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Chaos as Comfort: They don’t want Help, they want Applause

There are people in our lives - often close ones - who seem to always be stuck. Always hurting. Always in crisis. You listen to them, support them, offer suggestions, help them brainstorm, sometimes even clean up after their mess. But months or years later, it’s the same story, same pattern, same pain. And here’s the thing - they don’t actually want solutions. They want sympathy. Pity. Attention. The drama. The comfort of being the wounded one in the room.


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If you stay with this for a while, you will notice something - They don't actually want help or solutions, they want sympathy and applause for their suffering and they continue whinging on loop about the same issues over and over again, like a broken record. They want a stage. They want to be comforted in their chaos, not called out of it. They want the world to make space for their pain, but not to be held accountable for their part in prolonging it. And that’s a hard pill to swallow.


We don’t like to say this out loud because it sounds harsh. But some people are more attached to the identity of being a victim than they are to the possibility of change or taking responsibility for doing th work. Not because their problems aren’t real, many of them are, but being the victim comes with a strange kind of power: the power to not take responsibility or have accountability, to demand understanding without having to offer effort, and to be the center of the story without having to do the work of rewriting it. It allows them to stay in a comfort zone of pain, where people expect less from them, offer more to them, and don’t demand them to do better.


Somewhere, being the victim lets them off the hook. If they’re always the one being wronged, mistreated, or misunderstood, then they don’t have to examine their own role in the pattern. They don’t have to be accountable for their choices, reactions, or behaviours. The world just keeps happening to them. And they can keep gathering empathy like social currency, playing the lead in their own tragic narrative.


This isn’t about people who are genuinely struggling and want to get better. It’s about people who, time and time again, resist every single attempt of help, those who seem to enjoy being in the struggle. People who don’t just experience distress - they perform it. Who speak of trauma but won’t go to therapy, won’t read a book, won’t take a single uncomfortable step forward. And god forbid you suggest anything practical - you become the villain. You're "too blunt" or "lacking empathy" or "not understanding their pain." Their suffering becomes an integral part of their identity, their pain a point of pride. Because deep down, they don’t want the problem to go away. Solving it would mean letting go of the one thing that guarantees them attention, exemption from any or all responsibility, a free pass to behave as insensitively as they want with others, and emotional protection. On of the concerns they have around not seeking help is: What happens when people stop clapping for their suffering and start expecting them to do better, or even worse, do something about it?


What makes this harder is the manipulation is rarely overt. These aren’t people screaming for attention on rooftops - it’s subtle. It’s the way they say, “No one understands me.” The sighs. The vague social media posts. The quiet resentment when others around them seem to be doing better. It’s not always easy to call out, and when you do, you become the bad guy. Because if you dare suggest a solution - therapy, a boundary, a mindset shift - suddenly you're the villain. You're accused of being unkind, insensitive, lacking empathy. You're told you don’t understand their pain, even if you've been witnessing it on repeat for years. But real empathy isn’t indulging dysfunction. It’s not watching someone drown and saying, “There, there, it’s okay to be underwater forever.” Real empathy also includes truth. It includes saying, “Yes, this is hard - but you can get out. And if you don’t want to, that’s a choice you’re making.”


Because let’s call it what it is - a choice. After a point, when the same issues repeat, when support systems are offered and rejected, when the chaos becomes a cycle instead of a crisis, it’s a choice. A deeply conditioned, sometimes subconscious one, but a choice nonetheless.


There’s a strange kind of protection that comes with staying in pain. When you’re hurting, people expect less from you. They forgive your rudeness, your unreliability, your lack of effort. They don’t question you - they comfort you. You are shielded from having to evolve or caring at all for others around you, espcially those on who you keep dumping. And why would anyone give that up easily? It’s not that they love the struggle. It’s that the struggle gets them love, or attention, or pity - And that, in itself, becomes addictive.


But here’s what we don’t talk about enough - the impact on the people around them. If you're someone who shows up for others, listens patiently, offers help - you may find yourself burnt out, second-guessing your kindness, or even resenting your own empathy. That’s because you’re not being met halfway. You’re being emotionally drained for the benefit of someone else’s narrative. And that’s when something needs to shift. Boundaries aren’t cruelty - they’re survival. It’s okay to acknowledge that someone you know may be addicted to the attention that their pain brings. It’s okay to step back when you realise your compassion is being used as a crutch, not a catalyst. If someone really wanted to get better, they’d be willing to explore the possibility of change. They’d be open to trying something new - therapy, perspective, self-work. But if they keep coming to you only to constantly dump their problems (and often the same ones over and over again), never to explore growth, you’re not helping them heal - you’re helping them stay stuck.  It’s a hard truth to digest - and so, the question you need to ask is this: Are they telling me about their problems because they want change, or because they want to be clapped for suffering through them? Know that you try to exit the role of emotional caretaker, expect pushback, guilt trip, accusations that you’ve changed or are taking signs of those allegedly wronging them. Because in their story, your job was never to hold a mirror - just to applaud from the sidelines as they centre themselves in their suffering, again and again.


There is a difference between sharing pain and showcasing it. Between being vulnerable and being emotionally manipulative. The first asks for connection. The second demands compliance. If you’re stuck in a cycle like this with someone, take a moment to step back. Reflect. How many times has this same story repeated? How do they react when you offer help instead of sympathy? Do they want healing, or do they want applause? And most importantly - how much of your emotional bandwidth are you willing to spend on someone who refuses to leave the stage? These dynamics are more common than we admit - especially in family systems, close friendships, and romantic relationships. The reason it’s hard to call out is because everyone else often seems to be falling for the performance too. You end up doubting yourself. “Maybe I am being too harsh. Maybe they really can’t help it.” But your gut always knows the difference between someone who's trying, and someone who's comfortable being rescued over and over again.


And for those reading this and realising they are that person - there is no shame in being stuck. We all are, sometimes. But the key is this: Do you want to get out? Do you actually want change, or do you want company in your suffering? Because support is not the same as saviourship. People can walk with you, but they can’t walk for you. There’s only so long people will hold space for a story that refuses to grow. Only so long before empathy turns into exhaustion. And when it does, the applause fades, the audience thins, and you’re left facing a truth you’ve tried so hard to avoid - that healing isn’t something others can do for you.


So the next time you're listening to someone retell the same pain for the tenth time, ask yourself: Are they seeking change, or are they seeking a stage? And if you’re the one on the stage - ask yourself why you’re still performing.


Written by: Vedica Podar



July, 2025

 
 
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