I remember the day I stumbled upon the idea that pain is inevitable but suffering is something we can choose to let go of.
It was during a moment of utter chaos in my life—a period when everything felt as though it was tumbling down around me.
I’d lost my job, my stress levels were through the roof, and being a single mom meant my responsibilities were somehow multiplying by the hour.
I’d always appreciated Buddhist philosophy for its gentle reminders about the human experience, but there was something about this quote—“Pain is certain; suffering is optional”—that hit me differently.
It felt both liberating and painfully honest.
I saw my own problems laid bare in those words: of course there would be pain, because that’s part of being alive.
The suffering, though, was like an extra layer I was unknowingly piling on. And I was the one pouring fuel on that fire.
All of that marked the beginning of my journey to embrace the quote’s practical truths.
Here is how I learned to apply it, step by imperfect step, to get through what was, without a doubt, the worst year I’ve ever experienced.
How I first encountered the wisdom behind pain and suffering
A friend casually sent me a text one evening that read, “Remember, pain is certain; suffering is optional.”
She didn’t even credit Buddha at the time—I only realized its origins when I started obsessively Googling the phrase in search of its deeper meaning.
My friend was convinced it might help me handle the numerous emotional punches life was throwing.
When I saw that it originated in Buddhist teaching, I instantly gravitated toward it.
Buddhism has always fascinated me, although I’d only casually dabbled in mindfulness.
But in my desperation, I wanted to peel back every layer of meaning in that single sentence.
Suddenly, I recognized how often I resisted feeling pain—emotional or otherwise—by either avoiding it, denying it, or filling my mind with worst-case scenarios. And that’s exactly how suffering snowballed. I would dwell on my struggles to the point of exhaustion.
Once I linked that mental pattern to the quote, I realized I had a choice in how I related to my pain, even if I couldn’t control the fact that it existed in the first place.
Embracing pain as a natural part of life
One of the first shifts I made was to stop labeling pain as an enemy.
Pain, in all its forms, is an inevitable part of being human.
This mindset shift wasn’t easy, because I’d always been taught to see pain as something to be avoided at all costs.
I decided to approach the intense emotions—fear, sadness, even heartbreak—with a new curiosity.
Instead of pushing them away, I tried asking, “Why am I feeling this? What does this say about my needs and my current situation?” It wasn’t an instant fix. I sat in tears more times than I can count, but somehow I felt more clarity after allowing myself to just feel what I was feeling.
As the psychologist Tara Brach has noted, “Pain is not wrong; reacting to it as if it’s wrong initiates the trance of unworthiness.”
That particular quote reached me on a deeper level.
By recognizing that pain itself isn’t “wrong,” it became less frightening. I still despised the discomfort, but I stopped blaming myself for having painful experiences. Instead, I worked on giving myself permission to be in that uncomfortable space.
Choosing not to suffer: practical steps I took
It’s one thing to grasp that suffering is a choice, and another to actually change your behaviors.
Early on, I kept repeating the phrase, “Stop suffering, you’re doing this to yourself,” which ironically just led me to criticize myself.
That wasn’t helpful at all. I realized I needed a better strategy.
I knew my thoughts and emotional state were connected.
Research shows that individuals who practice a mindful acceptance of difficult thoughts can reduce stress and improve overall well-being.
So I began practicing short, simple mindfulness exercises to help me recognize when I was tipping over from pain into self-imposed suffering.
For example, when I’d get overwhelmed at night—thinking about overdue bills, my responsibilities as a single mom, and the fear of failing my son—I’d pause.
I’d sit down, close my eyes, and start to focus on the sensation of breathing.
I’d let the swirl of thoughts pass through. This practice didn’t erase my problems, but it helped me stop stewing in them for hours on end.
I also set boundaries on how much time I allowed myself to ruminate about issues before taking some kind of action or switching to a different activity.
Taking breaks to write in my journal was a lifesaver; it helped me see that I was often going in mental circles.
