October 15, 2025
If we’re being honest, most of us want pain to come with an exchange policy.
We want to return it for store credit, maybe swap it for a little wisdom or emotional stability. But life doesn’t work like that.
Sometimes, the gift you get doesn’t look like a gift at all. It looks like loss, failure, heartbreak, or ten long years you’d rather not talk about.
For me, it was my 30s.
Those years weren’t completely dark, there were highlights, but where’s the fun in talking about those right now? Mostly, that decade was a stretch of failed relationships, anxiety that wouldn’t leave quietly, depression that liked to make itself at home, and a fair bit of self-medication with alcohol. Basically, a group project of bad coping mechanisms where I did all the work.
If life had a “skip to next chapter” button, I would’ve smashed it. But it didn’t. So I had to sit there in the middle of the mess and find a way to make peace with it.
And eventually, I did.
Not all at once, not with fireworks, but with small moments of honesty. The kind where you finally stop pretending and start admitting what actually hurts.
Looking back, that decade taught me more than any easy year ever did. I learned how to be alone without being lonely. How to sit in discomfort without drowning in it. How to stop numbing myself long enough to actually feel something, even if what I felt wasn’t fun.
My 30s were my “box full of darkness.” It took me years to see it for what it was: a strange, painful, necessary gift. The kind that teaches you how to grow roots before you reach for the light.
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So… what’s something painful that eventually turned out to be a gift?
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