“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
— Rumi
I made this video because I think we’re all a little afraid of pain – not just feeling it ourselves, but witnessing it in others. Somewhere along the way, we’ve learned to keep a distance, as if suffering might somehow ‘rub off.’ This has always struck me as one of the great ironies of being human. I’ve felt both the loneliness of being in pain and the discomfort of not knowing how to show up for someone else’s.
So, I wanted to open up this conversation and remind us all that connecting, even in pain, is how we find our way back to each other.
When pain makes us run
Look, here’s something we don’t talk about much: that gut reaction we get around someone who’s really hurting. You know what I mean? Whether it’s physical pain or the deep emotional kind of pain – grief, depression, heartbreak – there’s this… pull to step back. We might call it ‘negative energy,’ ‘bad vibes,’ or whatever, but let’s be real – we act like their pain is something contagious, as if, by standing too close, their pain, their suffering will latch onto us.
You know what really got me thinking about all this? About a decade ago, I was lying in a hospital room after this brutal 9-hour cancer surgery, hooked up to so many tubes I looked like some medical marionette puppet. I swear, there wasn’t a part of my body that wasn’t strung up with something. The morphine drip was doing its thing, making it feel like way too much work just to keep my eyes open.
So there I am, eyes closed, floating in and out, when I hear this rustling at the door and this familiar voice whispering:
“No, no, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want to see her this way.”
Here’s the thing – I had no clue how I looked. Among all the medical equipment surrounding me, the one thing missing was a mirror (probably for the best, right?). But what I did know was that voice – it belonged to someone I considered a close friend. She’d even brought me a homemade sandwich (which, honestly, was a brilliant idea). But she was absolutely terrified to see me.
And it hit me: What is this terror? What is this fear? I’m still me – the same person who was just laughing over dinner at my house yesterday. But something about seeing me in pain, seeing me vulnerable and hurting, it was too much for her.
But here’s what fascinates me: although my cancer struggle was not an easy road in any regard, it didn’t even come close to the emotional pain I experienced prior to this diagnosis. And nobody was terrified by it at all. Funny how that works, right?
You see, before the cancer, I was carrying something much heavier – something nobody could see. On the outside, I was all smiles and jokes, the life of the party; in other words, I distracted myself the best I could. But inside… man, every night, after a glass of wine, I’d close my eyes and pray not to wake up. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to live – it’s just that I couldn’t bear this enormous emotional pain any longer. It was suffocating me. I didn’t know how to deal… and honestly, neither did anyone else.
I tried to reach out… I made these timid attempts to share what was happening inside with my close friends, but you know how it goes. Either I felt like no one would really understand, or I’d catch that look in their eyes (not terror this time, just… mild discomfort) and I’d quickly wrap it up. No one ran from the room then. No one whispered about not wanting to see me that way. They just… shifted the conversation to something lighter, something easier. Like the weather. Or weekend plans. Anything but the struggles I was trying to share.
I’ve seen it countless times since then, both in myself and others. It’s not just about being uncomfortable or not knowing what to say. It’s deeper than that. It’s like our ancient brain kicks in, treating emotional pain like it’s a physical threat. Why? Because deep down, we’re scared as hell of pain – especially the kind we can’t fix with a bandage.
The weird thing is, this fear actually shows how connected we all are. We’re not really afraid of their pain – we’re afraid of feeling our own. Of going into our own dark places. And that’s the thing about being human that nobody really wants to admit.
Why do we run? Understanding it doesn’t excuse it
You know what’s wild? After that hospital experience, I started digging into this stuff, trying to understand why we do this – why we pull back from pain like it’s contagious. And here’s the thing: there’s something primal that happens in our gut when we see someone drowning in pain. I mean primal primal. We’re talking deep in our bones, ancient-brain stuff. It kicks in before we can even think about it.
Sure, this explains a lot, but it does it give us a free pass? I don’t know, but it helps explain what happened with that friend who couldn’t even look at me in the hospital, or those uncomfortable shifts in conversation when I tried to share my emotional pain. That wasn’t just them being awkward. That was their ancient brain (you know, the one that kept our ancestors alive through endless winters and hungry predators) reading the situation and flashing ‘DANGER’ in big red letters.
