Why Does It Have to Hurt First?
It’s weird, isn’t it?
You know better.
You know what not to do.
You know what happened to them when they did that exact same thing.
You even nodded wisely when they told their story, maybe threw in a “that’s mad” or “I’d never let that be me.”
But then, it is you.
And suddenly, you’re right there—on the bathroom floor or staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering how it escalated so fast. How you saw the signs and still walked right into it. And then the realization hits you like a wave to the chest:
Oh… this is how it feels.
It’s not that you were clueless before. You had the information. You had the warnings. You had the mental notes.
But it’s like some lessons don’t sink in until they draw blood.
Until your chest feels tight.
Until you see the look in their eyes when you’ve hurt them.
Until you hear your own voice say sorry—and it still doesn’t undo what’s been done.
That’s when it all becomes real. Too real.
And it’s frustrating. Because you genuinely wanted to do better.
You genuinely thought you could avoid the mess.
You thought being aware was enough. That watching others crash would teach you how to steer better.
But life has this brutal way of making things stick—through pain.
Why?
Why does pain have such a grip on us? Why does it have to hurt for us to learn?
Maybe it’s because we’re stubborn. Or human. Or too hopeful.
Maybe we need to feel it in our bones to truly grasp it.
Because someone else’s regret is just a story until it becomes our scar.
And maybe that’s the saddest part of all—
That some lessons don’t whisper. They scream.
They tear.
They linger.
And only when the damage is done do we look back and go, Damn. I see it now.
But hey—
There’s something beautiful in that too.
Because the pain that teaches is the pain that changes.
It humbles. It grounds. It carves out new space in us.
Space for self-awareness. For empathy. For gentleness.
And the next time?
We don’t just know better.
We do better.
Even if we wish we didn’t have to learn it the hard way.
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