The Beauty of Pain: Why I Stopped Running from It.

Pain comes as it pleases, leaving behind lessons, gifts, and truths we wouldn’t otherwise uncover. It isn’t an intruder—it is a visitor with something to teach.

Did I Do This to Myself?

I wonder if I did all of this to myself. Maybe I did. I messaged him back that day after I came back from the cliffs, knowing full well that choice would shape what came next. But at the same time, it felt so right. So, I don’t regret it. I learned a lot about myself.

Pain is inevitable, but how much of it do we bring upon ourselves? And at what point does it become too extreme to bear? These questions echo through my mind, yet I know one thing for certain—I will accept it. Not because I have to, but because resisting it would be futile. Pain comes as it pleases, leaving behind lessons, gifts, and truths we wouldn’t otherwise uncover. It isn’t an intruder—it is a visitor with something to teach.

Pain is a teacher, not an enemy.

Pain does not come to destroy us—it comes to guide us. It is abrupt, direct, and unapologetic, pushing us into spaces within our minds we would never explore willingly. Pain isn’t malicious. It doesn’t seek to harm. It simply exists, showing us things we might have ignored if life had remained comfortable.

For so long, I feared pain, treating it as something to be avoided at all costs. But now, I see that it is necessary. It forces clarity, asks difficult questions, and refuses to let me turn away from truths that need facing. In that way, it is not an enemy—it is a force that shapes me, even when I resist.

Sitting with discomfort instead of running from it.

If anything, discomfort should be appreciated. It reveals more about life, about existence, about the sheer depth of human experiences. Without it, I would feel hollow. So I won’t run from it. Even if I wanted to, I know that discomfort is patient—it would simply wait for me to return.

I have tried avoiding it before, convincing myself that distraction or distance would erase what needed confronting. But pain and discomfort don’t work like that. They linger, waiting until I am ready to face them. And this time, I won’t run. Instead, I will walk through it, however long it takes, trusting that there is something waiting for me on the other side.

There is light at the end of the tunnel.

At the end of the day, pain isn’t evil. It isn’t something inflicted unfairly upon us. The beauty of pain is its honesty—it does not sugarcoat, does not ease us into change. It shakes us awake, makes us look inward, and forces us to acknowledge parts of ourselves we have long ignored.

I don’t expect it to be easy. But I do expect it to be worth it. Pain has shown me things no person, no experience, no fleeting moment ever could. It has given me something I didn’t know I needed—a way back to myself. And for that, I won’t resent it. I will keep walking toward the light, even if the tunnel is long. Because, in the end, I know I will reach it.

Amelia X