i who have never known pain - a companion piece
Reflections and Expansions on concepts explored in my last essay and Pain as it pertains to me.
oh…another substack post? like, again?
Sometimes, after having written a thing, I wonder if I said the right things, if I should have said anything at all? Did I articulate myself well? Do I sound smart enough to be here? Was it a waste of time to write and was it an embarrassment to have published what I wrote? I do wonder. There are so many moments of questioning whether I truly have the range to talk about a given topic. About anything, tbh. Cause I don’t think I always do. I feel very self-conscious of the gaps in my knowledge, and I know there are so many types of intelligence and so many categories of things to know. I feel shy, sometimes, to express anything really.
Since launching my Substack in late September,
I have felt sooo inspired!
I write a lot more lately than I did pre-SS. My essays average like 3k because brevity is not my forte, but I’m proud of what I do put out and pleased to be doing this on the regular.
Overall, I feel like my attention span has lengthened. I am reading more books because I want to connect my ideas to more concepts beyond my limited worldview. In fact, it’s so fun to read something and be reminded of another book or another movie or a real-life article. Last year I barely read three books when I meant to read 24, and a little more than a month into 2025 I’m on my third with my fourth and fifth already lined up.
I’ve got plans on applying to grad school next year because I find myself so captivated with the subject of haunted girlhood and wonder in what ways can I take a more academic approach to what it is I’d like to say.
When it comes to what I post, what has been working for me is to group a few posts around an idea or theme. My last few posts have been on pain. Prior to this “pain” series, I was writing about fantasy. Before that, I discussed memory.
Here’s a quick overview on the Pain Segment:
flavors of pain - a cheeky story about my experience voluntarily experimenting with S&M in my early twenties
the art of suffering - an essay about my observation of what constitutes a “good victim” in a society that does not default to empathy when reacting to the troubles of others
all the times i dreamt of dying - basically “the art of suffering pt ii” - continued thoughts on the way pain seems to be made a personality trait or an aesthetic
I’m writing this as a companion piece to #3 because following a recent conversation, I would like to talk through my thought process behind it. I was privately asked to qualify my own relationship to pain, and invited to consider I may lack the experience needed to do this subject any justice. I don’t wanna discount that there could be some truth in this, so i’m working through my own feelings and my logic on the matter. I would like to expand on some of what I said. And sure, I could just edit the original post, but I think it’s worthwhile to make a new one. So here we are!
Once again, here’s the essay in question if you wanna read it first, but there’s a summary below if not.
all the times i dreamt of dying
Dearest Reader, hi! this essay is a continuation of last week's, an introspective on how the romanticization of pain is embedded in culture & society. continuing on that subject, this essay explore the ramifications on a more personal level and how it manifests in media. please be advised that this post will mention:
Quick Recap of Last Week’s Post
When I was younger, I was a sad and depressed child. I was in a lot of emotional pain because I grew up in an abusive household, and to top it off I was bullied a lot in school. Outwardly, it may not have seemed obvious that my family was a mess, as now-adults it becomes glaringly obvious the ways in which my siblings and I were really done a disservice by our parents. As a sad pre-teen girl, I was very quiet and kept to myself how I was feeling. I didn’t really confide in anyone; I just thought a lot about dying. I don’t think I was uniquely depressed, of course not, I don’t even think I was depressed in a more “urgent” sort of way despite my suicidal ideation. Especially since I wasn’t that committed to dying, anyway. I was just sad and existing and being bullied at school and thinking a lot about how to be “out” of that feeling.1
My depression wasn’t an identity that I latched onto, but I know that teens have and continue to establish online communities around being miserable. After reading up on the morbid background of a recent school shooter, I became more aware of specific internet groups (cults, low-key) that are predatory and violent. Naturally, it made me think a bit about my past as a depressed teen online. I blogged openly about all my feelings back then when I was young, with little regard for my safety. Doing so sometimes made me shiny to online predators, though my experiences were not the worst they could’ve been given some of the horror stories I’ve heard.