Whenever anxiety began to spike, I’d scribble my worries on paper, and once they were out, I could observe them more objectively.
Finding new perspective through mindfulness
Mindfulness didn’t solve my problems in the sense of magically paying my rent or giving me back my old job.
What it did offer was a new perspective: I could witness my pain as it was, without compounding it by imagining ten more disasters.
It was like a mental break from the onslaught of negativity my mind often served up.
One of the biggest lessons from mindfulness was recognizing how fleeting emotions can be if you stop giving them extra fuel.
I’d observe myself cycling through anxiety, frustration, and sadness, only to notice that these emotions passed if I didn’t dwell on them.
Granted, some days it felt like I was practicing this every ten minutes. But it gradually became more natural to let the moment be the moment, instead of catastrophizing.
There’s a quote from Jon Kabat-Zinn that I found reassuring: “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
This deeply resonated with me.
I realized that the painful events in my life—job uncertainty, single parenting challenges, health issues in my extended family—weren’t going to vanish because I wished them away.
But by developing a bit of skill in navigating those waves (mindfulness being my surfboard, so to speak), I could at least reduce the extent to which they dragged me under.
Building resilience through community
Part of my shift from suffering to acceptance involved other people.
Pain can become amplified when you isolate yourself and keep everything bottled up.
It’s funny because I’m not usually one to openly share every detail of my life with friends, but that year forced me to lean on them more than I ever had.
Talking to other single parents showed me that I wasn’t alone in feeling overwhelmed and uncertain.
Some of my friends in London organized a small support group to swap practical advice on budgeting, job searching, and mental health resources. I was initially hesitant—worried about being judged—but everyone in that group was grappling with something, so it felt like an unspoken agreement to be kind to one another.
By opening up about our struggles, we discover we’re not the only ones dealing with them.
And that sense of community made my pain more bearable, with less of the mental angst that would usually send me spiraling.
The conversations and kind words acted as a soft cushion that I could land on whenever the weight of life got too heavy.
My son also played a big role in reminding me of the bigger picture.
Kids have this refreshing ability to keep us rooted in the present.
A simple evening routine, like reading him a bedtime story, forced me to step away from my internal monologue of stress and be fully present with him. That might sound small, but those little moments added up, giving me regular windows of relief and reminding me that not everything is bleak.
Perhaps most crucially, I found purpose in the turmoil
Strangely enough, once I started accepting that pain would show up unannounced, I stopped feeling totally helpless.
Letting go of the extra suffering I piled onto it gave me more energy to find meaning in the chaos. It was as though my mind cleared enough space to see new possibilities.
I realized I’d spent years in a corporate digital communications role without truly questioning if that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
When my job situation took a nosedive, it prompted me to consider the kind of work I found fulfilling—and that’s what nudged me toward writing. I began to use my professional background in communications alongside my passion for sharing insights and advice.
Sometimes pain can be a catalyst. It nudges us out of complacency and shows us hidden desires or paths we might have overlooked.
I was still living day to day with anxiety and financial insecurities, but I finally felt like I was crafting a future I believed in. That spark of purpose was powerful enough to keep me going.
Wrapping up
“Pain is certain; suffering is optional” became more than just a clever statement for me—it turned into a personal mantra that guided me through the darkest season of my life.
Once I stopped treating pain like an invader and recognized it as a companion on this human journey, I could finally disentangle myself from a lot of the torment I was manufacturing in my own head.
By embracing my pain instead of denying it, learning tools like mindfulness, and opening myself up to friends and family, I found new strength.
I also discovered that hardships can be doorways to transformations we didn’t know we needed.
If you’re in a place where it feels like the walls are closing in, I hope this perspective gives you some hope.
Life will always have its storms, but the way we respond can define whether we merely endure them or learn to dance in the rain. Pain, in one way or another, might be inevitable, but with the right mindset and support, it doesn’t have to keep us suffering forever.
