Feeling depressed when you’re on vacation is incredibly annoying. You’re not at work, you’re eating good food and you feel obligated to be enjoying yourself, since this is the “good part” of life. But anxiety and depression don’t really take days off. So then you’re crying on the beach with a $15 margarita wondering why existence is pain and what the point of it all is.

Well, that’s kind of the point, right? Because suffering with purpose at least feels productive. Fighting through the last mile of a marathon feels meaningful and strong. Recovering from a breakup with a toxic person is at least taking steps towards something better, right? It makes a difference when you can see the purpose behind the pain.

But depression and anxiety aren’t rational states of mind. They are pain without purpose. They don’t really care what is going on in your life. How long can we keep trying to fix our life when the progress bar only ever says “Not there yet”?

Worse yet, sometimes we work backwards and assume there’s something wrong with us, as if the pain must be punishment for a wrong deed. Kind of like getting shot by a mugger and then painting a target around the wound. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t be walking around with this target on my chest.” Yeah, it seems ridiculous when you read it written out, doesn’t it? Then why do you beat yourself up over social interactions and work disasters that aren’t your fault? It’s the same thing.

Crying on that beach taught me that the worst part was pain without purpose. I could handle pain, I’ve handled tons of pain in my life. But I hated that it was random, that I hadn’t done anything wrong, and there were just some chemicals misfiring in my brain that made me feel this way. That old trauma or coping mechanisms from childhood had left scars that would never heal completely. I hated that I was going through pain and it wasn’t even contributing to a positive goal, as opposed to the last mile in a marathon or healing through a breakup.

That’s when I decided to give my pain a job. Maybe this pain didn’t come pre-packaged with a purpose, but I could create one. I decided that I could write about how to work through anxiety, trauma, fear of failure, relationship issues, and all the pain I have gone through. The pain didn’t start out with a purpose, but there was nothing keeping me from giving it one. I could choose to find tools and books that addressed my pain and then guide others going through the same issues. I was going to feel this pain anyway, so why not find a way to make it constructive? I made that decision to start writing two years ago, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

Could this work for you too? Can your pain be used to create art? Can it give you a reason to reach out to someone and ask for support, strengthening your relationship with them? Can it give you a reason to go for a walk or read that book your therapist mentioned or do some journaling like you’ve been meaning to? I don’t know what the right conclusion to draw is, all I know is that your pain can have purpose if you give it one. And pain with a job is much more tolerable than random pain that exists just to hurt us.

You are in the driver’s seat. It is you who decides how much you want to get out of this. It is you who is feeling the pain, and you who knows what activities or actions would most benefit you right now. This pain can be the reason you do what is best for you. I know it is easiest to sit idle and stay in your comfort zone, but I don’t think that’s going to make you feel better. I want you to think hard about the different ways you can use this. Many great people had rock bottom moments, and that pain became the motivation for them to turn things around. Look for purpose. Take control of your pain, give it a job, and get to work.

I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I promise you it can feel better once you use this as a chance to grow. My pain had no purpose either until you read this. If this post can make one person make a better decision then it was worth it. 

Now it’s your turn.