There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find.

Hear the mournful words of George Michael, who sang: “There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find.” These words were born not from the lips of a philosopher in the marketplace, but from the heart of an artist laying bare the anguish of love, guilt, and betrayal. Yet though spoken in song, they carry the weight of timeless wisdom. For the truth does not always bring peace; often it wounds, often it cuts like a blade. The veil of illusion may give warmth, but when it is torn away, the rawness of reality can pierce the soul with pain.

The ancients knew this paradox well. They declared that the path of wisdom was not strewn with roses, but thorns. To face the truth is to strip away the lies we tell ourselves—the soothing lies of innocence, of permanence, of safety. Truth unmasks us, reveals our faults, exposes our betrayals. It offers not comfort, but clarity, and clarity can burn. Just as fire purifies gold by consuming the dross, so truth purifies the heart by consuming its illusions. But the burning hurts, and many prefer the comfort of the lie.

Consider the tale of Oedipus, king of Thebes. When the plague struck his people, he swore to uncover the truth of the crime that angered the gods. Yet the truth he uncovered was terrible: he himself was the murderer of his father and the husband of his mother. Did the truth comfort him? No—it shattered him. It brought pain beyond endurance, leading him to blind himself and wander in exile. Yet even in this tragedy, the truth had power, for it brought justice, it cleansed the city, and it unveiled the hidden order of fate. Pain was its gift, not comfort.

So too in the history of nations. When the crimes of slavery were confronted in America, the truth brought no comfort. It exposed cruelty, hypocrisy, and centuries of blood. It tore open wounds that many wished to ignore. The abolitionists and the enslaved who cried for freedom did not seek comfort—they sought truth, though it meant pain. Only by facing that agony could a new path toward justice be carved. Here George Michael’s lament resonates: truth does not soothe, it sears; yet in searing, it makes healing possible.

In the song from which these words come, the truth is personal—a confession of infidelity, the pain of betrayal in love. George Michael knew that honesty, when it comes too late, does not reconcile but deepens the wound. There is wisdom in this too: when truth is delayed, when it follows lies and deception, it becomes bitter rather than sweet. The longer illusion endures, the sharper the pain when it is broken. Thus, the truth reveals not only reality but also the cost of ignoring it for too long.

What lesson, then, shall we take? Do not expect truth to comfort you. Expect it to challenge you, to wound you, to strip away what is false. Yet do not flee from it, for though it brings pain, it also brings freedom. Pain is the herald of transformation; comfort is the lullaby of stagnation. The truth may not give you rest, but it will give you strength, and strength will carry you farther than comfort ever could.

Therefore, my child, live with courage. Do not seek comfort first, but seek truth. If it brings pain, let the pain refine you. If it burns, let the fire cleanse you. And remember George Michael’s lament: “There’s no comfort in the truth, pain is all you’ll find.” Take these words not as despair, but as a reminder that truth is not meant to console—it is meant to set you free, and freedom, though it costs dearly, is worth every wound it leaves behind.