What if I told you that positivity is not what you think it is? What if the thing we've been taught to admire, always staying upbeat, always looking on the bright side, is sometimes the very thing that keeps us anxious, disconnected, and emotionally stuck. Because there is a version of positivity that doesn't heal, it doesn't inspire, it doesn't move us forward, it just asks us to smile while something inside us is clearly on fire. That version of positivity has an aim. It's called toxic positivity. Toxic positivity is the pressure to appear happy, grateful, and optimistic, regardless of what is actually happening in your life. It's not optimism, it's not hope, it's emotional denial dressed up as virtue. It's the idea that feeling bad is a failure, that struggle should be hidden, and that discomfort needs to be corrected immediately. It shows up when pain is rushed past instead of acknowledged, when discomfort is treated as something shameful, when emotional honesty is replaced with forced cheerfulness. In other words, it doesn't ask how you feel, it tells you how you should feel. There's a reason that image of the this is fine dog has become so iconic. A cartoon dog sits calmly at a table, coffee in hand while the room around him is burning, flames everywhere, smoke raising, and he looks straight ahead and says, This is fine. That image isn't funny because it's exaggerated. It's funny because it's familiar. It captures toxic positivity perfectly, denial framed as strength. This mindset usually doesn't come from bad intentions. Most of the time it comes from discomfort. When we don't know how to sit with pain, our own or someone else's, we rush to reassurance. We say things like stay positive, or it's at least it's not worse, or everything happens for a reason. These phrases sound supportive, but what they often do is shut the conversation down before it can even begin. They send a quiet message. Your feelings are inconvenient. In toxic positivity, psychotherapist Whitney Goodman gives a powerful example of how this plays out inside families. She describes a mother overwhelmed by financial stress, emotional exhaustion, and depression. In front of her children, she forces herself to stay positive. She smiles when she doesn't feel okay. She apologizes constantly. She minimizes her pain. She says things like, I'm sorry I'm not more fun, or it's okay, mommy's fine, or I shouldn't feel this way. From the outside, she looks strong, she looks functional, she looks positive, but internally the pressure is crushing her. This is toxic positivity in its most tragic form, performing wellness while silently falling apart. The children don't learn emotional resilience in moments like this. They learn emotional concealment. They learn that struggle should be hidden, apologized for, or denied. The mother isn't protected by positivity. She's suffocating under it. And this is the core idea we need to understand before going any further. Toxic positivity doesn't make people stronger. It makes them quieter. It disconnects them from their own reality in order to make others more comfortable. Once we see that, the question naturally becomes deeper. If positivity isn't always helpful, if saying I'm fine isn't always honest, then what's actually happening inside us when we force ourselves to feel okay? That's where we have to talk about emotion and feelings. One of the most important moments in toxic positivity comes when Whitney Gulman asks a question we almost never stop to ask. What is the difference between an emotion and a feeling? Because if we don't understand that difference, toxic positivity actually makes sense, and that's the danger. So let's slow this down. When we talk about emotions and feelings, we're not talking about something external versus internal. Both are internal, both belong to us. The difference is not where they live, it's how they function. An emotion is the raw automatic response of the nervous system. It happens without asking you. Fear, sadness, anger, joy, these show up in the body first. Your heart rate changes, your breathing shifts, your stomach tightens, your shoulders tense. You don't decide this. You don't choose it. Your body reacts before you explain anything to yourself. A feeling is what happens when your mind interprets that emotional response. It's the meaning you give it, is the label, the narrative, the story you tell yourself about what's happening inside you. So the emotion might be a tight chest and shallow breathing. The feeling becomes I feel anxious. The emotion might be heaviness and exhaustion. The feeling becomes I feel defeated. This is where culture, upbringing, and belief systems enter the picture. Feelings are shaped by what we were allowed to express growing up, what emotion were rewarded, and which ones were discouraged or ignored. And this is exactly where toxic positivity intervenes. Toxic positivity doesn't stop emotions. That's impossible. What it does is police feelings. It teaches people to rename their experience before they've actually processed it. So instead of saying I feel scared, they jump straight to I feel grateful. Instead of saying I feel overwhelmed, they say I'm fine. The body is still carrying the emotion, the stress, the fear, the sadness. But the feeling has been overwritten with something more socially acceptable. That creates a split. Your body is saying one thing. Your words are saying another. And that split costs energy. A lot of it. Goodman's point is not that we should live inside raw emotion forever, is that feelings can only shift in a healthy way after emotions are acknowledged. When we skip that step, when we force positivity too early, we don't regulate ourselves, we disconnect from ourselves, and the body doesn't respond well to being ignored. What isn't acknowledged doesn't disappear. It waits. It leaks out later as anxiety, irritability, burnout, panic, or physical symptoms that seem to come out of nowhere. This is why toxic positivity feels so unstable. It looks calm on the surface, but underneath everything is working over time to keep the mask in place. You cannot think your way out of an emotion. You can't gratitude journal your nervous system into safety. Emotions require recognition before they can move. Not judgment, not fixing, recognition. You're allowed to say, I feel hopeful and I am scared at the same time. That's not contradiction, that's honesty. Real emotional health allows complexity. This is why this chapter matters so much. Because once you understand the difference between emotion and feeling, you see what toxic positivity actually does. It doesn't make people stronger, it makes them quieter. It trains them to abandon their internal signals in order to appear functional, grateful, or inspiring. And the cost of that abandonment is always paid later. Real healing doesn't start with saying I feel positive. It starts with saying this is what's happening in my body right now. That honesty, uncomfortable as it is, is a doorway out of toxic positivity and into something much more stable, self-trust. After talking about toxic positivity, there's usually a pushback that shows up almost immediately. People say, okay, but we can't just complain all the time, and they're not wrong. But the problem is we've confused complaining with honesty and silence with strength. In toxic positivity, Whitney Goodman makes it clear that the opposite of toxic positivity is not endless complaining. It's accurate expression. Complaining becomes a problem when it turns into a loop. When nothing changes, nothing is examined, and nothing moves forward. It's when the same story is repeated again and again, not to be understood, but to stay stuck. That kind of complaining drains energy for the person speaking and for the people listening. But toxic positivity swings the pendulum too far in the other direction. Instead of asking whether a complaint is useful, it shuts it down entirely. It treats discomfort as negativity. It treats naming problems as weakness. And that creates a culture where people stop speaking, not because things are fine, but because it feels unsafe to be honest. There's a huge difference between complaining as avoidance and speaking as awareness. When someone says this isn't working, that's not negativity. That's data. When someone says I'm exhausted, that's not complaining, that's information. The problem starts when we skip over those signals, when we rush people into gratitude before understanding what's broken, when we tell them to focus on the positive instead of asking what's actually happening. Goodman points out something subtle but important. People who are constantly told not to complain don't become more resilient, they become quieter, they internalize their frustration, and that frustration doesn't disappear. It turns inward as shame, anxiety, or resentment. On the other hand, people who complain constantly without reflection aren't processing either. They're stuck in repetition without movement. Both extremes force positivity and endless complaining avoid the same thing. Responsibility paired with honesty. Healthy expression lives in the middle. It sounds like this. This is hard. This hurts. This isn't okay. And I'm trying to understand what I can do about it. That's not complaining. That's engagement with reality. One of the most damaging myths toxic positivity spreads is that silence equals maturity. That if you're strong, you shouldn't need to talk about things. But silence doesn't mean peace. Often it just means suppression. And suppressed emotions don't resolve, they accumulate. Complaining becomes destructive when it replaces action. Silence becomes destructive when it replaces truth. The goal isn't to talk endlessly or stay upbeat, it's to express accurately enough that movement becomes possible. And that's where this conversation naturally turns next. Because once we stop silencing ourselves and once we stop looping in complaint, the real question becomes what do we do with what we've named? That's where solution comes in. Not fake optimism, not manifestation, but grounded, honest action. When we finally move past toxic positivity, past silence, and past unproductive complaining, we arrive at something much more practical. Supporting ourselves and supporting others is not about saying the right thing or the perfect thing. The truth is there is no universal script. How words land depends on who you're talking to, what they're going through, and the environment you're in. In toxic positivity, Whitney Goodman offers something far more useful than polished phrases. She talks about four essential ingredients that should be present in our communication, whether we are supporting someone else or learning how to support ourselves. Those ingredients are curiosity, understanding, validation, and empathy. Everything starts with curiosity. Curiosity means accepting that we are never done learning about the people around us or about ourselves. What makes us feel safe today may not work tomorrow. What we needed five years ago may feel wrong now. These are not fixed traits. They evolve as our lives evolve. Curiosity is the willingness to ask instead of assume. It sounds like, can you tell me more about that? Or I'm here if you want to talk about what happened today. It shows up in active listening, eye contact, nodding, presence, and putting distractions aside. Curiosity says, I don't already know your experience, and I respect that. And when curiosity is real, it naturally opened the door to understanding. Understanding doesn't mean agreement. That distinction is critical. We often confuse the two. Understanding simply means we're willing to see how someone arrived where they are. I can understand why you feel this way without feeling it myself. I can understand your reaction without approving every choice. Understanding is about context, not endorsement. Goodman emphasizes that full understanding may never be complete, and that's okay. The goal isn't perfect in sight. The goal is continued effort, continued attention, continued willingness to learn. From understanding, we move to validation. Validation is where toxic positivity usually fails the hardest. Validation does not mean saying everything will be okay. It means saying it makes sense that this feels hard. Validation recognizes emotional reality without trying to erase it. It tells someone your reaction is understandable given what you're dealing with. This is especially important because many people come into conversation already questioning whether their emotions are acceptable. Validation removes that burden. It says you don't have to defend your feelings here. And finally, empathy. Empathy is not fixing, it's not advice, it's not reframing. Empathy is the ability to sit with someone without needing their discomfort to disappear. It's emotional presence without urgency. It's saying, I'm with you in this rather than I need you to feel better so I can relax. These four ingredients work together. Curiosity leads to understanding. Understanding makes validation possible. Validation creates space for empathy. And empathy is what people actually remember long after the conversation ends. This is the opposite of toxic positivity. Toxic positivity rushes. These ingredients slow things down. Toxic positivity performs certainty. These ingredients allow complexity. And most importantly, toxic positivity focuses on outcomes, feeling better, staying positive, moving on. These ingredients focus on process, staying connected, staying honest, staying human. When we communicate this way, we don't erase pain. We make it survivable, we make it shareable, and that's what real support looks like. Not perfect words, but the right presence. This is where the book ultimately lands, not in optimism or pessimism, but in truth paired with care. And that combination, more than any mindset or mantra, is what actually helps people move forward. Before we close, I want to be very clear about something. Positivity itself is not the enemy. Hope is not the enemy. In fact, hope is one of the most essential things we have as human beings. It's what keeps us alive, what gives direction to our lives, what allows us to imagine a future that's better than the present. Without hope, nothing moves. But hope is not the same thing as false positivity. What Whitney Goodman challenges in toxic positivity is not hope. It's the distortion of hope. The idea that thinking positively alone is enough. The belief that optimism should replace reality instead of working with it. Everyone needs a goal. Everyone needs something to move toward. Wanting a better life, higher stability, more meaning, there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's deeply human. A person who grows up with fewer opportunities can still be hopeful, still strive, still work toward a better future. That kind of hope is powerful. It's honest, it's earned, but that's very different from sitting still and believing that positivity itself will deliver outcomes. Years ago, books like The Secret popularized the idea that the universe rewards positive thinking and punishes negative thinking, that if you just stay upbeat enough, success will be attracted to you. And if you struggle, it's because your mindset is wrong. That message ignores reality. It ignores socioeconomic conditions, ignores access to education, family stability, health, safety, and opportunity. You can't think your way out of structural barriers. You can't visualize your way into skills. You can't manifest outcomes without movement. If you want to write a book, it doesn't happen because you think about being an author. It happens because you read, you research, you struggle with ideas, you write badly at first, you revise, you learn, and you keep going. The same is true for building a career, creating a podcast, changing your life. The law of attraction is not a law, but the law of movement is when you move, when you take action aligned with reality, something happens. Not always immediately, not always fairly, but something changes. Hope belongs in that process, not as a substitute for action, but as the fuel that keeps you moving when things are hard. That's why this conversation about toxic positivity matters so much. Life is not always positive. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's unfair, sometimes it's deeply disappointing. Acknowledging that doesn't mean giving up. It means telling the truth. And truth is where real change begins. I'm genuinely grateful that Whitney Goodman brought this subject into our collective conversation. It's a reminder that we don't have to love life all the time to live it well. We don't have to pretend things are fine in order to move forward. And we don't have to erase pain to keep hope alive. Hope doesn't disappear when we face reality. Hope becomes stronger when it's grounded in it. This has been another episode of Philosophy of Life focused on toxic positivity. I genuinely recommend reading the book. It's accessible, thoughtful, and practical. And I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Let me know what resonated, what challenged you, and how I can better align future episodes with the questions that matter to you. Thank you very much for listening.