The Myth of the Perfect Schedule

Psychologist, author, and passionate advocate for mental health and healing. With years of professional experience in trauma recovery, Elena combines her expertise with her personal journey to offer insightful guidance to those navigating grief and emotional pain. Having experienced profound loss, Elena’s work is deeply informed by her own struggles and triumphs in overcoming trauma. Through her writing, she aims to empower
Acknowledging pain is a profoundly human act. It’s not easy to confront the weight of our experiences, especially those steeped in shame, neglect, or trauma. Yet, as a psychotherapist, I’ve come to see acknowledgment as the very bedrock of healing — a courageous first step in reclaiming one’s sense of self.
Pain that remains unspoken often becomes insidious. It seeps into our lives in unexpected ways, shaping how we see ourselves and interact with the world. By naming pain, we bring it into the light where it can be understood and tended to.
This isn’t about pointing fingers or dwelling on what was; it’s about breaking the silence that trauma so often demands of us. Naming pain creates a space where healing can begin, not by erasing the past but by integrating it into a fuller understanding of who we are.
Let me share an example. Sarah came to me feeling unmoored, disconnected from her relationships and even her own emotions. She dismissed her childhood experiences with phrases like, “It wasn’t that bad,” and, “Other people had it worse.” This minimization is common — a way to shield ourselves from the enormity of what we’ve lived through.
As we worked together, it became clear that Sarah had endured emotional neglect. Her parents were physically present but emotionally unavailable, leaving her feeling unseen and unheard. When she finally allowed herself to name what had happened — “I was neglected, and it hurt me deeply” — something shifted.
This wasn’t a sudden transformation or a quick fix. But in naming her pain, Sarah began to reclaim parts of herself that had been buried. It was the first step in building a new, more authentic relationship with herself and the world around her.
Why is naming pain so powerful? Because words give shape to what feels intangible. Pain, when unnamed, often feels like a formless, oppressive presence. But once we name it, we begin to understand its boundaries and how it operates in our lives.
Unspoken pain has a way of resurfacing, manifesting as:
Naming doesn’t erase these struggles, but it provides a starting point. It’s a way to say, “This is real, and it matters.”
This process doesn’t have to be grand or immediate. It can start small, with tentative steps that feel safe:
Speak the words to yourself in the quiet of your room or write them down in a journal. Phrases like, “I was hurt,” or, “I didn’t deserve that,” might feel heavy, but they’re also affirming.
When you feel ready, consider sharing your pain with someone who will listen without judgment — a friend, family member, or therapist. Sometimes, having another person hold space for your story can be deeply validating.
It’s okay if the words don’t come easily or if your understanding of your pain evolves over time. Acknowledgment isn’t about perfection; it’s about truth.
Many people struggle to name their pain because it feels like admitting defeat or being weak. But this couldn’t be further from the truth. Acknowledging pain is an act of bravery. It’s a way of saying, “This is what happened, and I am choosing to confront it.”
Shame often stands in the way. It whispers that your pain is too small, too insignificant to matter. Or it tells you that speaking up will make you a burden. These are lies that trauma tells to keep you silent. The truth is, every story matters — yours included.
In naming pain, we take a step toward reclaiming our sense of self. It’s not about reducing ourselves to our suffering but about recognizing its impact. By giving voice to our pain, we take the first steps toward healing and wholeness.
This isn’t easy work. It’s not neat or linear. But it’s necessary. And it’s profoundly human. Read more here
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