The sound of a vacuum cleaner running brings about the recollection of my Mother as she did things of a household nature, working for hours on end to clean even the smallest spaces. She claimed she hated the work and spent more time at it than anyone I have ever met.
Can you possibly imagine what might have been possible if she had learned to do things she disliked quickly and efficiently?
Or could it be that the “suffering” had a life (or purpose) of it’s own?