I was a fearful child. But I wasn't afraid of being alone, the dark, or monsters under the bed. I worried that I might have to do uncomfortable things.
Growing up, I often heard my mother speak with admiration about missionaries who sacrificed their comforts for others. She would regale me with stories of how a church member survived malaria while sleeping on a dirt floor for years to spread the word of God in another country. I hoped, guiltily, that I would never have to.
All I wanted as a child was to dissolve into the background of a comfortable and inconspicuous life. But living under the same roof as my grandmother and great-grandmother imbued me with the knowledge that a life of pain was not something that could be easily avoided.
My grandmother graced our family and community with her big heart, and I had a hunch that the source of her compassion and full laughter was ironically a tragic past.
Although the stories were never commonplace, living with the older generations meant the specter of the past lived with us too. I could sense a dark history, but since my questions were never answered, eventually I stopped asking. The remnants of their past became unconsciously adopted family beliefs that didn't make sense in the American context. Beliefs like: the cops will kidnap girls who are out alone, Japanese-made products are taboo, or that one's faith is their only measure of worth.
I entered the school system with irrational beliefs under the care of parents who were culturally and generationally out of touch. Needless to say, I did not have a working toolset for navigating classrooms and playgrounds. I spent most of my years baffled by what other children were talking about. I had no knowledge of television shows or musical references.
Someone at school gave me a clandestine cassette tape of secular music. Cher, I think. I didn't love it but it was the only source of music I had that was not a hymnal for many years. When I listened to it, I was an alien studying an artifact of another civilization.
I understood there was a disconnect with life at home, but I didn't understand how to exist outside of it either. I moved through each day terrified that I might be called on in class. I couldn’t ask to go to the bathroom. I almost never talked.
At home, I was often told stories of how bad life could be and I was told to be grateful that I wasn't still North Korea. I was told how amazing I should feel about life in California. Yes, I guess it was amazing. I could go swimming and eat ice cream and my teachers didn't beat me with sticks (which was my mom’s experience in Korea).
I suppose I had avoided a certain kind of pain but my contentment was hardly palpable. It encouraged me to continue a minimal existence and my circumstances would never be as bad as if I had been born elsewhere.
But after my best attempts at living under the radar, I learned that a life of fear and pain avoidance oddly enough can lead to deeper struggles.
"We all know people who are so much afraid of pain that they shut themselves up like clams in a shell and, giving out nothing, receive nothing and therefore shrink until life is a mere living death.” -Eleanor Roosevelt
Eventually, I learned that the fear of being made fun of or even looked at could only be overcome by one thing — acceptance of pain.
“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.” -Fyodor Dostoevsky
It took a personal crisis for me to realize that pain isn't an option but a prerequisite for growth. Of course, it sucks at first, but eventually, sporadic sadness and discomfort become a manageable part of everyday life.
So, how can we navigate inevitable pain and sadness?
Here are 5 tips.
There is no universal list that works for everyone, but here are some actionable tips many may find broadly applicable:
Reduce caffeine. Sounds basic, but caffeinated drinks create a base level of anxiety that is hard to manage when you are in a compromised state.
Create space. Disconnect from social media or toxic/pushy/very opinionated people. At first, you may feel FOMO or even guilt that you are not participating in some imaginary duty you have to be online, but your future is worth a temporary break. It’s okay not to text someone back immediately if you need the space. Just be as communicative as you can and keep working through it.
Go outside. Even when living in an urban environment, walking outdoors can have huge benefits. Encounter different forms of life: trees, animals, flowers, people. All of life has something to share with you.
Be honest. Our social lives can involve a lot of status games or presenting ourselves as a "brand." Find someone you can be honest with, and if there is no one, at least be honest with yourself. You can always write, find a therapist, or talk to a trusted family member or childhood friend.
Take small steps. You don't have to solve the entire problem right now — but formulate an idea of how you can make your situation better. Usually, pain is a result of a problem that needs attention or a greater truth that must be accepted. Then take one step in that direction today. And one more step tomorrow. Keep going.
Pain is more than just a feeling or an inconvenience; it's a signal. It's our body and mind's way of alerting us to potential dangers or hinting at necessary changes.
By listening and acting on these signals rather than being fearful or suppressing them, I know we can lead more fulfilling and compassionate lives.
“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” -James Baldwin
Curious, how long did it take you to stop feeling like this: "I was an alien studying an artifact of another civilization." ?