I don’t think it’s a stretch, looking back, to frame some of what I experienced as “grooming.” Of course, when it’s online, there’s an extent to which it IS self-inflicted. I feel a lot of compassion for my younger self when I think about my willingness to put myself repeatedly in a position to be uncomfortable or have my boundaries disregarded by strangers. It’s not a situation where I see myself as the poster girl of victimhood, but when I think about the role those experiences played in shaping who I am today, I am not sure I would opt to go through some of those things again. I don’t think trauma made my life better just because I somehow still made the best of it.
When I think about the sort of online communities that tend to gain traction, now and then, there are those nihilistic doomer cult groups that promote active harm, like the one the aforementioned shooter was part of. And then there are other communities that promote harm in a more passive way: via the ‘2013 Tumblr girl’ aesthetic. Teen & tween girls congregate online to enable the worst of each other since being moody and melancholy is presented in such a way where the woman is still [sexually] desirable—she’s just misunderstood. For this reason, her position as afflicted but still beautiful (and in fact even more righteous or intelligent than her peers as a result of it) is seen as aspirational.
After introducing this idea of the aestheticized Sad Girl, I then turned my attention to the way that pain is seen as a “good” thing in various forms of art. Sometimes it is beautified, sometimes it is romanticized, sometimes it is deemed as worthwhile because of what it can offer, sometimes it is seen as a necessary means to a justified end. My previous essay already emphasized this idea that pain is frequently regarded as necessary, inevitable and healthy or good:
The idea that pain can or should be endured with grace, poise, and virtue sets the stage for both its romanticization and the glorification of violence, the existence of which is commonly excused as necessary, natural even. All these narratives weave together to arrive at a simple logic: Pain may be inevitable, but whenever possible it is better to be its deliverer than recipient, and should this not be an option, there are still ways to survive and ways one’s anguish can be reaped for great reward. — The Art of SufferingAudrey Wollen created a photo series in 2014 centered around “sad girls” - but her images, in my opinion, were too posed and polished to be radical
Lora Mathis created a photo series in 2015 about “weaponizing” vulnerability but her images failed to consider why romanticizing violence isn’t the best idea.
Whereas online spaces create room to romanticize the sad girl and her physical or emotional hardship, I have found that horror, a genre that is not shy about depicting women as victims, is less keen to romanticize their suffering.2 Horror films don’t always default to presenting female pain in a way that seems “too beautiful.” While the internet spits out images of girls who still look pretty as they cry, whose suffering is validated by the viewer and meant to be regarded as relatable, horror media dismisses the directive to cry politely and is more blunt in its depiction of pain. I tend to find myself drawn to its honesty and drawn to the safety of experiencing sadness or anxiety in safe doses, the same way people go to amusement parks for the unthreatening thrill of the rides.
In the film Martyrs, a woman is subjected unwillingly to extreme physical pain (torture) for the purpose of unlocking spiritual enlightenment, which she obtains [= her pain is validated, in one sense, by this accomplishment.]
In this film, the woman doesn’t die, and her pain is external and inflicted by her captors. However, her suffering does comes with a reward—something intangible, rare, and awe-inspiring. But her fate is by no means enviable. The reward, precious and coveted as it may be, comes at great cost. The film is brutal and unflinching in its depictions of violence and trauma. Because the pain is so extreme, it is not something to envy or replicate.
The protagonist of Martyrs is not a Beautiful Sad Girl, a woman of envy, but a victim of immense cruelty. Her captors are convinced that this method is the most effective way of achieving their desired goal—but how do we, the viewers, know that to be true? Could there be another way, a way with less pain, or none at all? We are not even so sure of what the prize truly is—the film’s final frames lead us only to imagine.
Her plight is by no means aspirational nor it is advertised as such through the film’s unfolding of what transpires.
In the film Saint Maud, a woman struggles to find purpose in her emotional grief and shame through religion, resulting in a spiritual psychosis that leads her to suicide.
In this film, we follow a woman whose pain is internal. We aren’t privy to the depths of her past—only that she harbors an intense guilt that she is looking to absolve herself of through spirituality and penitence. We follow her in the aftermath, at the stage where she is struggling to convert her negative experiences into faith and motivation to make a meaningful difference in the world.
