Understanding as Armour: Why We Intellectualise Pain

I’ve come to recognise a pattern — in myself, in the people I coach, and in those who carry wisdom like a burden. When something hurts, we don’t fall apart. We think. We analyse. We explain. We reach for frameworks, theories, timelines, backstories. Because if we can understand our pain, maybe we won’t have to feel it — or at least not all at once.

This is what intellectualisation looks like when it’s elegant and deeply disguised: we sound composed. Articulate. Philosophical. Insightful, even. But underneath, there’s a softer truth — we are afraid of being overwhelmed.

Reason and intellect as armour against feeling.

Understanding becomes a kind of armour. The sharper our insight, the thicker the shield. We don’t want to be caught off guard by pain. So instead, we read it, label it, deconstruct it. It’s less about solving — and more about surviving.

There’s no shame in this. For some of us, especially those who’ve had to carry responsibility early or often, thinking our way through life felt safer than feeling our way through it. We were praised for being mature, calm, wise beyond our years. We didn’t even know we had armour. We just thought it was our personality.

But the cost is subtle. You might find yourself explaining your pain instead of expressing it. Fixing others’ feelings before you’ve even named your own. Or, like me, returning to a difficult conversation a day later, after choosing your words more carefully — not because you’re manipulative, but because your first draft was too raw.

I’ve learned that growth isn’t always about seeing more clearly. Sometimes, it’s about standing in the blur — confused, cracked open, uncertain — and trusting that you don’t have to fix it to survive it.

This doesn’t mean we throw away our intellect. It means we allow it to walk beside us, not stand in front of us with a sword.

Because yes — if I understand something, it might not hurt as much.

But if I feel something, it might actually heal.