People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.

The price of feeling nothing

We've been taught to treat emotions like malfunctions—things to fix, suppress, or medicate away. But Morrison is pointing at something most of us eventually discover the hard way: avoiding pain doesn't eliminate it; it just fractures us. When you're afraid to feel sadness, anger, or disappointment, you're also cutting yourself off from genuine joy and connection. You end up going through life half-numb, performing okayness while something real dies inside.

The counterintuitive part is that pain isn't actually the enemy. It's feedback. It's your system telling you something matters—that you've been hurt, that you care about someone, that something needs to change. The people who seem most whole aren't those who've suffered less; they're the ones who've learned to sit with discomfort without immediately running from it. They carry their pain like Morrison suggests, not as a burden that defines them, but as evidence they're alive and capable of depth.

This matters now more than ever, when we can instantly distract ourselves or curate a painless-looking life online. Standing up for your right to feel—to be messy, disappointed, angry, grieving—isn't self-indulgent. It's actually the only way to be genuinely present in your own life.