When You’ve Been Through Hard Things, Tone-Deaf Comments Hit Differently

There’s a strange kind of loneliness that shows up when you’ve gone through something heavy — like trauma, abuse, or the unraveling of a relationship — and you try to share that with someone who simply hasn’t.

They might mean well. They might be smart, accomplished, or even kind in their own way. But if they haven’t been cracked open by life, they often just… don’t get it.

Sometimes it shows up in casual conversations — someone making a joke about the situation you’re in or brushing it off with a “well, it could be worse” kind of comment. It’s meant to be lighthearted, but it lands like a punch. Not because you’re overly sensitive, but because some things just aren’t funny when you’ve lived through them.

It’s not just about insensitivity — it’s about the deep invalidation that comes from having your lived experience minimized. Especially when what you’re dealing with isn’t visible or widely understood.

That lack of understanding doesn’t just show up in personal interactions — it shows up in systems, too.

Take family court, for example. Emotional and psychological abuse can be hard to prove, especially when there’s no physical evidence. Even when there are real concerns about safety and harm, the system often requires the harmed parent to prove the unprovable, while the other side is free to cast doubt, distract, or deny. It’s a disorienting and exhausting experience — one that can leave people feeling even more alone, even more unseen.

The deeper pain, though, is not always just what happened to you. It’s the silence that follows when no one around you seems to understand the weight you carry. You start to question your own reality, your own strength, your own worth.

But here’s what I want you to remember: your pain isn’t something to hide. Your story doesn’t need to be wrapped in a bow to be valid. The truth is, if you’re still standing — even if you’re standing with a limp or shaking legs — that is strength.

Strength doesn’t always look like power poses and fierce comebacks. Sometimes it looks like getting your kids to school while your heart is breaking. Sometimes it looks like brushing your teeth after crying through the night. Sometimes it’s just holding on — refusing to become bitter, even when you’re deeply tired.

If you’re someone who loves or supports a person going through something hard, please know that presence matters more than platitudes. You don’t have to say the perfect thing. Just be real. Be kind. Listen more than you talk. Don’t try to fix what isn’t yours to fix. Just hold space.

When you’ve lived through something hard — something most people would rather not look at — you learn to carry it quietly. You learn to gauge which spaces are safe and which aren’t. You learn that even well-meaning people can say things that slice deep.

But you also learn this:

Your experience is real.

Your pain is valid.

And even if others don’t understand it — you don’t have to shrink it to make them comfortable.

To anyone walking through trauma, difficult transitions, or systems that gaslight your reality:

I see you.

And you’re not alone.