My Painful Purpose

There was a time when I wished that I just didn’t care. I wished that I could put on a façade and smile my inner emotional instincts away. I wished that I could be decisively stoic and effortlessly composed. I wished so hard that I could look the other way and move on with my life. I wished I could be mean. I wished that I could manipulate my way in and out of situations,--with confidence and ease. I wished so hard. I hated how weak I was. I hated how affected I could be. I hated being an open-book. I hated that I so easily invested in people and ideas.

Even after years of living in a place with the power to shred a girl’s heart and hope to pieces, my stupid weak heart found a way to put itself in another dangerous situation. To be let down. To be ignored. To be forgotten. To be blindsided and left in a state of sheer pain. I wanted so badly to kick the lingering sting of hurt in the face and give it the cold shoulder. I wished to pound hard against my chest as strong as humanly possible to harden my heart. I didn’t understand why. Why wasn’t my heart hardening? I needed not to care… or I’d die of a broken heart and a trampled spirit. I felt utterly powerless in the face of adversity.

We belong to a world that pushes and pulls us in every way imaginable. We find ourselves in desperate situations with many questions: Why did I lose my baby? Why did my marriage fail? Why did I have to lose my job? Why was I raped? Why do I have this disability? Why wasn’t my baby born normal and healthy? Why did I have to get sick? Why should I have to feel this pain? Why me? This is so unfair.

Many of us, when faced with a negative life changing experience like this, find a little seed of darkness and bitterness growing in our hearts. A seed that threatens the very core of our souls. We shut off the world. We avoid social situations. We try to dispose of the memories and the ache as swiftly possible, to limit the suffering and collateral damage. Our objective is to preserve our hearts. We build an ever-growing fort around our core, to keep all the bad out.

A very special someone gave a short book that has helped me to see suffering in a different light. It is called Mee Speaks, by Mary Ellen Edmunds. It contains empowering short talks that could leave the sturdiest and thickest fort walls trembling. In her talk, Finding Purpose in Our Pain, Mary Ellen challenges us:

“I want you to think of an experience that was extremely difficult for you—one of the hardest you’ve ever had to face (Maybe you’re ogin through it right now.)

Now I want to ask you a question about your adversity, your suffering: What have you learned from your experiences? Have you learned compassion? Is your heart more tender? Do you judge others less quickly and harshly?”

Even as I quote her words to you, I am filled with a heavenly warmth and comfort. My tears run freely. Not because of sorrow, but because after years of trying to harden my heart to the world, I’ve found a sense of purpose amidst my pain. I am suddenly reminded of every soul crushing circumstance I’ve endured, every humiliating betrayal, and every bitter loss. And instead of hating myself for not “learning” from my mistakes or not “remembering” my pain and forgiving too easily, I’ve found new strength in my weakness. A purpose in my pain. I’ve now come to appreciate my “weakness.”

If we build a fort around our hearts every time the world deals a foul blow, we’re also incarcerating the experience and the potential to learn from it. The potential to love more sensitively. To have compassion for a hopeless mother. A rape victim. A jobless father. An orphaned child. A mother that so badly wants to conceive, but is left hopeless every month. A drug addict who feels worthless to the world. A child that feels abandoned, and wonders why his parents gave him away. A grandmother who feels embarrassed that she can no longer take care of herself. A cancer victim who fears she won’t be around to see her children grow up.

Everywhere we look, there is pain. BUT everywhere we look again, there is hope. We all have the power to turn our pain into purpose. Spencer W. Kimball warns that if we shut out sorrow and anguish from our lives “we might be evicting our greatest friends and benefactors.  Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.” Through our suffering, we can become sweeter. We can be filled with more compassion for our friends, husbands, children, and family.

The way I see it, understanding someone’s predicament can be done in two ways. You either understand them with your mind or you understand them with your heart. Understanding someone with one’s heart, isn’t easy. When I’ve attempted to reach out to someone I could truly relate to because of my own past and tender experience, all of the scary and negative feelings swarmed in. It was uncomfortable. I’ve come to understand that active compassion isn’t attainable without being willing to revisit those raw feelings that once turned your world upside down and inside out. BUT this suffering we feel in the process is so special and different. As Mary Ellen describes it, “it is the most exquisite and painful.”

How exactly can we find purpose in our pain? How can we actively use the suffering we’ve undergone for a greater purpose? Here are some simple things you can do.

Love just one person.

You can’t solve all of the problems of the world, but we can “love on” one person. We can write one short and friendly note to someone who feels hopeless. We can visit one lonely person. We can make a call to someone in need of a rant. We can send a friendly text or a kind email. Just one person.

            Avoid saying things that aren’t really helpful.

Sometimes we tend to try to quickly talk each other out of our suffering. We assure one another “I know exactly how you feel.” With some honesty, patience, and genuine kindness, we might be more effective. Instead of “I know exactly how you feel” we can say “I’m not sure I really understand what you’re going through, but I am so sorry. What can I do to lighten your load?” If all you can offer is company and a listening ear, settle for that.

            Don’t push a quick cure.

Instead of a “Get well soon” card and a “There are better days ahead” reassurance, we should accept and recognize the true pain a friend might be enduring. Mary Ellen suggests comments like “May your deep water and fiery trials not be more than you can handle” or “I hope you’ll let me travel part of this journey with you.” Pain is a serious feeling, so we should treat it with the sensitivity it deserves.

            Avoid competing for a “worst” trial.

Sometimes, in an effort to relate to a friend, we find ourselves trying to top their suffering. Some funny ways as described by Mary Ellen:

“My kidney stone was a much nicer shape than yours!”

“My tonsils were a lot worse than that! Want to see the picture?”

“My root canal went clear through my collar bone!”

“I was in labor for forty days and forty nights!”

Here’s one I’ve encountered: “I had my baby without an epidural! Trust me, you had it easy!” Yikes! 

Learning from our pain isn’t easy. I think our instinct is to build our precious fort and keep our heart intact. If there’s at least one thing I’ve learned from my pain, is an appreciation for others. A sensitivity to their suffering. If we’ve been judged harshly before, then perhaps we may refrain from unfair judgment.

Amidst our suffering, we can find peace. We can find purpose. We can help heal an aching heart. We can make a friend.