Toxic Positivity and the Sugar-Coating of Hard Things: Why We Struggle to Sit With What’s Real

In our culture, we’ve developed a subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) language of avoidance. We slap a “look on the bright side” on someone’s heartbreak. We follow stories of grief with “but at least...” statements. We take complex, painful realities—like trauma, systemic oppression, loss—and we wrap them in sweet little bows to make them more palatable for those around us.

Why? Because sitting with someone’s deep emotions requires emotional labor. It requires presence. And if we’re honest, many people don’t know how to sit with hard things—either in others or in themselves.

So instead, we offer false positivity. We rush people through their pain. We hand them platitudes like "everything happens for a reason" or “good vibes only” as if that’s going to fill the void left by loss, betrayal, or trauma.

But here’s the truth:Pain doesn’t disappear because you put a smiley sticker on it.

Brené Brown reminds us, “We can’t selectively numb emotions. When we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”When we avoid discomfort—whether our own or someone else’s—we’re not helping. We’re actually disconnecting. We’re sending the message that the full spectrum of human emotion is only acceptable when it’s digestible, tidy, and easy to witness.

Psychologist Susan David, author of Emotional Agility, calls toxic positivity a form of emotional rigidity. She writes, “Discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life.” When we refuse to feel what’s hard, we also refuse access to meaning, authenticity, and genuine connection.

We also see this dysfunction show up in how we teach hard topics.We often soften powerful, painful truths—racism, trauma, grief, inequality—into bite-sized content, pretty infographics, or inspirational soundbites. It may be easier to consume, but it often dilutes the truth.

False positivity and the sugar-coating of difficult concepts may feel like kindness, but it’s often just emotional self-protection in disguise. When we do this, we’re not helping the person in front of us—we’re helping ourselves avoid feeling uncomfortable. And in doing so, we send the message:

your sadness is too much for me,

your truth is too raw,

your reality is inconvenient.

This isn’t compassion.It’s avoidance.And it’s dysfunctional.

We need to unlearn this. We need to learn how to hold space for what is real—even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it challenges our worldview, even when it doesn’t have a silver lining.

Let’s stop turning pain into poetry for the sake of aesthetic.Let’s stop slapping affirmations on wounds that need real tending.Let’s stop calling it “love and light” when what someone really needs is presence, truth, and permission to feel.

We grow, individually and collectively, when we stop flinching at the hard stuff.And healing starts when we finally say: I can handle your truth. I won’t turn away.