"Playing Hurt" - Holding on to Bread, Being Resilient, and Opening the Door to Magic
- drjunedarling1
- Mar 28
- 5 min read
Updated: Mar 29
You fail, you recover, you come back. You address the problems and work through them, Rueben Mayes
In our compassion circle we have been paying attention to our highs and lows, our consolations and desolations, our ups and downs. I have written blogs about it. The idea is to hold on to what gives us life – our “bread” in the lingo we’ve been using (taken from the book Sleeping With Bread).
One of my highs, “bread” for me, is developing a friendship with the NFL star Rueben Mayes. If you met him, he’d be bread for you too. You’d be drawn to his smile and his easy authenticity (and he does make and give away his own sourdough bread every weekend, in what seems to be almost a sacred process, which I find most fitting).
Rueben describes being raised with few resources in a smallish town in Saskatchewan, Canada. Now he is one of the most celebrated running backs in college football history, inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame. His success in the NFL—despite multiple injuries—is over-the-top impressive. But that’s not the bread for me.
Here it comes. The second time John and I had lunch with Rueben (along with our friend, Gene Sharratt who introduced us), Rueben mentioned a phrase that has stuck with me. Playing hurt.
What might it mean to play hurt? I know that Rueben experienced significant injuries during his football career some thirty or so years ago…perhaps torn ligaments, sprained ankles, and bruised ribs. But it seems that his idea of "playing hurt" is more of a metaphor for being resilient despite what inner wounds we have.
We all are playing hurt—physically, emotionally, cognitively, or spiritually. Life hands us setbacks, heartaches, disappointments, and losses. The question isn't whether we'll be wounded. We will all be hurt.
The question is: what do we do with our wounds? Our big owies. Our big and little T traumas. The answer is we must learn to play hurt.
“Playing hurt,” isn’t about denying pain. It’s about choosing to show up anyway—with honesty, grace, and a willingness to engage. It’s about pushing past the instinct to isolate or complain, be angry or depressed, and instead embracing both our highs and lows with courage and compassion. We’re all the walking wounded…understanding that, changes how we treat ourselves and each other.
What makes Mayes’ message especially powerful for me is that it doesn’t glorify stoicism or suppress emotion. It’s not about just “toughing it out”. Rather it’s about naming the pain, acknowledging our humanity, and choosing to keep going.
This idea strikes a delicate and essential balance for me. Too often, society tells us to "be strong" in ways that discourage vulnerability. But "playing hurt" means being honest (particularly with ourselves) about our wounds and limitations and still showing up to contribute however we can. It doesn’t mean ignoring pain – it means we courageously move with it.
This kind of resilience is not about pretending to be okay or good. It’s about being real. It’s about John’s mother, Grammy, saying as she aged and realized her decline, I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. It’s about understanding that others most probably are carrying loads, playing hurt, too—and meeting them with kindness rather than judgment.
After retiring from football, Mayes didn’t chase fame. He pursued something deeper: service. He earned an MBA and went on to work in education and healthcare, bringing the same commitment and discipline to helping others that he once brought to breaking through tackles.
Rueben Mayes’ message helps us see that living well isn’t about perfection or ease. It’s about integrity. It’s about courage. It’s about empowerment in any weather - sunny or stormy, and in every stage and age. And it’s about recognizing that when we see each other clearly—as fellow travelers carrying burdens—we can foster a more compassionate world.
“Playing hurt” also invites us to shed the victim mindset. Pain is real. Injustice is real. But our agency—the ability to respond, to grow, to choose light in darker moments—is real, too. Mayes’ phrase and his example invites us to take back our power not by denying our suffering, but by rising within it. We can’t always choose what happens to us. But we can choose what kind of people we’ll be in response.
In a culture that prizes perfection and performance, Mayes offers a refreshing truth: the good life is not about having it all together—it’s about showing up as we are, wounds and all, and doing our best to love, serve, and stay in the game through whatever comes our way.
Some weeks ago, John and I were trying to do something that was beyond us. But it was something that somebody needed to do. And we (along with two others) were the only somebodies who showed up.
I was quite conscious of my judgy inner critic telling me I should just bow out, sit down. Let the thing go. We could embarrass ourselves. We sucked to use a sophisticated term.
I kept myself in the game by repeating Grammy’s phrase, “You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got.”
It seemed that others’ spirits were flagging as we continued. Finally, I said, “Look, we are doing the best we can with what we’ve got.” Then…one of the others said…"and when we do that, that’s when magic happens.” I was stunned. That beautiful thought opened a whole new door to me.
We are all playing hurt. Those injuries can be inflicted by others or self-inflicted. We can best go forward by acknowledging our pain. Giving ourselves some compassion. It can be hard to be human sometimes. And then get back out there in the game. Give magic a chance.
A few days ago, I was talking to a couple of women in their middle and late eighties, Clare and Jeanne. They were leaving a volunteer job they had just finished at church.
“Ageing is hard,” was their basic message. “We can’t do what we could once do.” I know that one of them is dealing with Parkinson’s, and that the other one has with a very painful back situation which is inoperable.
Yet here they were. Showing up to roll together silverware and napkin place settings for the community meal; they call themselves “holy rollers”. Clare and Jeanne share their troubles and joys (desolations and consolations) while they are doing their holy rolling. They don’t talk so much about their aches and pains, but more about their concerns for their friends and family… and they also laugh a lot. And one is a Republican and the other a Democrat to boot! (Yesterday, they were recalling how getting your ears pierced in their growing up days was a clear sign of immorality. The week before they were trying to think who could have invented underwear - how thankful they were that someone had.)
Some of us just like to hang out with the holy rollers to hear what they say…it’s honest and sad and funny and uplifting and creates community. Such richness, experiencing 10,000 sorrows and 10,000 joys some of the ancients have said…all of us on this little blue dot rolling around together.
Yes, Jeanne and Clare are playing hurt. Like Rueben. Like I want to do… the best I can with what I’ve got…giving magic an opportunity to happen.
How might we stay in the game - be resilient, noticing our desolations and yet holding on to our consolations, our bread – and journey to the Good Life together by "playing hurt" along with Rueben and Grammy and Clare and Jeanne?
Jeanne and Clare
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