life as poems 'n letters

I once received a meme from someone that read,
“Life is suffering.”

Initially, I chuckled. “Does it have to be?” was my first thought.
It had a gloomy, somewhat dramatic, sound. Like something you’d say when things aren’t going your way.

Months later, nonetheless, I heard a podcast—Dr. Anna Lembke on The Diary of a CEO. She discussed discomfort, dopamine, and how our never-ending quest for pleasure is actually making us more miserable.

All of a sudden, the meme lost its humor.
It seemed to be true.
Not in a depressing manner.

However, in a realistic, truthful, and oddly consoling manner. It’s a surrender to reality that actually makes life easier, rather than a life sentence.

Honestly, I don’t believe I’ve ever experienced real suffering.
Not in the manner that some have.

I’m pretty sure I’ve experienced burnout, anxiety, and heartbreak. And whenever I feel like I’ve reached my breaking point, I think about people who have suffered through war, toxic families, or abusive relationships—people who’ve been traumatized by things far worse than anything I’ve gone through.

Oddly enough, I still feel somewhat lucky. Despite the pain, I still have the ability to move forward. At the same time, I don’t want to discount the very real and deep pain that so many people carry.

I don’t want to discount the very real, deep pain many people carry.

But perhaps that’s why this idea compelled to me so much.
Because I’ve long associated comfort with a “good life.”
with a positive feeling. keeping oneself safe.
What if, however, life isn’t supposed to be joyful all the time?
What if aliveness—rather than comfort—is the end goal?

And sometimes allowing yourself to be hurt is the only way to feel alive.

Pain is something we’ve been taught to fear.

We learn to be stable, to stop crying, and to move on from our early years. We internalize the idea that something must be wrong or, worse, that we are weak if it hurts.

As a result, when we are sad, we become anxious. We scroll. We become numb. We sprint. We seek solace as if it were a remedy.

Here’s the thing, though:
Life is not the antithesis of pain.
It’s life.
Pleasure does not lead to growth. Ease does not equate to depth.
Pretending everything is fine does not lead to real connection—raw, vulnerable connection.

Not all suffering is destruction.
It can be subtle at times.
Sometimes the silent pain is the signal that this moment is important.
This individual is important.
This is a real loss.

It eliminates all phoniness.
It draws your attention to what’s left.
It causes you to want to safeguard what is genuine.

At that point, the reality of “life is suffering” starts to feel honest rather than tragic.

We become more vulnerable the more we try to avoid suffering.
Avoiding discomfort is not how we develop resilience.
By sitting in it, breathing through it, and discovering who we are inside of it.

You learn patience through suffering.
You learn empathy from it.
It teaches you to recognize your limits.
What you can put up with.
what you are no longer able to carry.

In the midst of chaos, it teaches you how to be with yourself.
And to still choose to stay.

But what does embracing suffering really look like?

It isn’t poetic. It’s not a movie.
It’s only little, tangible things:

stating, “I’m not okay today,” without offering an apology.

allowing tears to fall for no apparent reason.

enduring heartbreak rather than acting as though it never occurred.

Not because you deserved it, but because your body demanded it.

choosing to sit quietly rather than grab your phone.

It’s not a show.
It’s consent.

to be unpolished. to be destroyed.

I’m not here to glamorize pain.
I’m here to say: pain will come.
And when it does—you don’t have to run.

You don’t have to love the pain.
But you can honor what it gave you.

And maybe one day, you’ll look back and say:

“I suffered. But I didn’t go numb.
I lived all the way through.”