Pain and suffering, like so many other abstracts, are entirely subjective. There is nothing quantifiable.

When you’re injured and the doctor asks “What is the pain level on a scale of 1-10?” What does that even mean? What is a 10? What is a 1 for that matter?

If you’ve lived in a bubble your whole life, a skinned knee could register a 10. For a combat veteran, it likely wouldn’t register at all.

When my wife was sick a few weeks back, she was in rough shape. Mentioned that it was the worst she’s felt in a long time. But that meant nothing to me.

I knew it was bad but I had no point of reference to understand what she was actually feeling.

When that same virus inevitably found me an equally viable host, I suddenly had some perspective on what she had gone through. But it still doesn’t tell me exactly how she felt. It’s safe to assume it was at least as bad as I felt, arguably worse.

Of course, this goes far beyond just physical suffering. Mental pain works in exactly the same way, yet it’s even more difficult to relate.

When someone is battling serious depression, or even going through a “rough patch,” you have no idea how bad they are actually feeling. Even if you’ve had crippling depression yourself, you know how debilitating it can be. But you don’t know exactly how it is for them.

And people tend to downplay their negative emotions — that’s if they’re willing to open up at all.

We can never understand exactly what pains the people around us are dealing with at any given time. So it’s a safe bet to A: assume everyone is going through something and B: assume it’s much worse than they’re willing to admit openly.

Everyone feels differently, and everyone deals differently.

Be patient. Have empathy.

We’re all in this together.