Stop Lying to Me.
I once saw a “Good Vibes Only” sticker slapped onto the bumper of a car parked outside a hospice. I wanted to rip it off with my teeth.
Look, we’ve all been there. You’re standing in the wreckage of your life—maybe it’s a divorce, a bankruptcy, or a death that makes zero sense—and someone leans in with that high-pitched, fragile voice and tells you, “Everything happens for a reason.”
In that moment, that sentence isn’t a comfort. It’s a muzzle. It’s a way of telling you that your pain is an inconvenience to the people around you. It’s a demand that you stop bleeding on their clean carpet and start smiling for the camera.
This is the violence of toxic positivity. It’s not about helping you; it’s about protecting them from the discomfort of your collapse. When someone tells you to “just stay positive” while you’re feeling the metallic tang of old blood in your mouth after a panic attack, they aren’t offering a hand up. They’re pushing you back into the hole so they don’t have to look at the dirt.
I remember sitting on a cold, damp concrete floor, the buzzing of a flickering neon sign overhead sounding like a swarm of angry bees in my skull. I didn’t need a mantra. I didn’t need a “mindset shift.” I needed someone to sit in the dark with me and admit that everything sucked. That’s where the actual work happens—not in the forced light of a “positive vibe,” but in the raw, ugly truth of the mess.
Forced optimism is a weapon. It erases the wound and calls it healing. It tells you that if you just think hard enough, you can optimize your way out of grief. That’s a lie. Grief isn’t a bug in the system; it’s the system working. It’s the only honest response to a world that occasionally breaks you in half.
Stop trying to “positive” your way out of the wreck.
The next time you’re in the dirt, don’t reach for a quote on a greeting card. Don’t try to find the “lesson” in the tragedy while you’re still screaming. Just be in the wreckage. Let it be loud. Let it be ugly. Let it be honest.
The only way through the fire is to actually feel the burn. Stop pretending the smoke doesn’t sting. Sit in the dirt until you’re tired of sitting in the dirt. That’s the only way you ever actually get back up.