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live a life less defined by pain.

      When we identify where we're hurting and why, whether it's something physical or emotional, we have the power to understand its cause and do something about it. But that means we have to be willing to let go of all the drama, comfort, and maybe even pride that accompany a sad story to make way for a better one. Before we can learn from our pain to make positive change in our lives, we have to learn how to want pain less. Once we decide to stop clinging, chasing, and controlling pain, then we have immense power to shape our worlds.

      We can take almost anything that hurts and recycle it into something good once we're ready to learn from it. If you're hurting over trouble in your relationship, your pain may be teaching you that you need to find the strength to walk away. If you're hurting because people don't seem to like you, your pain may be teaching you that you need to stop depending on approval for your overall well-being. If you're hurting because your thoughts are tormenting you, your pain may be teaching you that you alone are the cause of your deepest suffering, and that in accepting that, you have the power to set yourself free. Of course this all depends on the most important question: are you ready to be free?

      LEARN FROM PAIN TO MAKE POSITIVE CHANGES.

      If you're hurting and feeling angry, resentful, or resistant:

      Identify the cause of your pain. Are you reliving something that happened long ago? Are you hurting because of a current situation that isn't working for you? It's easier to stuff pain down than to address it, but you can only learn about what you need if you're willing to acknowledge that you haven't gotten it and how that makes you feel. The next step is to ask yourself if you have some investment in hurting. Is there a part of you that wants to stay in a situation that you know is bad? You can only let go of pain if you understand why you're holding on to it.

      Feel the pain. Don't try to hide it, avoid it, fight it, or run from it—sit with it instead. It may feel overwhelming, but know that every feeling eventually transforms, and it will happen faster if you stop resisting. Sink deep into it and get clear about exactly why it hurts. What is it that you want to change?

      Establish what this pain teaches you to change. If you're hurting over an event from the past or something that's completely out of your hands, the only thing you have the power to change is how and when you think about that issue. That means accepting that there are some things you cannot control and deciding not to waste this moment fighting that, because this moment—right now—is all there is. If you're hurting over something in the present—like a relationship that doesn't serve you or a sense of loneliness—the pain is teaching you that you need to move on or meet new people. Once you establish the lesson, you have the power to use it. The only thing standing between you and freedom is your story about why you can't have it.

      PAIN HELPS US APPRECIATE PLEASURE

      Without suffering, we would never fully understand joy. ∼@Sequential

      There is suffering for us to recognize the meaning of happiness. There can't be one without the other. ∼@Laurie_AMU

      Others’ suffering lets me give hope, charity, and love. My suffering gives these opportunities to others. No humanity without it. ∼@dgalvin22

      There's suffering in the world in order to show us how much beauty there is, too. You could not have one without the other. ∼@cphilli3

      Suffering brings joy, happiness, love, generosity, and all good things into relief so that we may recognize them. ∼@LittleWordGods

      On the other side of our instinct to avoid pain, there's the persistent longing for things that feel good—what Sigmund Freud referred to as the pleasure principle. What's interesting to note, though, is that pain and pleasure really are intricately connected—not just because they are two sides of the same coin but also because one often creates the other. When we experience stress or pain, our bodies create endorphins that intercept the messages that would tell the brain the body should hurt. It's why a lot of people engage in thrill-seeking activities that may cause them physical discomfort, and also why athletes push through—the euphoric high that accompanies immense pain.

      It's also why people eat chili peppers, which contain a high amount of capsaicin, a compound that triggers pain receptors through a burning sensation. In his 2008 Washington Post article “The Pleasure Is in the Pain,” Andreas Viestad discusses his trip to the world's “Chili Belt,” where he conducted research for a book on spices. In Mozambique, Thailand, and India, he observed a dramatic shift in energy and enthusiasm after people consumed a chili-pepper-infused meal. One of the men in Maputo explained they cry so hard while eating the spicy foods so that they can laugh after the meal.

      This same idea applies in many areas of our lives. We watch tragic films to experience the cathartic release of engaging in emotional stories. We choose to watch violent murders in horror movies, even though we'd never want to see or be someone actually being maimed or tortured, because we want to feel those primal sensations of fear while knowing we're safely removed from any actual danger. We alternate dives in the icy pool with quick dips in the hot tub, enjoying dramatically shifting our body temperatures in a short amount of time. And then there's the way we take on professional and personal challenges knowing there are difficulty and risk involved. Pain paves the path for pleasure—and sometimes, as I mentioned before, we feel the greater the hurt, the sweeter the reward.

      In addition to creating conditions for pleasure, pain helps us survive—which is, in fact, a prerequisite for feeling good. In his book The Gift of Pain, Paul Brand explores how the experience of pain helps us understand what we need to do to preserve our bodies. He references a girl who was born with congenital indifference to pain, meaning she couldn't experience any of the physical sensations we'd associate with hurting. At eighteen months old, she chewed at her fingers beyond the point of bleeding, completely oblivious to the fact that her wounded digits represented a massive threat to her well-being. Obviously adults know better than to gnaw on our own flesh, but without pain we wouldn't have information we need to preserve ourselves. This doesn't apply just to physical pain; emotional pain also helps us make smart choices for our survival.

      I've always had a fascination with the idea of schadenfreude—deriving pleasure through seeing someone else in pain—because some of my most painful memories involve me crying while someone else appeared to enjoy it. A recent study by University of Chicago psychology professor Jean Decety revealed that bullies experience increased blood flow in the reward center of the brain when they see people suffering. Children who didn't display similarly aggressive behavior felt empathy for the people hurting.

      Considering that biology may have influenced the cruelty I experienced as a kid—and knowing that my tormenters may have missed out on an important cue to feel for other people and, in doing so, intimately relate to them—I can feel a new and healthy gratitude for my ability to hurt. The capacity to feel for other people is in itself a source of pleasure. Because I hurt so deeply, I have always felt other people's pain almost within my own flesh and blood. I may not always have opened myself up to relationships, but I've always been a nurturer within the ones I've accepted. For that deeply satisfying ability to recognize pain and help heal it, I am eternally grateful.

      The pleasure that can come after pain isn't always a reciprocal or fair trade-off, but if we have to experience things that are difficult in life, we might as well identify something good in the aftermath. When I met that girl in Times Square, I knew without a doubt she would never have chosen her fate. There was nothing desirable about losing the people she loved and knowing they died so tragically. It crossed my mind, though, that she likely appreciated people in a whole new way after experiencing firsthand just how fragile life is. I imagined that in her next relationship, whenever things got difficult, as they inevitably do when two people come together, she'd close her eyes and remember to value every moment because the moments eventually run out. Knowing the pain of loss likely gave her relationships a whole new sense of meaning.

      At the end of his life, French impressionist painter Auguste Renoir continued making

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