Why Do We Romanticise Suffering?

Or, a soft rebellion against the blood we think we must shed.

There’s a quote that’s been etched into my brain since I was a child.

“Happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.”

It’s from The Mayor of Casterbridge—a book far too heavy for the age I found it. But it found me, as all the dangerous, beautiful things often do when you’re too young to guard your softness.

Later came Dostoevsky, whispering,

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.”

And so I grew into this quiet, internal creed: that to feel deeply, to know deeply, to be deep—I must suffer. I must suffer well. I must suffer visibly. Otherwise, what glory is there?

At thirteen, I was preparing for a music recital. I played the guitar until the pads of my fingers turned wine-coloured. I made sure the pain was there. I needed it to be. I needed to believe it made me worthy of the applause that followed. And when it came, I smiled through the sting, unable to play for two weeks after. But I hadn’t learned the lesson—not yet. I believed the pain was proof.

Even now, when I scroll past influencers chasing joy and optimism, manifesting dream lives and selling quick hacks to happiness, I can’t help but revert to that Hardy quote. Happiness is a rare event. Pain, the default setting.

But I’m watching things shift.

We're in a strange time—half letting go of the myth of struggle, half clutching it tighter than ever. There’s a generation trying to exit the grind, embracing ease, softness, therapy, the art of doing nothing. But there’s also a louder faction—the hustle monks, the podcast prophets, the 25-year-olds mapping out side-hustles to fast-track financial freedom in a broken economy.

Some of them inspire me. Most of them make me suspicious. I scroll through their curated grit and wait for the curtain to slip. Because not all side hustles scale. Not all dreams go public. And not everyone is meant to turn pain into content.

The thing is—we still, deep down, believe that if we suffer for something, it must be worth more. That our pain justifies our reward. That love, money, degrees, careers—mean more if we bled a little on the way there.

But what if ease and effort can coexist?

I think about the time I studied for an entrance exam before my master’s degree. My prep was stealthy. I’d replaced Wordle with practice tests, swapped idle scrolling for educational reels. I studied smart. Quiet. On my own terms. Nobody saw the suffering, so they called it luck.

Meanwhile, a friend made a public theatre of the same struggle—cutting dinners short, lamenting her long hours. Her score was lower. But the sympathy she received was louder. Because she looked like she suffered. I didn’t.

It made me realise—we don’t reward outcomes. We reward the appearance of pain.

And yet—sometimes I choose ease. Sometimes, I ask for help. Sometimes, I cash in the IOU instead of queuing in the rain. Not without guilt, of course. Guilt sneaks in sideways, dressed in the voices of people who “earned it the hard way.” But I hear my father’s voice louder than theirs:

“Be aware of my struggle. But don’t repeat it. Don’t reset the clock. If you can ask for help and get it—do it. Being self-made doesn’t mean you bleed for it.”

And he’s right.

We dream of generational ease. Then, when we receive it, we feel ashamed for not hurting more. For not earning it the hard way.

So if I could go back and speak to that thirteen-year-old girl—her fingers wine-red and shaking—I’d tell her this:

If you can play the guitar just as well without making your fingers bleed— do it.

You don't need to be broken to be beautiful.

You don't need to suffer to be strong.

You don't need to earn joy through pain.

Sometimes, peace is the point.

Disclaimer: I am not self-made.

P.S. I want to dedicate this to my birthday twin. Whom I met in college. Who thinks like I do and needs to be reminded that 'happiness can be a limited series that releases a new season more often than not.'

P.P.S. I wrote this essay originally in 2024 and edited it in 2025.