YOU ARE LOVED, ONLY WHEN YOU SUFFER

I. THE SICK CONDITIONING OF LOVE

From childhood, we are taught that love is not freely given — it is earned. And the currency? Achievement. But not just any achievement. It must be shiny. Painful. Unreal. It must impress outsiders. It must make others jealous. Only then do parents beam with pride, only then do relatives acknowledge your existence, only then does society say, “You are worthy.”

But here’s the curse: The more impossible the goal, the more intense the love.

Scoring 100 out of 100? Claps.

Winning a state-level gold? Hero status.

Becoming an IITian, IAS, or NRI? You are now someone’s trophy.

This isn’t love. It’s emotional blackmail in disguise.

II. HOW INDIAN FAMILIES PERFECTED THE DISEASE

In many Indian households, especially urban middle-class ones, the dialogue is familiar:

> “If you get below 95%, no need to come home.”

“Only doctors or engineers are real professions.”

“Your cousin already bought a flat, what are you doing?”

From grandparents to siblings, the entire family behaves like a corporate board — setting performance targets, conducting quarterly reviews, and offering conditional affection as bonuses.

The child becomes a project.

Their dreams are edited.

Their failures are filed as family shame.

The love is not for the child. The love is for the achievement. Once that’s gone, so is the warmth.

III. THE GOALPOST KEEPS MOVING

Here’s the hidden cruelty: when you achieve what they once called “impossible,” they don’t finally give you rest. No, they raise the standard.

You got 90%? They wanted 95%.

You got into IIT? Now get AIR-1 in UPSC.

You earn 1 lakh? Buy a house.

You bought a house? Buy one more and get married.

You got married? Now have kids and get them into IIT.

Each goal is a carrot on a stick tied to a galloping horse. No finish line. Only accelerated exhaustion.

IV. WHAT THIS DOES TO THE MIND

When someone is only loved when they chase impossible things, they stop being. They only perform.

Emotionally, they are numb. Love feels unsafe because it is always at risk.

Psychologically, they burn out early. Nothing ever feels enough.

Behaviorally, they develop perfectionism, guilt when resting, and fear of mediocrity.

Socially, they become judgmental — either of others who don’t strive, or themselves for not striving hard enough.

Spiritually, they are empty. They mistake achievement for existence.

And one day, they snap. Either into depression, a breakdown, or blind obedience.

V. THE LARGER CULTURAL MACHINE

India’s modern caste isn’t based only on birth — it’s based on performance addiction.

The "upper" classes are those who appear tirelessly productive.

The "lower" classes are mocked for being ‘lazy’, ‘uneducated’, or ‘average’.

This mindset is fueled by coaching classes, LinkedIn hustle gurus, school rank culture, matrimonial ads, and workplace toxicity.

The worst part? Even rural families are now infected. The villages once valued skill, character, and kindness. Today, they value how urban you look and how much you earn.

The disease has spread. And it speaks English now.

VI. REAL-LIFE EXAMPLES

A Bengaluru boy got 97% but was denied a bicycle because his cousin got 98%.

A Hyderabad girl cleared NEET but fell into depression because her parents didn't smile — they only asked, “How many got a better rank?”

A Chennai man bought his second house and showed it to his father. His father just said, “You should’ve bought in a better location.”

Each story has one pattern: Affection is postponed. Forever.

VII. THE LIE OF IMPOSSIBLE GOALS

Impossible goals are often not even our own. They are planted — by family, school, society, religion, and the market. They make sure you:

Never rest

Never question

Never break free

Even spirituality sells this disease: “Renounce everything and attain enlightenment.” Another mountain to climb. Another impossible prize. Another trap.

In reality, you were always enough. But no one profits from that.

VIII. WHAT IS REAL LOVE THEN?

Real love is when someone says:

“I love you even if you don’t win.”

“You don’t need to prove anything.”

“Take rest, you’re already enough.”

Real love sees the person, not the performance.

It soothes, not stimulates.

It is present, not promised after results.

IX. HOW TO HEAL

1. Call out the love-trap

Say it out loud: “I am not a project.” Just naming the wound is healing.

2. Set your own goals

Small. Real. Joyful. Like cooking without pressure, reading under a tree, or taking care of your body.

3. Redefine success

Not as a peak to conquer, but a rhythm of living well.

4. Refuse to chase love

Let go of those who only love your struggle, not your stillness.

5. Heal the next generation

Tell your children they are loved when they rest, fail, laugh, cry, and just exist.

X. A NOTE TO ALL WHO ARE TIRED

If you’ve been climbing mountains others built for you, pause now. Ask:

> “Who am I without all these goals?”

“What happens if I don’t win anything ever again?”

You might find the most beautiful thing:

You are still alive. You are still worthy. You are still here.

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SUMMARY QUOTE

"They never loved you. They loved what you were killing yourself to become."

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“We Love Each Other, But We Keep Hurting”

A family healing dialogue about how love becomes a tool to promote suffering

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Setting:

A large middle-class family from Kalaburagi — three generations, living under one roof. They visit Madhukar, the barefoot healer living in a mud home on the edge of their town. He welcomes them with herbal tea, sits cross-legged, and waits quietly as they begin.