Here’s the thing: back in the raw beginnings of humanity, when we were living in small groups, surviving by the skin of our teeth, anything that weakened the group was a real threat. Physical wounds, sickness, even deep grief – it could literally mean death for everyone. Not just the person suffering, but the whole tribe. That instinct got burned into our DNA like a survival manual passed down through generations.
So now, thousands of years later, when we see someone breaking down (whether it’s physical or emotional) something in us still whispers ‘stay back, stay safe.’ Like their suffering might reach out and pull us under too. It’s not logical, right? I mean, you can’t catch depression like you catch a cold. But that primal voice doesn’t know that. It just knows what it’s known for millennia: protect yourself from anything that might drag you down.
But here’s the messed up part – how can I say this? The wild thing is, this reflex that once protected us? In today’s world, it’s cutting us off from each other right when we might need connection most.
‘Good Vibes Only’ trap ✨ Spiritual bypassing & Emotional energy myths
You know what’s wild about our world right now? This relentless push for ‘positive vibes.’ It’s like we’ve turned the self-help aisle into a religion. Everyone’s chasing this perfect state of joy, this spotless emotional existence. Walk into any wellness center and you’ll hear it – ‘raise your vibration,’ ‘choose happiness,’ ‘protect your energy.’
Let me tell you something that is sort of mind-blowing. When I was going through cancer, one of my close friends got confronted by someone who had never even met me – like, ever – telling her not to come near me because “cancer has the lowest vibrations.” Give me a fricking break! I mean, you have no idea! I was going through this intense experience that, yeah, had some real lows, like hell lows, but also gave me some amazing heights, like glorious heavenly experiences.
And looking back now, I feel that going through this rollercoaster was a true blessing. It was actually… well, I hate throwing this word around, but it was enlightening. I went to hell, to heavens and back, I wrote poetry about it, reflected on it endlessly – it changed me in ways that “high vibe” small talk never could. Even when I look at my before and after pictures, it’s like I am a different person. I’m still myself, but…. different… very much so….
And you know what’s funny? Speaking of energy and vibes… I was in this yoga group once where they told us not to hug each other or anyone else for this matter, because we might ‘lose our energy.’ Imagine that – being so full of good energy that you have to protect it from… hugs? I mean… a group of people doing practices together to “raise their vibrations,” but they can’t give each other a hug?
It reminds me of this old story about a student who asks his teacher, “How do I preserve my energy? How do I keep giving when people don’t appreciate it?” You know what the teacher does? Points to a tree and says, “See that tree? It’s just there, doing its thing, producing oxygen. It doesn’t worry about who breathes it in or what they do with it. It just gives.”
I mean, isn’t it kind of funny? If you’re so full of these “good vibes” and “high energy,” why are you hoarding it like it’s the last roll of toilet paper in a pandemic? What happened to that whole “we’re all one” thing?
This thing is called spiritual bypassing, where people use spiritual concepts like some kind of emotional hazmat suit. I see it all the time in spiritual circles – people putting up these invisible force fields, or whatever they call it, against anything that feels heavy or real. They call it “protecting their energy,” but let’s be real: sometimes it’s just spiritual bubble wrap. Like, I had this friend who stopped hanging out with anyone going through tough times because she said it would “lower her vibration.” She’d ghost people going through divorce or grief, all in the name of “maintaining her light.” I mean, what kind of spirituality teaches you to abandon people when they need you most?
We’ve turned emotions into some kind of spiritual shopping list – like you can just pick the shiny, happy ones and leave the rest behind. People talk about ‘high vibes’ or ‘joy’ like it’s some kind of emotional designer label. And if you’re not wearing it? Well, suddenly you’re “toxic”, “low vibe,” or ‘you didn’t practice enough’.
It’s like we’ve created this VIP club for people who’ve got their spiritual shit together, and everyone else can wait outside until they learn to smile their way through their pain.
