I heard a phrase this past week — “The Suffering Contract.” A woman on TikTok, hidden behind a pair of cool sunglasses, broke it down. And it got me thinking:
What do we agree to suffer through? What suffering contract have I signed on the dotted line?
There’s a version of all of us that we agree to be. Whether by choice or by design, I agreed to be The Good and Quiet Daughter. The Fat and Funny Friend. The Eternally Single and Pure Woman.
I agreed not to let my light shine too bright. I dimmed myself so others could glow brighter. No one told me outright to do this — but it always felt implied. I sat on the sidelines of my own life, waiting for someone to pat me on the head and say: good job, I love you.
The Good and Quiet Daughter
It’s hard to build your life when you don’t have role models. I had plenty of women I didn’t want to be like, but almost none I wanted to follow.
The eldest daughter is her mother’s foot soldier. I took care of my siblings. Cleaned the house. Did laundry. Listened to my mother. Protected her. Protected them.
I was quiet. I was good. And still didn’t feel like it was enough.
The first time I questioned The Suffering Contract, I was fourteen. I asked my mother why I had to suffer because of her choice of partner. Why must my life be hard? What did I do?
Every time I tried to tear up the contract, I was met with ridicule and abuse — reminders that I had no choice. Those who suffer the hardest are somehow the strongest.
The Fat and Funny Friend
I never felt pretty. I often felt too manly. Aggressive.
The shame I carried as The Good and Quiet Daughter followed me into the schoolyard. The girls were thin. They knew how to dress. How to do their makeup.
I wore Plato’s Closet. Washed my hair with Suave because my mom couldn’t afford to buy the $7 shampoo.
The male attention I did get was split down the middle: some thought I was funny, others just wanted sex.
I didn’t lose weight until I was twenty-three. Until then, I spent years sobbing, wondering what made me so repulsive. I blamed fate. A cruel joke. Anything. I wondered why God seemed to skip me. He gave everyone else something that made them worthy of love except for me.
The truth? Fatness is a paradox. On one hand, you’re invisible. On the other hand, you’re hyper-visible depending on how much space you dare to take up. And people never let you forget either.
And the truth is - you deserve to be loved as you are. My weight wasn’t the issue because I always had offers. How I felt about myself was holding me back.
The Eternal Bachelorette
No one told me I had to be alone. It just felt implied.
In some ways, it was a choice. I knew I had problems. I knew I needed to work on them. I never wanted to dump them on a partner and sort myself out through their love. I wanted to be whole enough to love someone fully.
A friend dated the guy I liked. After it happened a handful of times, it began to feel like it was intentional.
How dare I command attention? I was overweight. They were prettier. Thinner. Smarter. Maybe they felt they deserved it more.
For a long time, I took pride in my suffering. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I have a fractured relationship with my mother. I’m a bitch, I’m a lover. Or whatever Meredith Brooks said.
This combination of social denial and self-hatred morphed into this odd ball of righteousness. It’s fine. I never wanted it anyway. I’m better than all of you because I possess self-control. What’s that saying? The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math.
Breaking the Contract
As I get older, I realize you don’t get points for suffering the most. There’s no reward for martyrdom.
Suffering doesn’t make you special. It doesn’t earn you love. It just leaves you tired and bitter while everyone else lives their life. To almost everyone but you, it reads as manipulation. Entitlement, even. And that’s not kind.
I thought if I stayed quiet, funny, single, invisible — someone would eventually notice. Like there was a prize for being the most patient. Spoiler: there isn’t.
All suffering ever gave me was more suffering. More fine print. More rules. More contracts I never agreed to.
I’m tired of waiting and thinking and processing. Always think before you act; you can’t make a mistake. I want action. I want movement. I want the future.
Being raised by hyper-religious Gen X that were raised by boomers, The Suffering Contract was practically inherited. I think it’s time to leave it in the past, though.
It’s not my job to comfort the insecure or to shrink myself. I am bold. Brave. Courageous. Beautiful.
It’s easier to accept suffering, to agree to it. This is my predetermined role by some mythical, cosmic force. I have agreed to suffer in my waking life, and perhaps in the afterlife, I’ll get seated in SECTION 105 ROW 4 SEAT 3 instead of the nosebleeds.
It’s easy to believe that I’m ugly, fat, stupid, smart, funny, loud, annoying, useless, sensitive, selfish…
And view these traits through the lens of shame rather than as human.
Everyone deserves happiness. Everyone. Including you. And especially me.
It’s never too late to go and find it.