Not So Fast: The Sacred Call to Stop Spiritually Bypassing Pain

There’s a certain kind of spiritual language that can feel so comforting on the surface—“just stay in the light,” “raise your vibration,” “everything happens for a reason,” or “love and light!” While often well-meaning, these phrases can sometimes serve as a way to avoid what’s hard, messy, and deeply human. They can keep us skating on the surface of life, hovering above our pain rather than entering into it with tenderness and courage. This is what psychologist John Welwood coined as spiritual bypassing: the tendency to use spiritual beliefs or practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolved emotional wounds, psychological development, or painful truths.

The irony, of course, is that true spirituality doesn’t bypass anything. It includes everything.

Real spirituality doesn’t ask us to transcend our humanity—it asks us to inhabit it fully. And while the impulse to rise above our pain is understandable, especially in a world that often tells us pain is a problem to fix, the path of transformation runs straight through the heart of what hurts. We are not here to escape our humanity; we are here to embrace it, all of it. Embodiment—not avoidance—is where genuine, vibrant living takes place.

Embracing the Wounded Parts

Dr. Kristin Neff, a pioneer in the field of self-compassion, writes about the importance of offering kindness to the parts of ourselves that are hurting. Her work encourages us not to silence our inner pain but to turn toward it with tenderness. In Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself, she explains how self-compassion is not a form of self-pity or indulgence, but a radical act of being with ourselves in the midst of suffering.

“We give ourselves compassion,” she writes, “not to feel better but because we feel bad.”

This subtle but profound distinction is what makes her work so aligned with an authentic spiritual path. It’s not about using compassion to get rid of the pain. It’s about letting love meet pain. It’s about creating a home inside ourselves where even the most broken parts feel welcome.

Similarly, Dr. Richard Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems (IFS), invites us to meet the many inner “parts” of ourselves with curiosity and care. In IFS, we come to understand that we are not one monolithic self but a whole ecosystem of sub-personalities—some of whom carry pain, others who protect us from it. The parts of us that are angry, anxious, addicted, ashamed, or overwhelmed are not problems to fix or discard. They are wounded inner beings who need our attention, not our avoidance.

Schwartz writes, “All parts are welcome.” And more than that: all parts are good. Even the parts that are hurting us are trying to help us in some way. They developed in response to pain, trauma, or unmet needs. To bypass them is to bypass the opportunity to heal the original wound. The IFS model teaches us that healing happens not through exile but through relationship. When we bring our compassionate awareness—what Schwartz calls the “Self”—to the parts that are suffering, transformation becomes possible.

The Great Goodness Embraces It All

In my own spiritual practice, I often refer to God as the Great Goodness—a presence that is loving beyond comprehension, unconditionally embracing of all that we are. I believe this Great Goodness loves every part of every one of us. Not just the polished, peaceful, prayerful parts. Not just the parts that say the right things or feel the right feelings. All of us. Including the shadowy places we wish we could erase. Including our grief, our rage, our jealousy, our shame, our confusion.

The invitation is clear: if the Divine can love every part of us, then we are invited to do the same.

When we attempt to bypass our pain in the name of “staying positive,” we unintentionally reject the very places within us that most need love. And this rejection can deepen our suffering. It’s like walking past a crying child because you’d rather meditate in silence. The child doesn’t stop crying just because you ignore her. She cries louder.

True healing doesn’t come from pretending we are above the mess. It comes from getting low to the ground, meeting our pain where it lives, and offering it our presence. In this way, we mirror the Divine. We become agents of love—not just toward the world, but toward ourselves.

Embodiment Over Escape

So many spiritual traditions—especially in their more mystical expressions—invite us into embodiment, not out of it. They teach that incarnation is not a punishment or a mistake but a miracle. We are not here to transcend our bodies or numb our feelings. We are here to taste, touch, cry, ache, laugh, rest, break, and begin again.

This life, this body, this particular arrangement of joy and grief, is holy ground.

When we spiritually bypass our pain, we also bypass the sacred. Because the sacred doesn’t only live in the sunrise and the songbird—it also lives in the hospital room, the traffic jam, the fight with our spouse, the disappointment we didn’t see coming, and the dark night that lasts longer than we thought we could bear.

Every part of life is worthy of reverence. And while there are times we need to take a break from the heaviness—to rest, to lighten, to breathe—that’s different than building our entire spiritual identity around escape. Sometimes spirituality becomes another form of control: “If I meditate enough, I won’t have to feel this.” But the soul is not here to be numbed or managed. The soul wants to feel everything.

Because only when we feel it can we heal it.

A Personal Story

There was a time in my life when I thought I had to always be positive—and if I wasn’t, it meant I lacked faith. “Choose faith over fear” was a mantra I repeated to myself like a lifeline. I truly believed that if I just focused on the good, the fear would go away.

But it didn’t.

Instead, my relentless focus on the positive only deepened my shame. The fear didn’t disappear; it just went underground, where it could scream more loudly in the dark. I thought I was being spiritual. I thought I was being strong. But what I was really doing was spiritually bypassing a scared, hurting part of me that desperately needed love—not a lecture.

It was only when I allowed myself to acknowledge the fear and treat it with kindness that something began to shift. I imagined the fear as a child inside me—panicked, unseen, desperate for safety. I stopped trying to silence her, and instead, I sat with her. I held her hand. I told her she wasn’t alone.

And then I did something that changed everything.

I introduced her to my God—the Great Goodness—and to the angels who walk with me. I let her know that she, too, was welcome in the circle of divine love. No part of me was too much. No emotion was unwelcome. Slowly, gently, that inner child began to calm. I had stopped trying to send her away. I had started loving her instead.

And that, for me, was the miracle.

The Invitation

So here is the invitation, and it is not for the faint of heart: Let us not bypass the hard parts. Let us turn toward the pain with the same reverence we turn toward the Divine. Because the Divine is in the pain too.

Let us practice self-compassion the way Kristin Neff teaches—with gentleness, mindfulness, and a recognition of our shared humanity. Let us meet our inner exiles the way Richard Schwartz invites us to—with curiosity and care, trusting that no part of us is beyond redemption.

Let us remember that incarnation is a gift—not something to get out of, but something to get into.

Let us live fully. Let us feel deeply. Let us be willing to love what is hard to love.

Because that’s where the miracles live.