When her beliefs are challenged and her “kindness” is rejected by a terminally ill patient whose soul she was hoping to save, Maud spirals. Rather than dealing with or confronting her pain, she mistakenly concludes that perhaps she needs to undergo greater suffering in order to purify her soul, strengthen her resolve and connection to God, and become more effective at bringing others to salvation. (This relates to my previous idea of pain as a sort of currency.)
This protagonist finds that the stakes of what she needs to pay to feel “better” only ever gets higher because her pain is not conducive to growth by itself—we are witness to a woman who has clearly never given herself any space to heal. Failing to realize this, she dies in flames. Her ending is not aspirational. If it is ever “beautiful,” her suffering, it is only in a brief and tragic moment of delusion (hers).
Social and religious narratives insist the ability to withstand pain is a virtue, and thus a worthy means to self-improvement. Though in some cases this may be true, I personally challenge the idea that it is the best means to that end, and I do not support upholding pain as inherently and always necessary or healthy to experience.
what if it hurts in the good way?
In recognizing that maybe I am speaking from a place of privilege / ignorance / naivety, I suppose it is good to think through what it is that I mean when I raise these questions discussing, “When is pain good?”
Firstly, I will admit that I did not really make a clear and consistent distinction between different types of pain in these essays. Really, I think what I am speaking on most is the idea of trauma, which is the end result of most types of pain: emotional, physical, psychological, etc. So understand that when I say “suffering” or “pain” it is really the metaphysical & psychological damage that I am referring to the most.
maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s trauma…
Trauma, to me, is subjective, because not everyone handles the same situations equally. Left untreated, trauma can compound, which means that a small incident, if not acknowledged and recovered from, can create behaviors and patterns that exacerbate how poorly future incidents are handled. It is also true that objectively “small” incidents can become traumatic if they occur at an unnatural or extreme frequency, intensity, or duration. For example, if a rain drop falls on your head, this is arguably not a crisis. Yet Chinese water torture is an effective torture method because it subjects a person to a repetitious, unpredictable dripping sensation for an indefinite length of time.
Trauma is an emotional response to a terrible event like an accident, crime, natural disaster, physical or emotional abuse, neglect, experiencing or witnessing violence, death of a loved one, war, and more. Immediately after the event, shock and denial are typical. Longer term reactions include unpredictable emotions, flashbacks, strained relationships, and even physical symptoms like headaches or nausea.
When a person is actively living through a traumatic event, they may not even recognize it for what it is at the time. Maybe only in hindsight, maybe only through exposure to a perspective outside of their own, do they realize they have suffered. Maybe they never realize, and remain in denial, and the denial is what makes it possible for them to move forward at all. But my idea of what it means to suffer finds its core in the acknowledgment that trauma is a frequent factor in my own life and the lives of others, and most people as far as I can tell are often unwillingly subjected to it (and are not always at fault for its existence, either).
A common internet quip is, “This isn’t the Oppression Olympics!” Which is a simple way of saying that it is unproductive to compare trauma. It’s not always an easy or obvious thing to scale. Like, is physical pain more ‘real’ or valid than emotional pain? Is the trauma of fighting for one’s survival worse than the trauma of navigating grief if it’s without the additional worry of money or shelter? Even if you wanted to make a concession like that, it still isn’t always comforting to be told that “others have it worse.”
Imagining for a moment that there is some “universal unit of measurement for trauma,” even if my pain was at a 3 out of 10 and yours at an 8, knowing it can be higher for me (and is for you) would not change that 3 is still the greatest pain I have known to date. Relative to me, Level 3 Trauma is My Personal Worst because if the ideal score is 0 then anything over 0 is a problem—because there is no good trauma.
I cannot be expected to imagine new ways of suffering to comfort myself with gratitude for not experiencing while actively recovering from or enduring pain. It’s an unrealistic expectation for anybody. I can only heal from that which I have been subjected to, and move forward. And perhaps when I am at level 2 or 1 or 0, I will be in a better position to help bring you down to a 7 or a 5 or… a 3. In the meantime, my responsibility would be not to ignore or dismiss your experiences, and certainly not to contribute to the pain you experience if this can be in any way avoided.
