The Gifts of Sadness

Dear community,

As we turn the page into October, we're leaning into a theme that can stir up a lot of feelings right away: sadness. Just noticing what that word evokes in you—tightness, resistance, tenderness, curiosity—can be a practice in itself. And however you feel, it's welcome here.

In Buddhism and other wisdom traditions, sadness is seen as a natural, universal part of being human. Often, it traces back to our attachments, to the reality of impermanence. For much of my life, though, I treated sadness as something to avoid. I believed that being as happy and optimistic as possible, at all times, was the "best" way to roll. But after walking through some very sad and difficult seasons, I've come to see sadness very differently – as one of the most powerful teachers of the heart.

There's a depth of understanding and meaning that seems to awaken only when I've allowed myself to truly touch sadness.

One of my teachers, Susan Piver, writes that sadness is actually a superpower. She says: "When you look out at this world today, what you see will make you very sad. This is sensible. You are seeing clearly. Genuine sadness gives rise spontaneously, naturally, and completely to the longing to be of benefit to others."

She even asks:

"What if I told you that the way to change the world was to be sad?"

I find this so powerful. Not as a directive to wallow or to perform sadness, but as an invitation to stop running from it. Because when we finally stop resisting, sadness doesn't collapse us—it opens us. To each other. To what needs our care. To what we're truly here for.

Sadness is uncomfortable. Sometimes unbearably so. Our very human tendency is to resist it—to push it away, numb it, shift it into something else (anger, righteousness, toxic positivity, etc). And in that resistance or masking, we create even more suffering. One of the most profound things mindfulness has taught me is that so often, when we feel sadness or any other emotion, we actually don't need to do anything. We can simply make room. We can pause and observe it with a gentle curiosity—where do I feel it? Is it moving or changing? Are there other feelings here too? There's a real freedom in recognizing: sadness is here, and I can just let that be.

After class earlier this week, a fellow member shared something that really stuck with me. She said that the moments of big loss in her life have brought out "the best resilience, the strongest resilience I've ever felt, and in a way that has actually brought a lot of pride." I find this so beautiful and true. Sadness and loss don't just break us open—they also reveal our unbelievable strength. They show us what we're capable of weathering, of holding, of moving through. And our capacity to come out the other side of impossible experiences somehow even more whole.

And yet, even with this understanding, it's so easy to feel sad about something and immediately think 'this is wrong' or 'I shouldn't feel sad.'" But of course we feel sad. We're human beings living in an incredibly unpredictable, fragile, and impermanent world where suffering is everywhere. Let me repeat: of course we feel sad.

As Tara Brach says, "This too belongs." Mindfulness helps us recognize that whatever is here is welcome—not that we have to like it or want it to stay, but that we can stop the exhausting work of trying to feel differently than we do.

An important note here: I'm talking about sadness as a natural emotion that moves through us, not clinical depression or prolonged depressive states. Those require different kinds of support and care. If you're struggling with depression, it’s so important and an act of self-compassion to reach out to a mental health professional or trusted support person.

Something that’s been helpful for me came from a conversation I had with my mom recently about using language like "oh, sadness is here" or "anger is here" or "confusion is here" and how the subtle syntax change somehow shifts things and feels different than "I am sad" or even "I feel sad." I've started using this language with my 2-year old daughter to help her understand the impermanence of feelings.

As I wrap up this note, I want to touch on one of the other biggest lessons I've learned about sadness: that it's not only a doorway to opening your heart—it's also a doorway into deeper and fuller forms of joy.

Sadness and joy are not opposites. They are threads of the same cloth, each giving the other its texture and fullness. To feel sorrow deeply is also to know how precious joy is—and to let joy, when it comes, be even more alive. (I wrote more about this idea in The Fullness of Joy if you're curious to explore further.)

So this month, I invite you to explore your relationship with sadness (to whatever degree is right for you). When it arises, how do you tend to respond? Can you soften just a little around any resistance? Can you glimpse the aliveness that sadness carries, and the ways it can awaken us?

With so much love on the journey,

Rena

Rena Satre Meloy

Pause Cofounder