Suffering Isn’t Cute

People who are suffering are not appealing. It is hard to be around them. It seems they take up more space than they should. We stay away as if they are contagious. Suffering isn’t instagramable. It isn’t inspiring and it certainly doesn’t seem helpful to most of us.

And yet it’s at the root of every story that has ever drawn us in. Fictional stories of suffering feel relatable, they feel comforting, they may even feel safe. They make you feel less alone, seen, and possibly even hopeful.

The difference is that relating to suffering in the form of fiction is private and personal. We lose nothing by diving into our favourite shows or books. It’s a an escape. We romanticize curling up with a good book or binging our favourite show on a rainy evening. And when we do it’s like we enter an agreement between you, the reader, and the author that is only known to the two of you. The suffering of fictional characters draws us away from our own. And yet it doesn’t, does it?

Rather than drawing us away, it opens the doors to it. The relatability of a fictional character may be the only thing that can open up some of us. We read and cry and feel and heal. If we are lucky. So many of us have this private ritual that seems like ours and our alone. Nobody could possibly understand how this tv show that gained millions of views in its first weekend makes me feel. Except perhaps those millions of viewers maybe?

We choose loneliness every day. We choose privacy. We choose to stay away from those who openly suffer only to go home and do it by ourselves in the dark. What if we didn’t? What if we welcome the person who said they’re having a bad day out loud? What if we supported that person with more than just a hashtag we post while having our morning coffee? What if we actually talked to each other? What would happen then? What are we so afraid of? We can’t catch something we already have.