However, I would like to recognize that post-traumatic growth3 is a real thing. Sometimes people are exposed to catastrophe and they overcome / survive these experiences feeling more confident, closer to their communities, with a better self-understanding, etc. These are legitimate possibilities that can result from exposure to trauma! Still, I stand by my belief that positive growth doesn’t make trauma suddenly not traumatic, and positive growth certainly isn’t enough of a regular outcome for trauma to be glorified, romanticized and/or dismissed as much as it is. I would also argue it is not pain itself that brings growth, but healing from said pain.
In fiction and proverbs and motivational tales, trauma is too often downplayed and accepted because of what people are able to do or create in spite of it. But I remain unconvinced that it’s healthy to pretend it can be converted into motivation or art in every case at zero cost to the individual and/or without any further targeted effort to heal.
Basically: I just don’t think it’s good to romanticize trauma!
the courage to heal
In this mini series on the subject of misery, I have not delved too much into what Healing and Growth entail. They take so many forms, ultimately. I only know that these things are not linear, that they are not always neat and trim. And I know they are not always beautiful. There’s an irony in that, this idea that there is a beauty in pain yet an ugliness in healing.
On the subject of my own healing, and my own trauma, I know I have much work ahead of me. My flaws trace back to the childhood home I still reside in today, back to the familial dysfunction family my siblings and I were mired and raised in. Because of all there is a comfort I still find in the familiarity of chaos, just as there’s a traceable logic to how I became a masochist and came to marvel, in my own way, at the variations of what it means to be broken.
My growth has come slowly, in learning first to turn off my inclination to self-harm in ways not easily recognizable as such, in learning to name and honor my emotions as I come to understand them, in finding a way to voice what I need instead of neglecting myself.
These are not showy and impressive triumphs. I know that. For I have not lived the life of a woman who had to fight for much materially. I am well aware that I have not suffered great losses or serial misfortunes. But to live, so it seems, is to suffer. And I know that there is more to live, which means I know there is more, so much more, to learn.
I think it’s important to pause here to acknowledge that my initial essay does use “pain” as a catch-all for the many ways there are to be hurt. I was thinking a lot about emotional pain as I was writing, but also about trauma in general. I suppose it would be fair to admit that I don’t…have the “worst” life, minus the whole “my mother was crazy and my father was just there” toxic family dynamic thing. I think that’s the bulk of what I have sustained into my adulthood, and there are so many other trials of life that I cannot speak on with more than sympathy. But, my whole thesis here is: I don’t think pain is worth celebrating, or romanticizing, even if it leads to growth. Because I think growth should, is and can be possible without being on the edge of losing your sanity. I suppose growth will always be uncomfortable; that’s fine and reasonable. But pain just doesn’t need to be a prerequisite, I think. And if it is, I don’t know that I fully believe it to always be worth it in the end.
I did fail to remark on the way that a woman’s pain is frequently eroticized in film, which is another problem entirely, but if I have to quickly explain this away, I would say those films are made from a more sadistic vantage point, where violence is seen as powerful and desirable to wield. In that way, it is no different from the messages society already sends about who is a “good victim” — the eroticized victims of violence are not seen as credible or worthy of empathy and this was true before they were ever victims anyway.
“Negative experiences can spur positive change, including a recognition of personal strength, the exploration of new possibilities, improved relationships, a greater appreciation for life, and spiritual growth. We see this in people who have endured war, natural disasters, bereavement, job loss and economic stress, serious illnesses and injuries.” — Tedeschi, Richard G. “Growth after Trauma.” Harvard Business Review, 1 July 2020, hbr.org/2020/07/growth-after-trauma.
Most people DO relate to PTG, and look back at some of the worst times in their lives thankful for where it got them.
Do I personally relate to this? No. Do I think trauma stops a person’s life in its tracks? Oh, of course not. My simple belief is that trauma is not necessary for growth—and if this sounds like an “obvious” opinion to have it’s because many people actually do—but I am genuinely happy for all those who have found it.