The Chaos of Healing

People often tell me I have a calming presence, that they feel safe telling me things they’ve never said out loud. I spend most days making other people feel cared for. I build little sanctuaries for them. I bake them bread. I answer the phone. I show up with a hug, a listening ear and comfort – no matter the time or distance. I write blogs so strangers don’t feel alone.

I have become extraordinary at holding space. A survival skill I developed in childhood that I have spent years perfecting. What a beautiful ability it is to make people feel seen and heard. To reflect back their worth when they can’t find it themselves. Being deeply empathetic is one of my greatest gifts in this life and I wouldn’t trade it.  

But there is a side of that gift that I don’t talk about very often. Sometimes, I carry those stories home with me. Sometimes the weight of another person’s grief settles into my own body, and I have to find a way to release it. Grief has a funny way of recognizing itself. Someone else’s heartbreak has a habit of knocking on the door of your own. Every loss I’ve survived quietly raises its hand and says, “I remember.”

Empathy is beautiful but It’s also heavy. I’m not all love, light and grace. No one truly is. I think people assume those of us who talk about gratitude, wonder, manifestation, or finding magic in everyday life simply float above sadness. We don’t. At least, I don’t. I believe in light because I’ve met darkness. I write about joy because joy is a practice, not a personality. I romanticize ordinary moments because I know how quickly they can disappear. I choose to live in gratitude because I know the feeling of emptiness.

It is the duality of being human that is both soul-crushingly painful and absolutely breathtaking.

Today I did something that doesn’t come naturally to me. Instead of being the one holding everyone else, I admitted I wasn’t okay. I told someone I trusted that I didn’t need fixing or solutions. I just wanted company. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, not knowing what the outcome would be.

The response reminded me of something important:

That connection isn’t always about having the right words. Sometimes it is simply about being willing to sit beside someone while their heart catches their breath. Healing isn’t always profound. Sometimes it’s quiet and gentle. Sometimes it looks like letting someone in more than you are accustomed to. Sometimes the greatest act of self-love, is allowing yourself to be seen.