You Can’t Heal in a Space That Mocks Pain

I’m tired of feeling like I have to apologize for being alive. Tired of being told I’m too emotional when all I’m doing is feeling. Tired of swallowing the things that hurt because everyone around me thinks feelings are inconvenient. Like they’re a problem, a fault, a glitch in your system that needs fixing instead of understanding. And what’s worse, it’s not just strangers. It’s friends, family, coworkers, people you would think should see you, really see you, and just let you be. But no. You cry, you’re dramatic. You vent, you’re ungrateful. You rage, you’re unstable. You’re a problem simply for existing fully.

I’ve had nights where I sat in silence, my chest heavy, wanting someone to just acknowledge it. Not try to fix me, not roll their eyes, not offer clichés about moving on, not tell me I’m too sensitive. Just acknowledge that life is hard, that I’m hurting, that I’m human. That’s it. That’s all I wanted. And instead, I got jokes. Smirks. “Wow, you really crying over that?” Like my pain was a comedy show, like the heaviness in my chest was something to mock. That’s when you learn quickly: you can’t heal here. You can’t be seen here. You can’t let yourself crack in a space that’s too small to hold you.

The world has this way of making you doubt yourself. You start asking: Am I really overreacting? Am I too sensitive? Maybe I am too dramatic. Maybe my pain isn’t valid. And that’s when the danger comes in. Because if you start questioning yourself too much, you stop expressing, stop feeling, stop being raw. You start burying everything, pretending it’s fine, while inside you’re screaming. You stop letting yourself cry. You stop letting yourself love fully. You start playing a role, a version of you that’s polite, small, quiet, safe, acceptable. But that version isn’t you. That’s the one the world demands. That’s not healing.

Healing doesn’t happen in silence forced by judgment. Healing doesn’t happen when the people around you are laughing at your pain. Healing happens in spaces that hold you. Spaces that let you be messy, unfiltered, loud, angry, broken, vulnerable. Spaces that let you feel what you need to feel without shame. That could be a friend who listens, a journal where you bleed your thoughts onto paper, a song you scream into your car at 2 AM, a quiet walk where no one else exists. The place doesn’t matter as much as the permission to be fully human without ridicule.

I’m learning the hard way that some people will never offer that space. Some people will never respect your pain. Some people will never understand that being emotional doesn’t make you weak it makes you alive. And if you keep trying to force yourself into spaces that mock you, that laugh at your tears, that dismiss your heart, you’ll never heal. You’ll only shrink. You’ll only silence yourself until you forget your own voice.

So I’m done hiding. I’m done softening myself for the comfort of others. I’m done pretending that it’s okay for people to mock my pain while acting like they’re helping. I’m going to cry when I need to, rage when I need to, feel everything fully, and protect my heart fiercely. My emotions are not a weakness. My pain is not a joke. I am not too much. And I refuse to apologize for existing in my own truth.

Because healing isn’t polite. Healing isn’t quiet. Healing is messy, loud, painful, and real. And it cannot happen in a space that mocks it.

🎙️When She Speaks