Toxic Positivity Isn’t the Problem. Denial Is.
6/28/20265 min read
“This is hard.”
Those three words may be the most honest beginning to a hopeful life.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve started treating optimism with suspicion. Offer someone encouragement, and before long you might hear the phrase “toxic positivity.” It’s become shorthand for minimizing pain, dismissing grief, or telling someone to simply “look on the bright side.”
I understand why the phrase caught on. We’ve all been on the receiving end of well-meaning comments that landed poorly.
Someone loses a loved one. “Everything happens for a reason.”
Someone loses a job.“God must have something better.”
Someone is heartbroken. “Just stay positive.”
Those words often come too soon. They rush past grief instead of sitting with it.
But I don’t believe positivity is the problem. I think we’ve been blaming the wrong thing.
The real problem isn’t positivity. It’s denial.
Denial and Hope Are Not the Same Thing
Denial refuses to acknowledge reality. Hope looks reality in the eye and refuses to believe it has the last word. Those are two very different responses.
Denial says, “I’m fine.”
Hope says, “I’m not fine today, but I won’t always feel this way.”
Denial says, “This doesn’t hurt.”
Hope says, “It hurts deeply, but I believe healing is possible.”
One avoids reality. The other walks through it.
Unfortunately, our culture often lumps those together under one label. When someone displays resilience or chooses to focus on possibility, it can be mistaken for pretending. But genuine optimism isn’t pretending. It’s perspective.
Positivity Isn’t Pretending
That’s why I struggle with the phrase toxic positivity. Most of the time, people aren’t criticizing positivity at all. They’re criticizing emotional bypassing. Forced optimism. Avoidance. Denial.
None of those are positivity. They’re substitutes for it.
Positivity isn’t saying, “Everything is wonderful.”
Positivity says, “This is hard—but I still believe something good can come from it.”
Those are not the same sentence.
One lies. The other hopes.
Hope doesn’t require us to deny reality. It simply asks us not to stop at reality.
Viktor Frankl and “Tragic Optimism”
This idea isn’t new.
Psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl introduced the concept of tragic optimism—the ability to search for meaning during and after tragedy, not instead of it.
Notice what he didn’t say. He didn’t suggest pretending suffering wasn’t real. He didn’t encourage people to smile through unimaginable loss. Instead, he argued that even in life’s darkest moments, human beings retain the freedom to choose their attitude and search for meaning.
That’s profound.
Because meaning doesn’t erase suffering. It transforms our relationship to it.
That’s not toxic. That’s survival. That’s wisdom.
Perhaps we’ve misunderstood optimism because we’ve confused it with comfort. Real optimism isn’t comfortable. It’s courageous.
Reframing Changes Meaning, Not Facts
Recently someone asked how I felt about retiring. They smiled and said, “It must be wonderful to quit working.” I laughed. Because that isn’t what retirement means to me. When I say I’m retiring, I think of it differently. I’m re-tiring.
Like putting a fresh set of tires on a vehicle that’s already traveled thousands of faithful miles—but still has plenty of road ahead. Same driver. Different road.
The facts haven’t changed. I’m still leaving one season behind. But the meaning has changed completely. Retirement isn’t the end of usefulness. It’s the beginning of a different kind of usefulness.
That’s what reframing does. It doesn’t rewrite reality. It changes the frame through which we see reality.
Imagine hanging a beautiful painting in an old, cracked frame. Most people notice the frame before they notice the artwork. Replace the frame. The painting hasn’t changed. But suddenly you see its beauty. Healthy reframing works the same way.
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
One of the most powerful conversations we ever have is the one inside our own heads. When something painful happens, our minds immediately begin assigning meaning.
“I lost my job.” Does that mean…“I’m a failure.” Or… “This chapter ended, but my purpose didn’t.”
“My child is struggling.” Does that become… “I failed as a parent.” Or… “My role is changing, but my love remains.”
“The marriage ended.” Does that become… “My life is over.” Or… “This isn’t the story I wanted, but it doesn’t have to be the last chapter.”
The event stays the same. The meaning changes. That’s why reframing is so powerful. Not because it changes facts. Because it changes the story we build around those facts.
A Simple Test
Whenever I’m tempted to jump to a positive thought, I ask myself one question: Does this thought acknowledge reality—or replace it?
If it replaces reality… it’s denial.
If it acknowledges reality and then offers hope… it’s wisdom.
That simple question has become a reliable filter. It keeps me honest. And it keeps me hopeful.
What Scripture Teaches About Renewing Our Minds
One of my favorite verses is Romans 12:2: “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
Notice what it doesn’t say. It doesn’t tell us to ignore suffering. It doesn’t tell us to deny pain. It doesn’t say to think happy thoughts until our problems disappear. It says to renew our minds.
Renewal isn’t pretending. Renewal is learning to see through the eyes of truth rather than fear. Throughout Scripture, we see this pattern again and again. Jesus never minimized suffering. He wept. He grieved. He showed compassion. Then He pointed people toward hope.
Hope doesn’t erase pain. It gives pain somewhere to go.
Honest Positivity
Maybe what the world needs isn’t less positivity. Maybe it needs more honest positivity. The kind that says, “This hurts.” “This isn’t fair.” “I wish things had been different.” …and then quietly adds, “But I still believe God isn’t finished.”
That kind of hope isn’t loud. It isn’t flashy. It doesn’t rush grief. It simply refuses to let grief become a permanent address. Resilient people aren’t those who avoid hard things. They’re the ones who refuse to let hard things define them forever.
A Different Way to Move Forward
If you’re walking through a difficult season today, you don’t have to force a smile. You don’t have to convince yourself everything happens for a reason before you’re ready. You don’t have to deny what hurts.
But you also don’t have to surrender your future to your present circumstances. You can acknowledge the loss. Feel the disappointment. Tell the truth. And still choose to believe that another chapter is possible.
That’s not denial. That’s wisdom. That’s resilience. That’s faith.
So whether you’re stepping into retirement, grieving a loss, navigating a broken relationship, or wondering what comes next, remember this:
Maybe you’re not reaching the end of the road. Maybe you’re simply pulling over long enough to put on a new set of tires. The miles behind you matter. But they don’t determine how many meaningful miles are still ahead.
I’m just saying.
