Where It Hurts Is Where You Begin

We live in a world where we are constantly doing. Moving. Clicking. Chatting. Watching. Scrolling. Updating. Performing. It's an endless dance of distraction—one that often masquerades as productivity, relevance, or even purpose. But beneath that surface, there’s something deeper running the show: suffering—that quiet, tight undercurrent that lingers when the noise stops.

What Is Suffering, really?

Suffering isn’t just what happens when life "goes wrong." It's not limited to heartbreaks, illnesses, losses, or catastrophes. Suffering is far more subtle—and far more pervasive.

Suffering is what arises when we habitually deny both pain and pleasure. Yes, both. It’s the disconnection from our full human experience that generates the internal contraction we call suffering. And this disconnection is not accidental. It's the outcome of collective conditioning, inherited programming, cultural expectations, and psychological habits that have trained us to avoid discomfort and suppress joy alike.

We’ve learned, often unconsciously, to fear what is real and present. We label pain as weakness and pleasure as indulgent. We internalize that staying "relevant" or "productive" is a virtue—even if it means we're never still, never fully honest, never truly at peace.

The Denial of Suffering

One of suffering’s most cunning tricks is convincing us that it’s not even there.

We don’t recognize suffering as long as we’re doing something—anything—that keeps the silence at bay. But if you were to strip away your phone, your chats, your background noise, your to-do list... what would you be left with?

Would you feel a sense of grounded stillness? Or would there be an underlying itch, a restlessness, maybe even a low-level panic?

Would you be okay, truly okay, being with just yourself—no stimulation, no agenda, no story to tell?

That discomfort, that urgency to do or think or fix something, is often the whisper of suffering. It’s the inability to sit quietly without your mind spiraling into worry, fear, regret, or mental chatter. It's the reflexive need to distract yourself from your own presence.

The Mind’s Endless Loop

Suffering manifests as incessant mind activity: planning, analyzing, doubting, fearing, rehearsing, regretting. It’s not the presence of thought that creates suffering—it’s our unconscious entanglement with those thoughts.

We don’t just have thoughts; we become them. We identify with them. We let them define our emotional state, our identity, our actions. And when those thoughts are rooted in disconnection—when they arise from the rejection of our own emotional truth—they generate a feedback loop of suffering.

Pain is inevitable in life. So is pleasure. But suffering is different. Suffering is what happens when we chronically resist both.

When we suppress pain, we don’t eliminate it—we internalize it. When we deny ourselves pleasure, we don’t become ascetic saints—we become hollow. Over time, this habitual rejection turns into a deep inner fragmentation.

The Dual Nature of Reality

Duality is the essence of this planet. We live on a plane where opposites are not only present but necessary: day and night, hot and cold, stillness and motion, contraction and expansion, heartbreak and healing, pain and pleasure.

To be alive is to dance with these polarities. And yet, so many of us are at war with half of the equation. We want light without dark, gain without loss, joy without vulnerability. But that’s not how Earth works. That’s not how the soul evolves.

To elevate, to truly raise our vibration and awaken, we must embrace both ends of the spectrum. Not just tolerate them—embrace them. The contraction of the heart makes space for its expansion. Pain, when felt honestly, births deeper pleasure. Night reveals the brilliance of day.

We must stop numbing ourselves, stop denying that we are in suffering. Because as long as we pretend we’re fine, we can’t begin the real work. Acceptance is the portal. Acknowledging that you are suffering is not weakness. It is the first step toward alchemy.

When you finally stop resisting and say, “Yes—I am in suffering,” something opens. The healing begins. And in that surrender, something sacred is revealed: there is a purpose behind your suffering.

Not punishment. Not karma in a linear sense. But purpose—a coded invitation to awaken.

The Path Out of Suffering Is Through It

The antidote to suffering is not more distraction, more action, or more self-improvement.

The antidote is presence. Radical, honest, courageous presence—with whatever is arising inside you, even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially if it’s uncomfortable.

Can you allow yourself to feel your pain, without numbing it?

Can you allow yourself to feel your joy, without guilt or shame?

Can you stop running long enough to see where your suffering truly stems from—not just intellectually, but experientially?

This doesn’t mean we abandon our lives, our responsibilities, or our passions. It means we become aware of the internal landscape from which we act. It means we stop trying to escape our humanity, and instead, start inhabiting it.

A Final Reflection

There is nothing wrong with watching shows, scrolling online, or staying busy. These things aren't inherently unhealthy. But if you need them to avoid the inner silence—if the thought of being with yourself without them feels like doom—then it's worth asking:

What are you avoiding?

And more importantly:

Are you willing to stop running, just for a moment, and listen to what your suffering is trying to tell you?

Because if you do, you may discover something unexpected.

Not despair.
Not failure.
Not punishment.

But a sacred invitation—to reclaim your full range of human experience. To embrace the pain and the pleasure. To rise, not despite suffering, but through it.

“Suffering is not in the pain we feel, but in the parts of ourselves we refuse to feel”

“The Gate Is in the Ache"

I searched for joy in golden light,
In rising suns and stars at night,
But every time I reached to hold,
The silence whispered: “Go where it’s cold.”

I turned from pain, I shut the door,
I filled my days, I asked for more.
More noise, more speed, more things to do—
Anything but sit with what is true.

But sorrow waited, soft and still,
A quiet ache I could not kill.
It did not scream; it did not chase—
Just stayed behind my hurried pace.

Till one day, I could run no more.
My soul collapsed upon the floor.
And in that crumpled, broken shape,
I found the gate is in the ache.

Not punishment, nor wrath, nor sin—
But life itself, turned deep within.
And in the space where heart had torn,
A truer self was being born.

Now I do not seek to flee,
From burning pain or ecstasy.
I hold them both with open hands—
For that’s where wholeness understands.

So if you find your soul’s grown dim,
If joy feels far and peace won’t swim,
Just stop. Be still. And you may see:
The wound you fear is your key.