There is an illusion: if
you don't touch it – it will dissolve on its own. Don't say it out loud, don't
show how much it hurts, don't air your dirty laundry. Wait. Endure. Talk to the
walls, drown it in vodka, bury yourself in work, disappear into your phone.
Where does this pattern
come from? From upbringing. From a culture where strength means silence, and
weakness means asking for help. From families that knew how to endure but
didn't know how to talk. From the fear that if you speak the truth – things
will only get worse. We are all full of fears: why stir things up; it will only
hurt more or change nothing; what will people think and say; how can I shatter
my perfect image in the eyes of others? And so on.
But silence is not
neutrality – it is a choice in favor of accumulation. The problem doesn't disappear.
It simply goes deeper. And this is the endless mistake of so many people. When
a person carries unspoken grievances for years, unvoiced fear, guilt with
nowhere to go, anger, inner turmoil – often locking themselves inside the shell
of a hopeless victim of circumstance, of injustice and the cruelty of others – the
body begins to speak on their behalf. Chronic pain appears, fatigue, illnesses
that don't respond to treatment. Behind most such conditions lies a layer of
accumulated emotional blocks that no one ever touched.
There are three things
that, in my view, actually work:
The first – understanding that in everything that happens to you, there is
your responsibility. This is not about self-flagellation or searching for fault
in yourself at any cost, but neither is it the position of "I have nothing
to do with this, it's all them." In every situation, there is your part.
Not necessarily a large one – but it exists. And until you see it, you won't
find a way out. The sages said: before you fix the world, fix yourself. In this
simple truth lies difficult work – and the infinite strength of a person.
The second – open dialogue. Most dead ends in relationships are born not
from ill intent, but from things left unsaid or from not knowing how to say them.
"I thought you knew." "I was afraid to hurt you." "I
waited for you to understand on your own." A grievance a person has
carried for years could often have been resolved in one calm conversation.
There are several simple rules of constructive dialogue in Jewish ethics that
are very effective tools for resolving many problems between spouses, between
parents and children, and between friends and colleagues. Here are some of
them:
- Begin the
dialogue with gratitude and praise – even if an inner voice whispers that
this will spoil the other person and take away their desire to try.
- Instead of direct criticism,
speak about yourself: what hurts you, what creates difficulties for you,
what you are lacking. Not "you always," but "it hurts me
when..."
- Don't begin a conversation in
irritation or anger – in that state, you will not be heard. And wait if
the other person is not in a good place themselves right now.
- No hurtful words or labels – this
is an attack on the person's identity, which makes them shut down rather
than change. Speak about a specific action, not about who they are.
- Don't
dig into the past – it's a dead end. Ask yourself: what do I want in the
future? That is what you should talk about.
Your goal is not to win,
but to change things. The moment the other person feels threatened, they stop
listening and start defending themselves. Keep this in mind. It sounds simple –
but this is one of the most difficult skills that is almost never taught
anywhere.
The third – not staying alone with your burden. There are problems a person
cannot solve on their own, because from inside the system the way out is
invisible. In such moments, someone from the outside is needed: someone you
trust, whose word carries weight for you. A rabbi. A psychologist. A specialist
who works with exactly this.
What remains if you
don't work on the problem? A shell. A person grows accustomed to their pain,
stops noticing it – and begins to consider it normal. Withdrawal becomes a way
of life. Relationships become a formality. The body becomes the field on which
everything that was never said in words plays itself out. But from any shell,
one can and must emerge. And reaching out for help does not mean surrendering.
Often it can be the most mature step a person is capable of in the given circumstances.
