There is no great virtue, value, or nobility in pain. It's not interesting. It's not who I am. It's not my identity. It's not the purpose of my life. It's not to be cherished, honoured, pedestalised, or otherwise doted on.
I'm sporty. I run a half-marathon every week, and I run most other days. Sometimes I get injured and get into a lot of pain. When that happens, there's something wrong with my running technique or schedule. I get professional help, fix the technique or schedule, and get back on with the business of running. The only purpose of examining the pain is to find out its cause and eliminate the cause.
Emotional pain: the same. There's something wrong with my living technique or schedule. It's a warning system. It's not the content of my life. It's a sign of impediment to living.
It's like a mouthful of bile. It blocks out all other flavours.
Pain is not really emotion: it's a klaxon that blocks out all other sounds; it's a loud, monotone din. It blocks real sensitivity and emotion.
What do you want? A mouthful of bile or a flavoursome meal? A klaxon or an orchestra? Joint pain or the physical joy of running? Pain or real emotion?