Suffering has a peculiar way of sneaking into our lives, settling like an unwelcome guest, and then overstaying its visit. Thankfully, society has awakened to the idea that no one should endure abuse or disrespect in relationships. The mantra “accept and move on” has become a rallying cry, encouraging those in toxic unions to choose themselves over their pain.
But beyond the walls of romantic relationships lies a vast terrain where suffering is normalised—workplaces, communities, homes, and even our minds. The silence that cloaks these struggles is deafening.
Imagine this: You’re at a job where payday is a phantom promise. The management is unkind, barking orders without regard for dignity, and the workload feels like a Sisyphean task. Yet you show up every day, shoulders hunched under the weight of financial strain and emotional exhaustion. Why? Because “at least I have a job” echoes in your mind, a mantra instilled by a society that equates employment with survival, no matter the cost.
Toxic workplaces thrive on silence. Employees who dare to speak up risk losing the very jobs they despise. Even worse, the lack of support from colleagues and the normalisation of workplace suffering perpetuate this cycle. If rent, food, and education weren’t tethered to these workplaces, would we continue to endure them? The question isn’t rhetorical—it’s a challenge to dismantle a culture that prioritises profits over people.
In a world where social media feeds overflow with food photography, it’s ironic that many go to bed hungry. Hunger, unlike most suffering, is often invisible. Those who endure it do so quietly, often out of pride or fear of judgment. They hide their empty plates behind strained smiles, unwilling to admit that their cupboards are bare.
Mental health is another area where silence reigns supreme. Despite growing awareness, many still view emotional struggles as a personal failing rather than a legitimate issue. The result? A population too afraid to admit that they’re sinking under the weight of depression, anxiety, or burnout.
In many cultures, enduring hardship is celebrated. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” we’re told, as if suffering is a rite of passage rather than a burden. Parents stay in abusive homes “for the children,” communities tolerate corrupt leaders “for stability,” and individuals persevere in unbearable conditions to maintain appearances.
Society’s response doesn’t help. “Stay strong,” they say, “others have it worse.” While well-meaning, these words minimise the pain and discourage people from seeking help.
Glorification of endurance is dangerous. While resilience is a virtue, there’s a fine line between overcoming challenges and accepting unnecessary pain. By romanticising suffering, we strip away the urgency to address root causes, leaving individuals trapped in cycles of despair.
Why don’t we speak about it? Perhaps it’s because the act of asking for help is met with skepticism or apathy. “Everyone has their struggles,” people say, brushing aside the very real cries for assistance. This lack of empathy forces people to choose silence over shame, perpetuating a cruel cycle where their suffering remains hidden—and unresolved.
Many also suffer in silence because their cries for help have fallen on deaf ears. Friends might offer platitudes, family might dismiss their struggles, and institutions might fail to act. Over time, the silence becomes a shield—better to endure quietly than to risk rejection or apathy.
It’s not enough to tell someone to “hang in there.” Active listening, genuine concern, and tangible help can make a world of difference. Those in a position of privilege or power must amplify the voices of the suffering.
Reject the glorification of hardship: Strength isn’t about how much pain you can endure; it’s about recognising when to let go, seek help, and demand better.
