I have heard it said, far too often and far too casually, that no matter what you are going through, someone else has it worse. I have never liked that statement. My heart has always pushed back against it, because it does not comfort, it dismisses.

Those words do not soothe pain, they shrink it. They quietly tell a hurting soul that their tears are unnecessary, their ache excessive, their grief inconvenient. They teach us to minimise what is breaking inside us, to swallow our cries, to stay silent so we do not become a burden. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, we learn to hide.

This is one of the reasons I buried and numbed my pain for much of my life. I would look at others who seemed to have it worse and, without realising it, invalidate my own suffering. The “suck it up, buttercup” culture I was raised with taught endurance without empathy, resilience without tenderness and it's far more conducive to breeding depression than it is to comforting the broken-hearted.

There is also an uncomfortable truth beneath that mindset. Other people’s tears unsettle us when we have not yet learned how to be compassionate the way Jesus is compassionate. We rush to fix, minimise, or silence pain because we do not know how to sit with it. That is precisely why He came.

Yet pain is not a competition, and suffering is not measured on a scale. A broken heart is still broken, even if another heart appears more shattered. Wounds do not heal because someone else is bleeding more visibly.

Scripture never asks us to compare our pain. Jesus never stood before the weary and said, “Others have it worse.” He said,

📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (NKJV)

He invites the burdened, not the ranked. He sees each sorrow fully, personally, tenderly.

Yes, someone may have it worse, that may be true. Yet that truth does not invalidate your pain. We are all broken in different places, in different ways, at different depths. We are all human. We all carry stories that ache to be heard. We all need room to lament, to speak, to be held in compassion.

Jesus came for this very reason.

📖 "He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed." — Luke 4:18 (NKJV)

Most importantly, we are never alone. Never abandoned in our grief. Never unseen in our struggle.

📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)

God does not compare wounds. He draws near to them.

Your pain matters. Your tears matter. Your voice matters. You are allowed to cry out. You are allowed to need comfort. You are allowed to take up space with your healing.

💡Reflection

• Where have I minimised my pain because I believed it was not “bad enough” 🤔

• What messages about emotion and strength shaped how I learned to cope with hurt 🤔

• How might my healing deepen if I allowed Jesus to meet me exactly where I ache 🤔

🎺Affirmation

My pain is seen, my heart is held, and my healing matters to God. I am not alone, and I do not need to earn compassion by comparison.

🙌 Prayer

Lord Jesus, You came to heal the broken-hearted and bind up their wounds. I bring You every place where I learned to harden instead of heal. Teach me how to receive compassion without shame and to extend it with Your gentleness. Thank You for drawing near to me, not asking me to compare my pain, but inviting me to be held.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.