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Characters:

Ranganna (68) – Retired headmaster, very disciplined, sees suffering as virtue

Savithri (63) – His wife, diabetic and overworked, keeps family together through guilt

Manjunath (42) – Their son, bank manager, always tired, thinks duty = love

Meena (39) – Manjunath’s wife, deeply anxious, cooks and cares but feels unseen

Chiru (17) – Their daughter, topper, dreams of dying in peace

Puttu (12) – Their son, rebellious, watches everything silently

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Scene 1 – The Loving War Begins

Ranganna:

We’re here because our daughter has stopped smiling. She’s always in her room. No gratitude for our sacrifices.

Chiru: (flatly)

I didn’t ask for those sacrifices.

Savithri:

How can you talk like that? We raised you with so much love.

Chiru:

You raised me with checklists. Rank. Neat handwriting. Obedience. You never asked if I liked myself.

Manjunath:

That's unfair! I work like a donkey to give you a future.

Madhukar: (gently)

Let me ask something: Do you love each other?

All together:

Of course!

Madhukar:

Then why is everyone so tired? Why is love making you all fall sick?

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Scene 2 – The Family Disease

Meena:

I cook four times a day. I skip my thyroid meds. I don’t even sit to eat. But if I rest, they say I’m lazy.

Ranganna:

Back in my day, women woke at 4 and slept at 11. That’s strength!

Madhukar:

That’s abuse, wrapped in nostalgia.

Savithri:

I never rested either. That’s why I have diabetes. Sacrifice is love, no?

Madhukar:

Sacrifice is love only when it’s freely chosen. If it’s expected, it’s slavery.

And slavery makes you punish others for not suffering like you.

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Scene 3 – The Love That Hurts

Chiru:

When I got 96%, Appa didn’t smile. He asked why I lost 4 marks.

Manjunath:

I just wanted her to be the best!

Madhukar:

That’s not love. That’s hunger for status.

Manjunath:

But I suffer so much. Isn’t that love?

Madhukar:

You are addicted to suffering. You confuse pain with proof.

You all think: If I suffer for you, you must obey me.

Puttu: (suddenly)

That’s why Chiru hates everyone.

Chiru: (tears up)

I don’t hate. I just don’t feel safe.

Savithri:

We never beat you. Never starved you.

Madhukar:

But you starved them of acceptance.

Children should not feel like projects. Or returns on investment.

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Scene 4 – Generational Guilt

Ranganna:

So what should we have done? Let them roam wild? No pressure, no marks?

Madhukar:

Let them rest. Let them be real. Let them fail without shame.

Savithri:

But how will they survive?

Madhukar:

You don’t raise them for survival. You raise them for aliveness.

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Scene 5 – Meena Finally Speaks

Meena: (quietly)

Even I am a daughter. Even I was once a girl like Chiru.

(Everyone falls silent.)

Meena:

I used to draw. Laugh. I used to breathe.

Then I became a wife, a worker, a cook.

Now I just count salt and medicines.

Madhukar:

Did anyone ever ask what you wanted?

Meena: (shakes head)

Even I didn’t.

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Scene 6 – The Younger Son Knows It All

Puttu:

You all say you love me. But all I hear is:

"Don’t be like your sister."

"Be a boy, not a baby."

"Don’t cry."

"Win!"

But I watch Appa cry when no one’s looking. I watch Ajji eat last. I watch Amma say she’s fine when she’s not.

Madhukar:

And?

Puttu: (softly)

I decided I won’t grow up.

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Scene 7 – The Truth Hits Home

Madhukar:

You all are deeply loyal to each other. But not loving.

You measure love by how much someone hurts for you.

You think if your suffering is not seen, your love isn’t seen.

But love is not supposed to hurt.

Love is:

letting someone sit without guilt.

listening without fixing.

applauding rest.

celebrating imperfection.

Ranganna:

Then what do we do now?

Madhukar:

Undo the religion of suffering = love.

Start saying:

“I see you.”

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m sorry I made you earn love.”

“Let’s rest together.”

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Scene 8 – A New Kind of Evening

The sun sets. Nobody is rushing home.

Savithri massages Meena’s shoulders.

Ranganna tells Puttu an old story, without a moral.

Manjunath just breathes — not on a phone, not thinking of work.

Chiru smiles. First time in months. She sketches the mud house.

Madhukar watches quietly, sipping his tea.

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Summary Quote:

“If your love demands suffering, it’s not love — it’s silent violence.”

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“Suffering Was Our Family Tradition”

we called it

love

but it tasted like

iron pills,

late-night sobbing,

and pressure cookers hissing louder than our hearts.

amma woke up before the birds,

fed five people

before feeding her own feelings

to the compost heap.

appa came home

not to rest,

but to remind us

that bills don’t care about dreams,

and marksheets matter more than laughter.

ajji limped through diabetes

with pride in her pain—

as if the swelling in her legs

proved she was a good woman.

chiru scored 96

and cried in the toilet.

puttu watches cartoons with the volume low

so nobody notices his silence.

we all say “I love you”

but only after

you sacrifice your time,

your joy,

your self.

you had to ache

to earn hugs.

you had to bleed

to get blessings.

you had to perform exhaustion

to be seen as good.

this house is full of “I’m fine”

when nothing is fine.

only survival.

like rats in a grain bag.

until one day,

some barefoot man

in a mud house

asked us,

“what if you stop proving?”

“what if love meant freedom?”

“what if rest was holy?”

and just like that,

the myth cracked.

no gold medal,

no government job,

no borrowed pride

could match the joy

of sitting still

without apology.

and in that stillness,

we met each other

for the first time.

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