Good evening. I'm Takahiro Haga, a psychiatrist. Today, I'd like to talk about the idea that "life is a continuous series of sufferings."

I conduct daily psychiatric home visits. The patients I meet there generally live amidst a continuous series of sufferings. There are few stories of good fortune or incredibly happy events; many are exhausted, tired, and hurt simply by being alive.

Sometimes, I offer them slightly poetic words, such as, "Just being alive is wonderful." On the other hand, I also work with them on practical troubleshooting. Recently, I had a very insightful experience, and today I'd like to share that and consider the idea that "life is a continuous series of sufferings."

I myself recently had a very unpleasant experience. When someone experiences something incredibly hurtful, what do you say to them?

For example, you might say, "But there are other good things," "Your work is going well," "You have family and friends," or "There are people who support you." Of course, these words themselves aren't malicious. Rather, I think they're said with the intention of encouraging them. However, for someone who has experienced something extremely unpleasant, such words can sound incredibly hollow. This is because, until the unpleasant event itself has been processed, no matter how well everything else goes, their heart will not be fulfilled. As long as the core of the unpleasant experience remains, it's difficult to be convinced even when told, "There are other good things too."

I had a similar experience with a patient I was visiting for home-based medical care. This patient had an appointment to meet with a support worker at their home. However, the support worker didn't show up at the scheduled time. The patient stayed home all day, waiting for the person to arrive.

Later, when the patient contacted the support worker's office to report that the person hadn't come, the support worker explained, "We visited. We rang the doorbell and knocked on the door, but you didn't answer, so we left." However, the patient had been waiting at home the whole time. From the patient's perspective, they felt like they had been stood up, and that they had been lied to.

From an outsider's perspective, it might seem like a simple case of being stood up once. However, for that patient, it was a major incident. For someone who tends to withdraw from society, having someone come to their home is a very significant event. From the perspective of the support worker, it might just be one of many visits. However, for the person waiting, it's the most important event of the day.

Furthermore, not only was the visitor not there, but they were told, "We visited, but you didn't come out." This sparked intense anger. This person had previously engaged in violent behavior towards a support worker, which is how I became involved with them. Normally, they are calm, quiet, and introverted. However, when their routines and expectations are disrupted, intense anger can well up within them.

In such situations, saying things like, "Now, now, you have other blessings," or "Calm down, consider the other person's perspective," has little effect. This is because, for them, the hurtful incident itself hasn't been processed yet.

As I listened to their story, I considered how to quell this anger. Coincidentally, I knew the support worker in question. While generally calm and personable, I also had the impression that they sometimes cut corners in their work. Of course, we cannot definitively determine the facts. It's possible the visit actually took place. It's also possible the patient simply didn't notice.

However, what was important at that moment wasn't determining a clear-cut answer like in a trial. The patient in front of me was deeply hurt and on the verge of being consumed by anger. The challenge was how to acknowledge and calm their feelings.

So I said, "I know that support worker. They're personable, but they might be a little negligent in their work. Perhaps they didn't actually visit this time either. They might have said they 'did' because they didn't want the office to find out. Of course, we don't know the truth, but I think that's a possibility."

The patient seemed very convinced. Their anger subsided instantly.

Why did those words calm them down? Probably not simply because my explanation sounded plausible. The biggest factor, I think, was that, despite being a fellow support worker, I sided with the patient. In other words, I think they felt, "This doctor stood by me, even though it might be detrimental to them." Here's a crucial point about what happens when someone is hurt.

What truly heals a hurt person isn't being told the truth, nor is it being presented with neutral opinions. It's when someone takes a risk and stands by them.

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