But from where I stand: we’ve created this false split in humanity. You’re either radiating light like some spiritual Instagram filter, or you’re somehow toxic, something to avoid. The really messed-up part? People use all these spiritual concepts – karma, energy, vibrations – as get-out-of-jail-free cards to avoid dealing with the hard stuff. They’ll tell you they’re “choosing peace” when really, they’re just choosing to look the other way. I got it. It’s avoidance. I’ve been there too.
We’ve forgotten what any wise soul throughout history could tell you – that light and shadow dance together. As Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Think about that for a second. He didn’t say “ignore the wound” or “pretend you’re not wounded.” He said that’s exactly where the light gets in.
Pain isn’t some spiritual virus you can catch. It’s the price of admission for being human. And when we actually dare to sit with it – our own pain or someone else’s – that’s where the real expansion, real growth happens. That’s where we can find what we’re all really searching for: genuine connection, deep understanding, real wisdom. But first, we’ve got to stop hiding behind these spiritual smoke screens, because real healing can only happen when we’re willing to face the whole messy truth of being human – shadows and all.
When their pain shows us our own
You know what I’ve noticed about why we turn away when someone’s hurting? It’s usually not even about them… Not about them at all. Their pain? It reaches right into those raw, unhealed places inside us. The ones we don’t talk about. You know that moment when you see real suffering in someone’s eyes? Suddenly it’s like looking into a dark mirror that shows all the broken pieces we’ve been running from. And those pieces – those deep wounds we’ve never dealt with – they talk, they talk to us. So what do we do? We do what humans do best: we stay busy, we distract ourselves, we build walls and tell ourselves pretty stories. Anything to keep those wounds buried deep where we don’t have to feel them.
And you know what happens then? And that’s where the vultures swoop in – I call them the “Traders of Joy”. You know them: the shiny gurus on social media, the self-help empire builders, politicians, the corporations selling happiness in a bottle. They’re master manipulators, promising you can skip the hard parts of being human if you just follow their formula, buy their program, give them your vote, pop their pill. They’re banking on your terror, on the terror of facing yourself. They’re basically selling spiritual bubble wrap, and we’re buying it, because… well, who wants to feel their own shady stuff?
So when we see someone really going through it, through the tough time, it’s easier to slap a label on them – ‘negative energy,’ ‘toxic,’ whatever helps us keep our distance. But let’s be honest: when we say: ‘Your pain is too much for me,’ what we’re really saying is: ‘I’m terrified of feeling my own.’ Because.. It was never about them. It’s about the shadows we’re all trying to outrun. And you know what Rumi revealed centuries ago?:
“The cure for pain is in the pain.
These pains you feel are messengers.
Listen to them”
— Rumi
So, maybe if you never heard it before it’s your sign to stop running and start listening. Not because I said so, but because… well, how’s the running working out so far?
The skill nobody taught us
Here’s another truth that’s hard to swallow: most of us never learned how to just… be there when someone’s hurting. Nobody taught us. We weren’t shown how to sit with someone’s pain without scrambling to fix it, how to sit without offering solutions, or how to just be present in the discomfort.
We get twitchy. Uncomfortable. Our whole culture’s built around avoiding the hard stuff – pop a pill, scroll your phone, stay busy, keep moving. So when we’re faced with real, raw emotion? We don’t know what to do with our hands, our eyes, our words. And what do we do when we feel helpless? We blame the other person. Call them ‘weak,’ ”draining’, ‘toxic,’ or ‘negative.’ Because it’s easier than admitting, we just don’t know how to show up for someone who’s hurting.
It’s like we’re all walking around with this emotional muscle we never learned to use. Maybe never even knew we had.
When positivity becomes poison
I know, I already brought up this messed-up ‘good vibes only’ culture we’re living in. But there’s another piece to this puzzle. It seems everywhere you turn, someone’s telling you to ‘just stay positive’ or ‘focus on the good.’ Like life’s supposed to be some endless highlight reel of joy and success. Though I have to admit, ‘focusing on the good’ has been the mood in my life for sure.
Look, there’s real power in choosing to see the bright side. When you’re intentionally looking for beauty, for growth, for possibilities – it changes things. It can pull you through dark times, help you spot opportunities, keep you moving forward when everything feels heavy. I’ve lived it. Sometimes that choice to focus on what’s good is exactly what we need.
