the things I once loved—but it still allows me to live. To hug. To laugh. To write. To sit outside in the sunshine and taste strawberries.
I do what I can: I see doctors, try new treatments, stretch, rest, nourish. But more than anything, I’m working to be in a loving relationship with the body I have—because I know it’s doing the best it can.
Pain is real. So is resistance. I’ve noticed that the more I resist the pain—resent it, fight it, deny it—the more it grows. Acceptance isn’t easy, but it softens the edge. It reminds me that serenity doesn’t come from having a perfect body. It comes from having a more peaceful relationship with the reality I’m in.
And maybe that’s what the monk was doing. He didn’t wait for the danger to pass. He simply tasted the strawberry.
If you’ve ever felt like your body has let you down—or like you’re stuck waiting for things to get better—I’d love to hear your story. How are you learning to live, to accept, or even to love within the limits you didn’t ask for?
Before You Go…
We don’t have to do this alone. Leave a comment below, or just take a moment to pause and notice the “strawberries” in your own life today. However small, they count. I’d love to hear what you’re noticing.
Here’s To Your Greatness,
Misti Burmeister
Misti Burmeister is a dynamic coach and speaker with an unparalleled ability to unlock potential and inspire transformation. Known for her energy, enthusiasm, and passion, Misti awakens thought patterns and fosters meaningful change in individuals and teams alike. With over 20 years of experience, she is celebrated for improving communication, accountability, and personal responsibility across organizations.
Described as a “world-class archeologist” by Captain Ken Barrett, U.S. Navy, Misti excels at uncovering the hidden treasures within every person she interacts with. Her groundbreaking philosophies on two-way communication and personal responsibility are the foundation for lasting success, empowering organizations to achieve extraordinary results.