Mental Health vs Romanticized Pain

Hey hey, Peps. How are we doing today? Have you eaten? Drank water? No, well here is your sign to go do that. Me, well, it's been an eventful morning and it’s not even 11am yet. Hubby had a doctor's appointment and ended up getting a blocker shot in his neck/shoulder. Hopefully this will relieve the pain enough that he’ll be able to work without pain.

While waiting for him to come out, I had thoughts about today's post…. There’s a fine line between writing pain honestly and turning it into something beautiful enough to be misunderstood. Sit with that for a moment. I have recently, and by recently I mean within the last 30 minutes, found out that I apparently don’t. 

I give my character the situations to overcome with the accompanying trauma. I have tried to show the resilience people have, when they have their backs against the wall. Which apparently is not the case for everyone. For some that have been through the same things I have, they folded. I picked myself up, dusted off, lowered my shoulders and bulldozed through it with the grace of a bull in a china cabinet. My FMCs typically do the same thing. 

But in the writing world…. Suffering/enduring for love is a tail as old as time. Art, in all forms, has always been drawn to broken things. But somewhere along the way, pain started getting polished—made aesthetic, poetic, enviable. Mental illness became a vibe. Trauma became a personality trait. Endurance became a substitute for healing.

That’s where things get dangerous. Mainly due to the fact that “Dark Romance” romantics romanticize toxic relationships, tropes, and emotionally unavailable people. Basically the RED FLAGS. (BTW they are not Matri Gras beads, you do not need to collect them all.) Struggling doesn’t make someone more interesting. Being in pain doesn’t give a story depth by default. And surviving something awful doesn’t mean it should define a person forever. Which is what I have tried to portray with my characters, but according to some, have fallen massively short on.

Mental health isn’t romantic. It’s exhausting. It’s inconvenient. It’s repetitive. It’s unglamorous work done in private often without applause or visible progress. It’s setting boundaries no one claps for. It’s choosing stability over intensity, even when intensity feels more familiar.

Romanticized pain tells us suffering is proof of worth. Mental health asks us to unlearn that. And depending on what generation you are from, society tells us to suck it up, we are fine. Like Elsa, conceal don’t feel. 

As a reader, dark romances are my guilty pleasure. The bad boy claiming has always kinda been like my "OH REALLY" kind of thing. But... As a writer, I’m interested in what happens after the breaking point. After the dramatic moment. After the trauma is named but not magically resolved. I want quiet resilience. The awkward healing. The days where nothing explodes but something still shifts. And I actually thought I did that, well. 

I say all that to say this: Pain can be part of a story without being the whole story. We don’t need to glorify damage to tell the truth. We don’t need to stay wounded to stay compelling. Growth doesn’t erase what happened, it reframes it.

Also, I'm not here to yuck anyone else's yum. I am merely saying mental health work isn’t cinematic. It’s courageous anyway. And choosing healing over mythologizing your pain? That might be the bravest narrative choice of all.

So, where have you noticed pain being romanticized—in stories or in your own life? What are you choosing to carry forward that supports healing instead? Share if you feel comfortable. You’re not alone in this.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble