The Pain Olympics
Why We One-Up Each Other (and How to Stop)
“Your dog died? Mine died at two.” We’ve all heard it. Some of us have said it. But why do we do it—and is there a better way to be human?
Ever share something vulnerable—like the loss of a pet or a rough childhood—only to hear someone respond with, “That’s nothing. Let me tell you what I went through”?
It’s subtle. It’s awkward. And honestly, it kind of sucks.
We do it without realizing. We’re trying to connect… but it ends up feeling like a weird competition over who had it worse.
So what’s going on here?
The Trauma Olympics: A Game Nobody Wins
There’s a term for this: one-downing.
It’s when someone meets your pain with their own, usually something “worse.” They’re not trying to hurt you—often, they’re trying to say “I get it.” But instead of holding space, they hijack it.
It turns a moment of vulnerability into a subtle race for the gold medal in suffering.
And let’s be real: it’s draining.
Why We Do This
It usually comes from one of three places:
We want to relate. “That happened to me too” feels like empathy—but it can come off as a detour.
We’re uncomfortable. Pain is hard to sit with, so we scramble to change the focus.
We’re used to bonding through struggle. Especially in cultures or families where love was earned through pain, it feels normal to connect by comparing scars.
This is what people call a trauma bond. It’s a real thing—those intense, fast-forming connections that revolve around shared hardship. And while they feel deep, they’re not always healthy or stable.
What’s the Cost?
When we turn conversations into pain-matching games, we accidentally:
Invalidate someone’s unique experience
Block real emotional connection
Miss a chance to grow closer through presence, not performance
The message becomes, “You think you’re hurt? Let me prove I hurt more.”
And that’s not empathy. That’s ego dressed up in sympathy’s clothes.
What Real Connection Looks Like
Here’s the good news: you don’t have to compete to connect. You don’t need to share your worst memory to prove you’re listening.
Real empathy sounds like:
“I’m so sorry—that must have been really hard.”
“Thank you for trusting me with that.”
Silence—just being there, fully.
That’s powerful. And surprisingly rare.
Catching Ourselves in the Act
We all do this sometimes. The moment you notice it, you’ve already taken the first step toward change.
Next time you feel the urge to jump in with your own story, try staying with theirs a little longer. Let their pain breathe. That presence? It builds trust, safety, and something better than a trauma bond: a real one.
A Better Way to Be Human
Here’s what’s beautiful: we don’t need to win the pain game to be close.
We can connect through joy, curiosity, quiet understanding, and kindness. We can rewrite the script.
Let your empathy be a resting place, not a competition.