Is Our Pain Chosen? Soul Contracts and the Mystery of Suffering

August 21st — Sitting with the thoughts that sometimes haunt me: why would a soul choose such a difficult life? 

If we believe in multiple lives and soul contracts, there's this haunting idea that maybe we chose our lessons before we came here. That maybe the pain wasn't random, maybe it was a chapter we agreed to live through.

But why would any soul choose violence, neglect, or a childhood that felt more like survival than safety? And why would a soul choose illness, sometimes so serious that one's life ends before it even begins?

The human part of me still resists. It feels unfair, almost cruel, to frame suffering as something "chosen." And I don't think anyone's trauma or illness should ever be romanticized or justified away. On the human level, pain is pain, and what happened should never have happened.

Psychology tells us that trauma can shape the nervous system in ways that last a lifetime, leaving the body on constant alert, making safety feel out of reach. And yet, the same science also shows us resilience: the brain's ability to rewire, to find healing, to grow stronger through connection and care. Spiritual traditions echo this truth in their own way: Buddhism speaks of suffering as the root of compassion, while many new age teachings see it as the soul's chosen classroom. Perhaps both are pointing to the same mystery, that even in pain, there can be seeds of transformation. 

So maybe the soul doesn't choose the suffering itself, but the transformation that can come from it. Maybe our souls saw strength and tenderness in us that we couldn't see yet. Maybe it wanted us to become the one who understands silence, who values safety so deeply because we know what it's like to live without it.

Perhaps the soul chooses difficult beginnings to awaken compassion, to teach us boundaries, or to give us the chance to break cycles that have lasted generations. Perhaps even a soul that knows it will only stay for a short time carries a sacred purpose — to open hearts, to shift something in a family, to remind us of the fragile, precious nature of being alive.

And sometimes, the soul doesn't come at all. I once heard someone say that miscarriage isn't the mother's or father's fault — it's simply the soul deciding: not yet. That thought felt strangely freeing to me, even though I've never experienced it myself. I can only imagine the heartbreak of longing for a child and then losing that dream in such a brutal way. But maybe, just maybe, that soul wasn't rejecting the parent. Maybe it was just choosing a different timing, or leaving behind a quiet lesson about trust, grief, and letting go.

I don't have a final answer. I only know that the child in me still aches, and the soul in me still whispers: this pain wasn't the end of the story. It was the soil where something else could grow.

Whether it's a karmic bond, a soul contract, or simply the mystery of being alive, I choose to believe that nothing I went through was meaningless. And that in ways I'm only beginning to see, my soul trusted me enough to carry this weight, because it knew I could turn it into light.

What do you think? Is our suffering chosen, or is it simply the mystery of being alive? 

Softly,
Selflavie

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