Pain Made Me Stronger

I’m just gonna be real with you—I used to hate pain. Like, seriously. Any kind of pain—emotional, physical, heartbreak—you name it. If it hurt, I didn’t wanna deal with it. I'd dodge it like it was some kind of disease. Tough conversations? Nope. Feeling vulnerable? Pass. I basically lived in a bubble where everything looked fine, even when it wasn’t, because the idea of totally falling apart? Terrified me.

But yeah... life doesn’t really let you hide like that forever. It doesn’t care about your perfectly laid-out plans. One day you're chillin’, and the next, it knocks the wind out of you. And somewhere along the way—after some messy, painful moments—I realized something I never thought I’d say out loud: pain actually made me stronger.

Not stronger like I’m invincible or unbothered or anything. I still cry during sad movies and overthink texts sometimes. But stronger in the sense that I can sit with the hard stuff now. I can feel it without crumbling. I can face it instead of running. And yeah, that didn’t happen in spite of the pain. It happened because of it.

Okay, story time. A few years ago, I went through this breakup that hit way harder than I thought it would. I mean, I thought I had it all figured out. I was doing everything “right” (whatever that even means), giving it my all... and then boom. It was over. Just like that. And suddenly, it felt like there was this hollow space in my chest I couldn’t fill no matter what I did.

You know those mornings where it feels like gravity got stronger overnight? Like just getting out of bed is a whole event? Yeah, that was me for a while.

I remember one night, I was literally lying on the floor—no reason, just didn’t have the energy to make it to the couch or bed—just staring at the ceiling like, “How did I end up here?” My friends kept saying, “Give it time, it’ll pass,” but I couldn’t believe them. It felt endless.

But then slowly, like really slowly, I started showing up for myself. I started writing stuff down in a journal. I walked around the block just to breathe. I let myself cry without trying to shut it down. And weirdly, through all that heartbreak, I started learning things about myself I had totally ignored while trying to keep that relationship alive.

Pain strips away all the surface stuff. When you're hurting, you can’t pretend anymore. You’re just... raw. And in that weird, quiet space, I started asking questions I hadn’t even thought about before. Stuff like: Who am I without this person? What do I want? What does healthy love even look like?

And it wasn’t just that breakup. A little before that, I had a health scare—nothing life-ending, but serious enough that I had to press pause on everything. I’d been go-go-go for so long. Saying yes to everything, working late, acting like I could handle it all. And then suddenly, my body was like, “Nah, you’re done.” Being forced to slow down like that? It shook me. But it also woke me up. I realized I’d been pushing myself way too hard for way too long.

That experience taught me something I didn’t even know I needed to learn: rest isn’t lazy. Saying no isn’t selfish. And your body will absolutely shut down if you keep ignoring it.

Another thing pain gave me? Empathy. Like, deep, actual empathy—not just the “aww, that sucks” kind. Now when someone’s going through something—even if they’re pretending they’re fine—I notice. I feel it. And I check in, because I remember what it felt like to suffer quietly and wish someone would ask how I was doing.

Look, I’m not gonna lie and say pain is some beautiful blessing wrapped in a lesson. It’s not. If I could’ve gotten all these insights some easier way, trust me, I would’ve. But that’s not how it works, right? Pain doesn’t ask permission. It just shows up, wrecks things for a while, and leaves behind pieces. And in putting those pieces back together, you somehow become... more.

More aware. More grounded. More you.

So yeah. Pain made me stronger. Not colder. Not bitter. Just more real. I’m better at being alone now. Better at boundaries. Better at knowing what I need and not feeling guilty for needing it. And honestly? That version of me? She’s been through hell—but she’s standing. And that matters.

If you're in a dark place right now, or it feels like nothing makes sense, I’m not gonna feed you cheesy quotes or fake encouragement. Just this: you’re not weak for feeling broken. You’re just in the middle of becoming someone new. And that version of you? The one on the other side of this? Yeah—they’re stronger than you think.