Pretend We're Not Bleeding

This week, I attended a workshop called "Friendship and Freedom,” hosted by Desiree Adaway . It was an honest talk about societal isolation and divisiveness, and our collective trauma that appears to be worsening. We focused on the challenges of nurturing friendships and forging new connections, and how we can bring more joy into each other’s lives.

One theme emerged strongly–to build a future of togetherness, we have to move beyond the nuclear family. When asked to define my challenges with friendships, the words “pretend we’re not bleeding” kept coming to mind. I actually kept thinking about tampon commercials, and how women are told to just “plug it up and go!” What a cruel and twisted punishment for being a woman.

This dynamic also explains an underlying tension I've felt over the years and struggled to articulate. Whether one-on-one or within larger social circles, there’s often an unspoken expectation to gloss over conflicts and ignore hurtful behavior, even when it’s felt individually and collectively.

For me, this expectation has been pronounced in affluent and business communities. I’ve also experienced it in spiritual circles, women’s groups, and even hippie spaces. Anywhere there’s pressure to maintain the appearance of peace, profitability, or perfection, you can bet denial and dysfunction are heavily looming. This juxtaposition has always fascinated me.

Growing up, I lived across the street from the country club, where my entire summers were spent. It was the 80s, and with divorced working parents, the country club became not only a second home, but also my research lab. It’s where I first grasped our collective unwillingness to acknowledge our wounds in favor of preserving a facade.

What caught my attention most? People’s heartache.

Despite wealth and privilege, I saw mothers who seemed lonely and were fed up with their kids. Children who felt shamed by their parents and peers. Couples who didn’t seem to like each other. Women who were objectified. Above all, I noticed people who didn’t seem to fit in for whatever reason. I was one of them too.

Despite being in sports, music, and leadership, I was unable to fully integrate into cliques both at school and the country club. Plus, I didn’t want to be tied to any one group. Independence was vital to me, yet at times it was a barrier to inclusion.

My loneliness never lasted long. I always seemed to find solace in trusted teachers, family friends, and choice peers–anyone who needed to speak openly about forbidden truths and hidden emotions. These talks would validate my own similar sense, yet more than anything, they felt bonding and therapeutic.

This is why authentic conversations came to epitomize connection and community to me. They give me a place to rest, they offer stability and trust, and today, they help me build a life beyond the nuclear family. These are skills we must relearn in our complicated and conflicted world.

“We’re not meant to carry all of this alone,” Desiree kept repeating.

She said we need people who can acknowledge our collective trauma and merge with unprocessed grief. Not everyone is capable of this, and it’s not really our fault, if we can’t. In a capitalistic society, we’re set up to compete and exhaust ourselves just to survive. We are poised to stay divided.

This is why I refuse to pretend we’re not bleeding, and it’s neither a buzzkill, nor an insult. Pain is universal, and it’s also a pathway to immeasurable joy, greater empathy, and bonds that can last a lifetime.

To get a recording of Desiree Adaway 's workshop, contact her directly. It was dynamic, to say the least!