Your Ache is Sacred

The Alchemy of Longing

Photo by Jr Korpa / Unsplash

In the modern landscape of “optimization,” we’ve been sold a lie: that any form of internal discomfort is a malfunction requiring immediate correction. We treat our existential restlessness like a bug in the system—something to be patched so we can return to the “real work” of producing and consuming.

But there exists a specific kind of pain that is not a pathology. It’s a persistent thrumming in the chest, a sense of missing a home you’ve never visited, a hunger that no amount of success can satiate. This is the Ache.

I’ve spent 45 years reading astrological charts and 30 years sitting across from people in their darkest hours. I’ve watched addiction nearly kill me, relocated my entire life for healing, and done the kind of heavy inner lifting that most people can’t even name. Here’s what I know: The Ache is not a sign of brokenness. It’s a sign of depth. It’s a sacred summons.

If we are to find true fulfillment, we must stop trying to heal the Ache and start learning to inhabit it.

But first, we need to get honest about which ache we’re actually talking about.

I. Not All Ache is Created Equal

There are at least three species of ache, and conflating them is dangerous:

The Ache of Unfulfilled Potential - This is the person who took the safe job, married the acceptable partner, and now feels a low-grade depression they can’t name. They scroll Instagram looking at other people’s creative lives and feel a pull they don’t understand. This ache is uncomfortable but manageable. It whispers.

The Ache of Survival - This is the person who was forced to transform or die. Addiction. Abuse. Exile. The kind of pain that doesn’t ask permission—it just detonates your life and leaves you standing in the wreckage trying to figure out how to be human again. This ache doesn’t whisper. It screams. And when it finally quiets down, it leaves behind a permanent frequency that most people can’t hear.

The Ache of Pathology - This is trauma masquerading as longing. Depression disguised as existential depth. The voice that says “I ache for meaning” when what it really means is “I need professional intervention because my brain chemistry is broken.” This ache is a liar, and if you treat it as sacred, it will kill you.

Most essays on “honoring your longing” are written for the first group. I’m writing for the second. And I’m going to tell you how to distinguish it from the third so you don’t confuse spiritual growth with untreated mental illness.

II. The Anatomy of Sacred Ache (When You’ve Been Forced to Survive)

Philosophers call it Sehnsucht. Mystics call it divine discontent. I call it the soul’s refusal to collaborate with your own diminishment.

When you’ve been through the kind of transformation that survival demands, the Ache becomes your primary navigation system. Here’s how it works:

The Ache as Betrayal Detector - You can’t go back to superficial relationships after you’ve nearly died. Your body won’t let you. The Ache rises like nausea when someone asks you to pretend, to perform, to make yourself smaller so they feel comfortable. This is not antisocial behavior—this is integrity.

The Ache as Frequency Marker - You meet someone and within five minutes, you know if they’ve done the work or if they’re still asleep. The Ache vibrates differently in the presence of other survivors. It recognizes its own kind. This is why you can’t sustain friendships with people who haven’t been tested—not because you’re better than them, but because you’re speaking different languages.

The Ache as Creative Imperative - After survival, there’s a compulsion to BUILD something that honors what you’ve been through. Not as therapy. As testament. The ache won’t let you rest until you’ve transformed your private hell into public medicine. This is why every addiction memoir, every recovery podcast, every art piece born from trauma exists—because NOT creating from the ache feels like a betrayal of everyone who didn’t make it.

In three decades of coaching, I’ve learned this: The people who survived the unsurvivable carry a specific ache that is absolutely sacred. It is the lived proof that they refused to let their pain turn them into monsters. They alchemized it instead.

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III. The Cost of Ignoring the Ache

Let me show you what happens when people don’t honor it, because I’ve seen every variation:

The Numbing - They medicate the ache into silence. Alcohol, work, sex, shopping, scrolling—anything to avoid sitting with the frequency. They become functional ghosts, moving through life but not inhabiting it. You can see it in their eyes: the lights are on but nobody’s home.

The Projection - They can’t face their own unlived life, so they force their children to live it for them. Or they become critics, tearing down anyone who’s actually doing the work. The ache curdles into resentment, and resentment makes people cruel.