Yet, this ‘good vibes only’ mindset has created this weird aversion to emotional complexity. It makes us allergic to anything that feels heavy or real. Like when someone shares that they’re struggling with depression, and people jump in with ‘Just think positive!’ or ‘Have you tried yoga?’ Or when someone’s grieving, and they hear ‘Everything happens for a reason!’ or ‘They’re in a better place now.’ We’ve gotten so hooked on this fake positivity that when someone shows up with actual human struggles – divorce, job loss, illness, grief – we act like they’re breaking some unspoken rule. Like their pain is somehow offensive to our carefully curated world of inspiration quotes and filtered photos.
So we slap labels on them because it’s easier than admitting that being human means feeling it all: the light and the dark, the joy and the mess.
And in pushing away anything that doesn’t feel good, we’re missing out on what actually makes life rich – those real, raw connections that only happen when we stop pretending everything’s perfect.
When we treat pain like a virus
I need to talk about something else that’s been bugging me – how we’ve started treating emotions like they’re some kind of contagious disease. Listen, I get it – we’re all connected, we affect each other. When your friend’s excited, you feel that spark. When someone’s crying, your heart gets heavy. We’ve all felt that. But we’ve twisted this truth into something almost superstitious.
We act like someone else’s pain is this dark cloud that’ll swallow us whole if we get too close. Like their struggle is going to somehow infect our peace, corrupt our happiness.
And here’s what really gets me – all this talk about oneness and connection, about how we’re all part of the same whole… but the moment someone’s hurting, suddenly we need to protect ourselves from them? Something’s gotten lost in translation here.
Because life has shown me something different. Pain isn’t some toxic waste you can catch by sitting next to it. Actually, something completely different happens when you dare to sit with your pain or to really be there for someone who’s hurting. You discover a strength in yourself you never knew existed. The kind that comes from realizing you can wade into someone’s storm without drowning. That you can hold space for their darkness without losing your own light.
And maybe – just maybe – that’s the real gift; when we stop running from other people’s pain, we finally find the courage to face our own. Because every time we sit with someone else’s struggle, we’re also sitting with parts of ourselves we’ve been too afraid to meet.
Moving through fear
So where do we go from here? Look – we’ve seen how this fear of pain runs deep. It’s in our bones, shaped by evolution, twisted by society, and fed by all these misconceptions about what emotional pain really is. And the saddest part? The moment someone needs connection most, we leave them stranded.
But here’s what I’ve come to understand: emotional pain isn’t some monster under the bed we need to run from. It’s just part of being alive, part of feeling deeply. When someone trusts you enough to show you their broken places, they’re not asking you to fix them or take on their burden. They’re just asking you to witness it, to say ‘I see you, and you’re not alone.’
Maybe it’s time we stopped chasing this fantasy of endless sunshine and started embracing the whole messy truth of being human. Real connection – the kind that fills you up and makes life worth living – it doesn’t come from sharing only our highlight reels. It comes from those raw moments when we let ourselves be seen, really seen. When we stop running from the hard stuff and start holding space for it all. Because the thing is, pain doesn’t need to be “fixed” or feared—it needs to be heard, witnessed and held. And it’s only then we can start to truly heal.
You know what? After all this talk about pain, fear, and walls we build… I want to tell you why I’m really sharing all this. It’s not to teach some deep life lessons or show off wisdom. No. I’m here because I’ve been there – on all sides of this pain thing. I’ve been the one running away. I’ve been the one left alone. I’ve been the one trying to make sense of it all.
And if you’re in that place right now (if you’re hurting, or watching someone hurt, or scared of getting too close to someone’s pain), I just want you to know something: you’re not alone. Not in your fear, not in your confusion, not in your struggle to figure out how to just… be there. We’re all stumbling through this together, trying to learn how to be human with each other.
That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. Sometimes just knowing someone else gets it, that someone else has walked this road… sometimes that’s enough to help us take the next step.
“Don’t get lost in your pain, know that one day your pain will become your cure.”
— Rumi
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
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