Our era resists the tragic. Funerals become “celebrations of life,” grief diluted into smiles and sponge cake. Yet, minor daily discomforts—an awkward meeting, a delayed reply—are dubbed “trauma.”
The emotional register is scrambled: mourning is suppressed, while inconvenience is pathologized. This inversion reveals a cultural discomfort with pain’s proper place. Instead of solemn reflection, we rush to uplift; instead of resilience, we valorize fragility.
Genuine grief demands space and silence. Without it, we lose proportion, exchanging depth for denial.