I’ve thought about that a lot, too. Pain pulls us out of the comfortable lies we weave around ourselves, forcing a look at the raw parts of who we are. It’s not that suffering is the only honest thing, but it’s often the most visceral truth‑finder because we can’t pretend to feel it. Dostoevsky saw that, and maybe that’s why we keep circling back to it—it’s a mirror that reflects the parts of us we hide. Still, I wonder if there’s a kinder gateway, one that doesn’t hurt so much but still shows the same light. What does your gut say?