And In It All, You Are Not Alone
You, right here, right now, are not alone. I really want you to hear that.
If you are here and hurting, you are not alone.
If you are here and healing, you are not alone.
If you are here and exhausted from the work of weeding out old lies and habits that don’t serve you, you are not alone.
It’s draining. It is so, so draining, when it feels like the hard task of not just living but finding wholeness and healing will never be done. It can also be isolating when we feel like we are the only ones struggling. You didn’t choose your trauma, your pain, and yet you are the one carrying and processing it. The garden you envisioned your life looking like had more flowers than these thistles and keeping it healthy wasn’t supposed to involve pulling out the same freaking weed (lie, habit, insecurity, trigger) over and over and over again. But, here you are. Here we are. Messy and up to our elbows with the dirt we’re digging through to find some freedom.
Friend, if that’s how you feel, welcome here. You are normal. Your feelings are valid. And these weeds are simply the worst.
But, as awful as they are, they aren’t the end of the story.
No, your story is one where pain meets patience. Where hurt finds healing. Where trauma leads to transformation. Your story is one of process. It’s not easy and it certainly isn’t quick. But it is quite possibly one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful parts of being human.
I’m not coming to you with a five-step program outlining how to effectively irradicate your stubborn weeds. I wish it was that easy. I wish we could just drink enough water, spin around five times, and find the cure. Because hard work is, well, hard. Maintaining mental health takes a lot of effort, repeated trial and error, and tiring intentionality.
I wonder if that’s the point, though.
If we were able to cure ourselves with a quick fix, would we really be the better for it? Would we as people be able to become more loving, compassionate, empathetic, patient, and understanding without having to wade through the mud ourselves? I don’t think so. The unfortunate, striking truth, I believe, is that we cannot reach our full capacity to embrace the hurting people in our lives without feeling hurt ourselves. How can we create space for feeling when we have not felt ourselves? Or become a sanctuary for others when we have not needed a safe space for ourselves? There is a different type of knowing how to hold others’ pain when we too have felt the weight of it.
Perhaps you are in a season of hurting right now. I hope you know that you are not alone. Whatever it is you’re going through, there is space for it and room for you. Here, but also in your life. I hope you find your people who can hold you and help you through these hard times. Because life is often harsh and we need soft places to land and sometimes a helping hand. If you are in a season of hard, may you find those gentle friends to journey with you.
If you are in a place of healing, I encourage you to practice being that gentle friend. What I have learned from pain is that my toughest weeds, these greatest pains are also my deepest points of connection. The magic of “me too” is knowing you are not alone in what might feel like an isolating experience. Maybe you find yourself looking around your garden and noticing it’s a season of respite and rest. The weeds are under control, the flowers are flourishing. May you take the time to reach out to those in your life who are not in that season. The hurt and healing we have gone through forces us to be human and to pause and be in process. And because of that, we can effectively and empathetically create space for others to do the same.
And if you are exhausted, tired of the repetitive rhythms that are good but hard, may you find rest. May you be gentle with yourself and your expectations. Some seasons are quiet and withdrawn and that is okay, even if it’s not what you’re used to. Without winter, plants would have no time repair their roots down below the surface, away from what any of us can see. It is the same with us. Without rest, we cannot have the capacity or capability to keep up the necessary work of weeding lies and planting truths.
Whatever season you are in, I hope you know that you are not alone. In it all, may you know that you belong. That you are allowed to be human. Simply. Brokenly. Wholly. Imperfectly. Human.
