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.
