Was My Suffering “Worth It”?
After all, my experiences shaped the person I am today
There are many paths to healing. Sounds nice and all. Like something a wise old sage in a temple somewhere would say. If you throw that sentence at anyone, most will immediately nod and agree with you.
Yet, if you dig a little deeper, you’d be surprised by how few people truly understand and follow that little tidbit of wisdom.
In truth, there’s actually an uncomfortable amount of stereotypes about how one is and isn’t supposed to heal. You get these ideas through a number of different ways, often without being aware of it, like family, social media and religion. I won’t lie, over the years, I’ve had to confront many stereotypes I’d unknowingly had instilled in my head. It was necessary for my own sake as I was recovering, and it was necessary for my relationship with my father as I supported him through his own struggles.
The last thing someone dealing with difficulties needs, is to be told how they’re supposed to feel and react to them.
Recently, I had an experience being on the other end of a stereotype. And it goes hand in hand with a very familiar sentence:
“Everything happens for a reason. If you hadn’t been through those experiences, you couldn’t have achieved what you have done.”
I was visiting family and having a discussion with my younger brother. Somehow, we got into a debate about mental health and I was getting a bit huffy and bringing up some of my own stories to prove a point. I don’t even remember the details anymore. They were drowned out by what my brother said next;
“Yes, but if you hadn’t gone through these things, then would you have gotten to where you are now? Would you be as strong as you are now? So wasn’t it worth it?”
I almost choked on my own tongue.
All the sleepless nights spent crying alone.
The long sleeves hiding the scars from self-harming.
The “friends” who terrified me with their criminal records, the drugs that were passed around and their tragic, violent stories.
The unwanted hands touching my private places when I was too lonely, too afraid, to stop them.
Waking up in the hospital as my arm was being stitched closed.
The years spent on a therapist’s couch, trying to put myself back together.
…worth it?
I had to leave the room before I started yelling or crying or both.
My story belongs to me. No one can live my life but me. Doesn’t that mean I get to decide what I learn from it?
It wasn’t the first time I had heard those words. I’d heard people say that very sentence, “It was worth it,” plenty of times before. Philosophers, therapists or just your average person who’d been through shit and come out the other end. It’s a very common conclusion to come to, in order to make your peace with the past.
Heck, there’s even a famous quote by the very first man to truly dive into the complexity of the human mind, Sigmund Freud, on the matter:
“One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.”
This may ring true for some people, however, it’s not a conclusion I’ve come to.
Let’s examine the parts of the statement that supposedly made all my experiences, “worth it”.
“You’re stronger for what you’ve been through.”
“You got something wonderful in return.”
“Your struggles made you who you are today.”
Okay, great, sounds good so far. Now let’s flip it around.
The pain I experienced seemingly made me stronger and more resilient. Wiser and kinder too. My struggles led me on the path to this great place I am now. That’s wonderful!
So if the rewards are so great, why don’t we put someone else through it? I mean, based on how I turned out, surely it’s worth it.
Right?
Let’s take it to the extreme.
A kid grows up in a warzone. He plays in the bomb craters, doesn’t blink at the sight of tanks and trucks filled with weapons rolling by and falls asleep to the sound of artillery.
If ever another war breaks out, that kid as a grown-up, will survive. He doesn’t panic the same way someone who grew up safe and sound in a city in a first-world country would. He knows when to hide, how to ration food and won’t be too terrified and stressed to sleep.
He’s resilient. He’s used to it. He’s “strong”.
So why don’t we send our kids to live in warzones? Isn’t that strength and resilience worth it?
Or take a less absurd, but far more common scenario.
A little girl is neglected by her parents. They’re not verbally or physically abusive towards her, they’re just… never there for her. She has to rely on herself to cook dinner, take herself to school, and handle her own problems, because Mum and Dad aren’t there to help her.
But it made her independent! More responsible! She knows how to look after herself! Lots of adults can’t even manage that much!
So wasn’t it worth it? The children who are actually living in warzones and those adults who have to live with the consequenses of childhood neglect, might disagree.
I can already hear the defensive cries; “That’s not what I meant!”
I know. I’m not attacking anyone. That’s not the point I’m trying to make.
Does surviving suffering make you “strong”? I’m not sure it’s healthy to think so.
I do not agree with the thinking that “your suffering made you strong,” and I don’t believe I’m stronger than the next person for what I went through.
For one thing, it suggests that those who haven’t suffered, or those who’ve been through the same things as me, but didn’t survive, are “weak”.
For another, to me it suggests that suffering is a good thing.
A certain familiar quote comes to mind:
“That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.”
Entire libraries of songs have been written about that sentence.
But then, what does that mean for people who have suffered?
Should a bullied boy thank his bullies for making him “strong”?
Should a girl neglected by her parents thank them for making her “independent”?
Should an abuse survivor thank his abuser for making him “resilient”?
Neglect and trauma can teach you something, this is true. But it’s not necessary to suffer for those lessons.
A boy can learn to be kind if he’s taught to appreciate different people as they are. A girl can learn to be independent, if she’s praised for being helpful and responsible.
We can all become perfectly capable, well-adjusted human beings, without having to go through trauma, if the people in our lives choose to support, teach and guide us.
We don’t learn from pain because it’s necessary, but because the option to learn through love was taken away from us.
People may find value in their experiences. That’s a personal choice, and can be part of the healing process. But it’s not something you can do for another person. Nor should you.
People process things differently. So naturally, they would also react differently, they would come to different conclusions about what they’ve experienced.
My brother was probably coming from a place of trying to see the positives. That’s fair. When confronted with something uncomfortable and frightening, it’s natural human behaviour to try and turn it into something less uncomfortable, something positive, something that makes it easier to live with. Especially when it concerns the reality of a loved one’s lived experience. I understand that gut reaction, I‘ve felt it myself plenty of times.
But that reaction is not helpful. On the contrary, it can be really hurtful.
The things I’ve survived and the path it led me on, gave me many good things, my brother was right about that. I wouldn’t trade the life I have now for anything.
That’s not the same as saying “it was worth it”.
Some will be comfortable saying that. To some, it can bring them to a place of acceptance, give them a sense of peace. I fully support the people who have made that choice in how to move forward.
But that’s not how I’ve moved forward. And I could go into detailed explanations about how it feels too much like trying to minimize or romanticize what I went through, but really, I don’t need to. That sounds like I’m trying to defend myself, like I’ve done something wrong and I haven’t.
The only explanation I need to give is; “I’m not comfortable framing my experiences that way.”
If you found value in your experiences, if that’s what works for you, then that’s great. That doesn’t mean everyone else has to. We don’t need to have the same views, but I hope we can at least agree how trying to assign value to someone’s pain on their behalf, can be insulting, triggering, or even re-traumatizing.
When someone is telling you about a difficult experience, they’re handing you a very delicate part of themselves, and it should be treated as such.
There are many ways to heal, many words that help us frame our experience and move forward. To forgive or not. To be angry or not. To assign value or not. That’s a choice no one has the right to take away from you or force on you. You, and only you, can do that.
Respecting all those different ways and words, should be a common courtesy we all extend to each other. Maybe we could all stand to think twice about how our values and views affect our reactions. Particularly when someone we care about is confiding in us.
