Stoicism Is Often Misunderstood — And I Realized I Was Using It the Wrong Way

When I first heard about Stoicism, it sounded simple.

Control your emotions.

Don’t react.

Stay calm no matter what happens.

At least, that’s how I understood it.

It seemed like a philosophy about being strong and unaffected. Almost like training yourself to feel less so that life hurts less. I liked that idea at first. It sounded practical. Efficient. Clean.

But when I actually tried to apply it that way, something felt off.

Instead of feeling stronger, I felt tense. Instead of feeling calm, I felt like I was constantly monitoring myself. I would catch emotions rising — frustration, disappointment, sadness — and immediately try to shut them down.

“That’s not in your control,” I would tell myself.

But the emotion was already there.

The more I tried to suppress it, the more artificial it felt. I wasn’t becoming calm. I was becoming guarded.

That’s when I realized I might not actually understand Stoicism at all.

So I went back and started reading small pieces again — slowly, without trying to master anything. And what surprised me was how different the original tone felt compared to the version I had in my head.

Stoicism didn’t seem obsessed with eliminating emotion. It seemed focused on understanding it.

There’s a basic idea in Stoicism about separating what is within our control from what is not. I had interpreted that in a very rigid way. If something wasn’t in my control, I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel anything about it.

But that interpretation felt unrealistic. We’re human. We react. We feel things before we even have time to think.

What I began to notice is that Stoicism isn’t about preventing the first reaction. It’s about what happens after.

The initial emotion might not be controllable. But the story we build around it might be.

For example, if someone criticizes you unfairly, you might immediately feel defensive. That reaction is fast and almost automatic. Stoicism doesn’t pretend that won’t happen. But it asks a quieter question afterward:

What are you choosing to believe about this?

Are you assuming it defines you? Are you assuming it changes your worth? Or are you recognizing that someone else’s judgment doesn’t fully belong to you?

That shift feels different from suppression. It feels more like awareness.

I also realized I had confused Stoicism with indifference.

Indifference sounds strong from a distance. It sounds like protection. But real indifference disconnects you from everything — not just pain, but also joy, excitement, and connection.

Stoicism, at least in its original form, doesn’t ask for disconnection. It asks for steadiness.

There’s a difference.

Steadiness allows emotion to exist without letting it take control of every decision. It doesn’t deny the emotion. It just doesn’t let it run everything.

When I looked at Stoicism through that lens, it felt more human and less mechanical.

Another thing I misunderstood was the idea of strength.

I thought strength meant being unaffected. But maybe strength is being affected and still choosing your response carefully.

That feels more realistic.

Life doesn’t stop being unpredictable just because we decide to think differently. Things still go wrong. People still disappoint us. Plans still change.

The Stoic idea, as I understand it now, isn’t to pretend those things don’t matter. It’s to avoid giving them total control over our inner state.

That doesn’t happen overnight. And it definitely doesn’t happen perfectly.

There are still moments where I react too quickly or take something too personally. But instead of seeing that as failure, I’m starting to see it as practice.

The more I reflect, the more I think Stoicism is less about emotional silence and more about emotional clarity.

• Clarity about what belongs to me and what doesn’t.
• Clarity about what I can influence and what I cannot.
• Clarity about the difference between reacting and responding.

I’m still new to all of this. I don’t feel like I “practice Stoicism” in any formal way. But I do notice that simply asking, “Is this fully in my control?” changes how intense certain situations feel.

It creates a small pause.

And sometimes that pause is enough.

Maybe Stoicism isn’t about becoming cold or distant. Maybe it’s about becoming stable enough that outside events don’t constantly shake your sense of self.

I used to think it was about building walls.

Now I’m starting to think it’s about building balance.

I’m still figuring it out. But at least now, it feels less like suppressing who I am and more like understanding how I react.

And that feels like a healthier place to begin.