We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the

“We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full.” Thus wrote Marcel Proust, the French writer of memory and time, whose reflections pierced the depths of the human soul. In this solemn truth lies the paradox of healing: that one cannot escape pain by denying it, nor find freedom by fleeing from it. To be whole again, one must pass through suffering, not around it. The wound must be felt, the grief must be lived, the anguish must be borne in its fullness—only then does the heart begin to mend.

The ancients spoke of this with equal gravity. The Greeks knew that catharsis—purging the soul through the full encounter with sorrow—was essential to healing. Tragedies were not written to shield men from pain, but to make them face it, to drink it like bitter medicine until the poison was drawn out. So too the Stoics taught that one must not deny grief, but endure it until endurance becomes wisdom. Proust’s words echo these ancient teachings: to be healed, one must endure completely.

Consider the story of Job in the sacred scriptures. He lost wealth, family, health, and dignity. His suffering was not brief, nor was it softened. He tasted despair to its depths, cried out to the heavens, and sat in ashes. Yet it was only in experiencing his suffering fully that he found new understanding, new faith, and eventual restoration. Had he numbed himself, had he denied his pain, he would not have grown. His very wholeness was carved from the raw wood of his sorrow.

History offers us too the example of Nelson Mandela, who endured the long years of prison. His suffering was not abstract—it was day after day of chains, isolation, and humiliation. Yet he did not suppress it or pretend it was not real. He entered into it fully, letting it shape him. And in doing so, his heart was tempered, his vision clarified, his will purified. When at last he was released, he was not a broken man but a stronger one, because he had experienced suffering until it had done its work.

O children of tomorrow, know this: to refuse pain is to prolong it. The one who buries grief in silence finds it sprouting again in shadows. But the one who allows tears to fall, who walks through the night of sorrow with open eyes, emerges into the dawn purified. Suffering is not the enemy; it is the crucible in which the soul is strengthened, the teacher that refines compassion, the fire through which wisdom is born.

The lesson is plain: do not seek shortcuts through grief. Do not drown it with distractions, nor bury it in denial. Instead, let yourself experience it fully. Practically, let each person do this: when sorrow comes, allow yourself to feel it—weep, speak, write, pray. Share your suffering with others, for in community it is made bearable. Trust that by enduring it completely, you are already healing, though slowly and invisibly, like a tree growing roots in winter.

Thus remember Proust’s words: “We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full.” Carry them as a guide when life wounds you. For suffering is not endless, but neither is it meaningless. If you embrace it rather than flee from it, you will find that it transforms you. And though scars may remain, they will be the marks not of defeat, but of survival, of strength, and of wisdom gained through the fullness of endurance.