chanmyay pain doubt wrong practice keeps circling my sits, like i’m failing something basic again

The clock reads 2:18 a.m., and a persistent, dull ache in my right knee is competing for my attention—not enough to force a shift, but plenty to destroy my calm. The floor feels significantly harder than it did yesterday, an observation that makes no logical sense but feels entirely authentic. The room is silent except for the distant sound of a motorbike that lingers on the edge of hearing. I am sweating slightly, despite the air not being particularly warm. The mind wastes no time in turning this physical state into a technical failure.

The Anatomy of Pain-Plus-Meaning
The term "Chanmyay pain" arises as a technical tag for the discomfort. I didn’t ask for it; it simply arrives. The sensation becomes "pain-plus-meaning."

I start questioning my technique: is my noting too sharp or too soft? Am I feeding the pain by focusing on it so relentlessly? The raw pain is nothing compared to the complicated mental drama that has built up around it.

The "Chanmyay Doubt" Loop
I try to focus on the bare data: the warmth, the tightness, the rhythmic pulsing. Then, uncertainty arrives on silent feet, pretending to be a helpful technical question. "Chanmyay doubt." Maybe my viriya (effort) is too aggressive. Or maybe I'm being lazy, or I've completely misinterpreted the entire method.

I worry that I missed a key point in the teachings years ago, and I've been building my practice on a foundation of error ever since.

That specific doubt is far more painful than the throbbing in my joint. I start to adjust my back, catch the movement, and then adjust again because I'm convinced I'm sitting crooked. My muscles seize up, reacting to the forced adjustments with a sense of protest. I feel a knot of anxiety forming in my chest, a physical manifestation of my doubt.

Communal Endurance vs. Private Failure
On retreat, the discomfort seemed easier to bear because it was shared with others. Back then, the pain was "just pain"; now, it feels like "my failure." It feels like a secret exam that I am currently bombing. I can't stop the internal whisper that tells me Chanmyay Sayadaw I'm reinforcing the wrong habits. The idea that I am reinforcing old patterns instead of uprooting them.

The Trap of "Proof" and False Relief
I read a passage on the dangers of over-striving, and my mind screamed, "See? This is you!" It felt like a definitive verdict: "You have been practicing incorrectly this whole time." That thought brings a strange mixture of relief and panic. I'm glad to have an answer, but terrified of how much work it will take to correct. I am sitting here in the grip of both emotions, my teeth grinding together. I relax it. It tightens again five breaths later.

The Shifting Tide of Discomfort
The pain shifts slightly, which is more annoying than if it had stayed constant. I wanted it to be predictable; I wanted something solid to work with. Instead, it pulses, fades, and returns, as if it’s intentionally messing with me. I attempt to meet it with equanimity, but I cannot. I notice the failure. Then I wonder if noticing the failure is progress or just more thinking.

“Chanmyay doubt” is not dramatic; it is a low, persistent hum asking, “Are you sure?” I offer no reply, primarily because I am genuinely unsure. My breath is shallow, but I don’t correct it. Experience has taught me that "fixing" the moment only creates a new layer of artificiality.

The clock ticks. I don’t look at it this time. A small mercy. My limb is losing its feeling, replaced by the familiar static of a leg "falling asleep." I remain, though a part of me is already preparing to shift. It’s all very confused. The "technical" and the "personal" have fused into a single, uncomfortable reality.

I don’t resolve anything tonight. The pain doesn’t teach me a lesson. The doubt doesn’t disappear. I am just here, acknowledging that "not knowing" is also the path, even if I don't have a strategy for this mess. Still breathing, still uncomfortable, still here. That, at least, is the truth of the moment.