I have been feeling really down for the last couple of weeks. And then tonight, I realized that others go through this too. And it helped me shift from feeling sorry for myself to having compassion for myself and others who also go through these really tough times, but don't know how to share it.
You're describing something really powerful - that moment when your pain stops feeling like this isolated, shameful thing that sets you apart, and instead becomes a bridge to understanding the shared human experience of suffering.
It sounds like you moved from a place of "why is this happening to me" - which can feel so lonely and maybe even a bit self-critical - to "this is part of what it means to be human, and I'm not alone in this." That recognition didn't erase your pain, but it changed your relationship to it. Instead of turning against yourself, you found a way to hold yourself - and others - with tenderness.
There's something about realizing that the struggle you've been hiding or feeling ashamed of is actually something countless others are quietly carrying too. It can crack open this sense of connection, even in the midst of difficulty. And it seems like you've touched on something important about how much we all carry privately - how many people are going through really hard things but don't have the words or the space to express it.
I want to shift towards a place of offering solace - a space to be heard - a space to be real... no judgement. The worst reaction I heard was from my own wife "we have it better than most, there's no need to feel this way." And that actually added an element of shame. Deepening the funk I had fallen into. It feels as if there's no compassion for someone seen as having 'privilege' which is so damn subjective anyway.
You've just hit on something that causes so much hidden suffering - this idea that if your circumstances look "good enough" from the outside, your pain isn't valid or doesn't deserve compassion. It's like there's this unspoken hierarchy of whose suffering counts.
What your wife said, even if well-intentioned, essentially told you: "Your feelings are wrong. You don't have permission to hurt." And that's devastating, especially from someone you're vulnerable with. It added a second layer of pain - not just the original struggle, but now shame and isolation on top of it. You can't heal what you're not allowed to feel.
The truth is, pain isn't a competition. Depression, loneliness, despair - they don't check your bank account or count your blessings before they show up. Someone can have every external advantage and still be drowning. And when we dismiss that because of "privilege," we're essentially saying: "Not only are you in pain, but you don't even deserve support - you should be grateful."
What you're wanting to create - a space without judgment, where people can be real and heard - that's deeply needed. Because so many people are carrying this double burden: the original pain, plus the shame of feeling like they're not allowed to hurt, like they're ungrateful or weak for struggling when their life looks fine from the outside.
The space you're describing would say: "Your pain is real. You don't need to earn the right to feel it. You deserve compassion, period."
Danger: I feel is that we self-destruct to where the pain is more relatable and the sympathy become deserved.
When you're told your pain doesn't count because your life looks too good, there's this twisted logic that emerges: "Maybe if things were actually bad enough, then I'd be allowed to hurt. Then people would care. Then I'd deserve help."
So you either consciously or unconsciously start sabotaging - relationships, career, health, stability - because destruction feels like the only way to make your pain visible and legitimate. It's like you have to break everything that's good in your life just to earn permission to say "I'm not okay."
And that's absolutely devastating. Because then you're not just suffering - you're actively creating more suffering to validate the suffering you already had. You're tearing down the very things that could support your healing, just to prove you're hurting badly enough to deserve compassion.
It's a kind of proof through destruction. "See? NOW do you believe me? NOW is it bad enough?"
The space you want to create would break that cycle entirely. It would say: "You don't have to lose everything to deserve care. You don't have to hit rock bottom to be heard. Your pain counts right now, exactly as you are, with all your privileges and blessings intact. You can be struggling AND have good things in your life. Both are true."
That permission - to hurt without having to destroy yourself first to prove it - that could literally save lives.
For the last couple of weeks, I've been down. Really down. And the hardest part wasn't the feeling itself - it was the voice that kept saying I had no right to feel it. It was triggered by back pain... the result of trying to do too much. All it took was a moment of getting up, fatigued and moving too quickly.
And my wife and I go back and forth on this extremely unhelpful piece of advice:
"Look at your life. Look at what you have. Other people have it so much worse."
And just like that, the pain doubled. Now I wasn't just struggling - I was struggling wrong. I was ungrateful. Weak. Privileged and complaining about it.
There's pain you're going through, but nobody else can see it. When someone says those words, it's no different than telling you 'your pain isn't real, suck it up.' and just like that, you realize you're alone. Nobody else can feel your pain but you.
But here's what I realized tonight: Pain doesn't check your résumé before it shows up. Depression doesn't care about your blessings. You can have everything that's supposed to make you happy and still be drowning.
And when we tell people their pain doesn't count because their life looks good enough from the outside, we create something dangerous. We push them toward a dark logic: "Maybe if things were actually bad enough, then I'd deserve help. Then people would believe me."
So they start breaking things. Relationships. Careers. Health. Not because they want to, but because destruction feels like the only language that makes pain legitimate.
I don't want that for anyone. Not for myself. Not for you.
What if we created a different space? One where you don't have to lose everything to be heard. Where your pain counts exactly as you are, with all your complexity and contradiction intact. Where "I'm struggling" doesn't need to be followed by a justification.
No competition. No hierarchy of suffering. No earning the right to hurt.
Just: I see you. Your pain is real. You deserve compassion.
If that's what you need to hear today, consider this me saying it. And if you need to say it out loud yourself, I'm listening.
Need a higher threshold for pain? Remind yourself that pain is evil (or weakness) leaving the body. And never complain. Complaints are victim thinking... attracting weakness.
My chronic back pain has returned. At age 47, I'm unable to sit comfortably for any length of time.
The return of the chronic back pain (which mostly subsided for nearly 10 years) seems to accompany periods of higher stress. I feel overworked most of the time, unable to keep up with the obligations, and generally feel a sense of despair for the world at large.
My wife and I seem to often ask 'what's the point.' The era we in certainly feels like we are collectively have hit a new low with a president most us are embarrassed by, mass shootings which seem to have become a weekly daily occurrence, and the disregard for the planet, creating extreme weather putting additional pressure on a system that already feels overextended.
Aha - It's 2025, and I'm revisiting these notes and it's no wonder I feel like I did back in 2017 - we have the same president - only this time, he's doing far more damage.
And I get it now - if I'm feeling this way, so many others are too.
The divide between the rich and the poor only grows wider every year. Perhaps the biggest ache I feel is when I see those who have so much have so little compassion for those who have so little. They seem to feel that they are entitled to the wealth they have accumulated because they worked hard for it, and that those who don't have it didn't work as hard. They have the belief that we all get what we deserve. So if someone has less, then they must deserve less. It's the sense that a person's importance in the world is defined by their wealth. This makes the penalty of poverty not only the inability to live well, but carries a stigmatism that they don't matter as much.
This unfolds as I feel middle class has come to a fork in the road - a smaller portion of the group is heading to fat city, while the other heading to grunge town. Fat city includes freedom to travel around the world, retirement, and richer experiences. Grunge town is a life sentence of daily grind, mediocre meals, and vacations limited to weekend getaways. I feel as if we are stuck on the track to grunge town. Each month is a struggle to earn as much as the month before, and the cost of living only continues to rise. In this model, as a society, there is a constant pressure to earn more each year just to keep up. I sometimes feel as if my wife has an insatiable appetite for the finer things in life (vacations, shopping, and fine dining) that I can't provide. Whether or not it's true, I feel like a failure because she can't have everything she wants.
My inability to earn what our friends earn makes me feel inferior. I tell my wife, I was not such a good investment after all.