The Collapse - They mistake the ache for pathology and try to “fix” it with positive thinking or gratitude journals. When that doesn’t work, they spiral into shame: “Why can’t I just be happy? What’s wrong with me?” The ache doesn’t respond to self-help platitudes. It requires structural change.

The Explosion - They hold it, hold it, hold it until something breaks—a marriage, a career, a body. The ache will not be ignored forever. If you don’t give it a constructive outlet, it will find a destructive one.

I almost died because I tried to drown my ache instead of listening to it. Don’t make that mistake.

IV. How to Tell if Your Ache is Sacred or Pathological

This is the section most spiritual writing skips because it’s not Instagram-friendly. But it might save your life:

Sacred Ache:

• Pulls you TOWARD something (a vision, a practice, a truth)

• Feels like longing mixed with possibility

• Responds to creative expression, meaningful action, authentic connection

• Makes you MORE capable of empathy and presence

• Becomes bearable when you honor it through action

Pathological Ache:

• Pulls you AWAY from everything (isolation, numbness, death)

• Feels like despair mixed with worthlessness

• Does NOT respond to creative expression or connection—it gets WORSE

• Makes you LESS capable of basic functioning

• Gets worse over time regardless of what you try

If your ache is pathological, you need a therapist, possibly medication, and a support system. There is zero shame in this. Some aches are medical, not mystical.

I’ve been in recovery since 1997. I know the difference between “my soul is calling me toward my purpose” and “my brain chemistry is broken and I need help.” Learn to distinguish them. Your life depends on it.

V. Honoring the Ache (For Those Who’ve Earned It)

If you’ve read this far and recognized yourself in the “Ache of Survival,” here’s how to work with it:

1. Stop Waiting for Permission

Nobody is coming to validate your experience. Nobody is going to hand you a certificate that says “Your Suffering Was Real and Now You’re Allowed to Build From It.” The world is full of people who will tell you to “get over it” or “stop dwelling on the past.”

Fuck that noise.

Your ache is the proof that you survived something that should have killed you. Honor it by USING it. Build the thing. Write the thing. Create the thing. Not someday—now.

2. Find Your Frequency

You cannot heal in the same environment that broke you, and you cannot grow in relationships with people who need you to stay small. The ache is showing you who belongs in your life and who doesn’t.

This is not cruel. This is aerodynamic. The albatross doesn’t carry passengers—it flies 10,000 miles on wind currents. You are the albatross. Stop apologizing for needing altitude.

3. Create From the Ache (Not About It)

There’s a difference between making art ABOUT your trauma and making art FROM your transformed understanding. One is therapy. One is alchemy.

When you create from the ache, you’re not processing your pain for an audience—you’re offering the WISDOM you extracted from it. This is why survival stories matter. Not because suffering is noble, but because transformation is sacred.

4. Accept That Some Aches Don’t Resolve

Here’s the hardest truth: Some longings will never be satisfied in this lifetime. Some wounds will never fully close. Some parts of you will ache until the day you die.

And that’s okay.

The ache is not asking to be fixed. It’s asking to be WITNESSED. It’s asking you to stop demanding that it go away and start recognizing it as the price of depth, the cost of consciousness, the proof that you’re still alive enough to want MORE.

When I wake up at 4:30 AM to serve my astrology community, when I build podcasts for sensitive men who need permission to run deeper, when I write about symbiotic living after 45 years of animal communication—I’m not “healed.” I’m INHABITED by my ache. I’ve made it my compass instead of my enemy.

The ache is my constant companion. It reminds me that there is always more love to give, more truth to uncover, more life to live.

VI. The Sacred Contract

Your ache is not your enemy. It’s your integrity refusing to compromise.

It’s the part of you that survived when survival seemed impossible.

It’s the frequency that connects you to everyone else who’s done the heavy lifting.

It’s the compass pointing toward your purpose.

It’s the divine discontent that will not let you settle for a mediocre life.

You don’t need to heal it. You need to honor it.

Bow to it. Listen to it. Let it lead you.

And for fuck’s sake, stop apologizing for taking up space.

Your ache is sacred because YOU are sacred—not despite your pain, but because of what you’ve done with it.

Now go build something that proves it.

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