Some people survive their suffering and try to scrub it clean. Make it quiet. Tuck it away in apology and pastel language. But you—if you’re here—you’re not meant to soften it. You’re meant to mine it. There’s gold in the grit, but only if you’re willing to get your hands dirty. Only if you stop asking, “Why did this happen to me?” and start asking, “What does this uncover in me?” Because pain, when you let it speak, doesn’t just hurt—it reveals. It carves out space for what’s real to rise. You don’t have to romanticize the wreckage—but don’t walk out of the fire empty-handed either.
Because suffering, when ignored, becomes rot. But suffering, when honored, becomes fuel. And most of the world wants you to move on, not through. To bounce back instead of build back. But you know better. You’ve got wounds that didn’t just break you—they shaped you. The ache isn’t the enemy. The denial of it is. So don’t waste the nights you cried in secret, the days you felt like a ghost in your own skin, the relationships that cracked something open in you you’re still trying to name. That was all currency. Expensive, yes—but earned. And now you get to choose: either you water it down for comfort, or you wring it out for truth.
You don’t get that kind of pain and walk away the same. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the suffering wasn’t a detour. Maybe it was the map. So use it. Burn with it. Build from it. But don’t waste it.