‘As my friend and I walked, I thought about how pain threads through every life, and yet so does love. We share our stories, and in that simple act the weight of the hurt can shift. It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes more bearable. That connection allows us to let in joy, even in the face of suffering. Resilience lives not only in thriving against the odds, but in the walking together when the road feels long, in the steady showing up for one another again and again.’
My best friend says, a problem shared is a problem halved. Like obviously not literally but in that exact emotional way, yes.
It’s one of the blessings of having this in your lived experience, people to share with who turn up for you: friend or therapist. I feel sorrow and hope for those yet to fully experience it, especially from cPTSD and who have well worn neural pathways and experiences of mistrusting others, that never has shown them the sentiment in this writing piece isn’t so true.
Sometimes old parts of me end up in debate with those parts in them. But then I realise and remember that I can be that one who offers the different experience… the one of walking alongside and sharing.
This is a beautiful piece about our common humanity and the importance of kindness towards each other. Life is not easy, but it has its moments of deep connection
Thank you and yes! The more loss I have experienced the more I have come to believe that connection and our relationship to ourselves, and to other others is really all that matters. Of course this only holds if you have your basic needs Matt, but I think once those basic needs are met, it holds true.
This is such a beautiful piece. What stayed with me most is the way tenderness grows rather than hardens in the face of so much loss. That feels deeply true—and quietly radical—in a world that expects pain to either toughen us or break us. I love how the walking becomes its own metaphor: step by step, side by side, letting stories be carried just enough to make room for breath.
And that final image of closing the lake house—emptiness paired with gratitude, sorrow threaded with joy—feels like such an honest articulation of living. Nothing resolved, nothing erased, just held together. What I hear underneath this is not despair, but wonder. Being human is astonishing. I’m truly grateful for the full kaleidoscope of experiences—love, loss, tenderness, resilience—that make up a life.
Human existence weaves inevitable pain with resilient love beautifully. Shared walks bearing others' unseen griefs cultivate tenderness over brittleness. Showing up despite loss reveals life's true gift.
This is so beautifully written — tender, honest, and deeply human. It holds grief and love with such steadiness.
What stayed with me most is the way you name resilience not as something flashy or heroic, but as the quiet, faithful showing up — walking together, listening, loving anyway. That feels profoundly true. Pain may be unavoidable, but connection changes its weight.
Your reflection reminds me that tenderness is not the opposite of strength; it is strength. Thank you for putting words to this shared, complicated grace of being human.
Loved this. Thanks for sharing it.
Thank you. I’m so glad it landed!
"Perhaps being human is not a problem after all."
There is no other choice.
True. There is so much beauty, we just have to remember to look for it.
It was this the most for me:
‘As my friend and I walked, I thought about how pain threads through every life, and yet so does love. We share our stories, and in that simple act the weight of the hurt can shift. It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes more bearable. That connection allows us to let in joy, even in the face of suffering. Resilience lives not only in thriving against the odds, but in the walking together when the road feels long, in the steady showing up for one another again and again.’
My best friend says, a problem shared is a problem halved. Like obviously not literally but in that exact emotional way, yes.
It’s one of the blessings of having this in your lived experience, people to share with who turn up for you: friend or therapist. I feel sorrow and hope for those yet to fully experience it, especially from cPTSD and who have well worn neural pathways and experiences of mistrusting others, that never has shown them the sentiment in this writing piece isn’t so true.
Sometimes old parts of me end up in debate with those parts in them. But then I realise and remember that I can be that one who offers the different experience… the one of walking alongside and sharing.
Thank you as always
This is so beautiful. Yes, showing up for others is as big a gift of let others show up for you.
Thank you for that apt reminder of receiving it too. How’d you know! 😉
This!
“I think that is how life works too. We live beside both loss and love, endings and beginnings. We carry the pain and the sweetness together.”
Feeling the heaviness of loss and pre-grief. Your words made me feel lighter.
I'm so glad these words found a soft place to land. It's so hard to walk through grief, but looking up and seeing what else lies beside it helps.
This is a beautiful piece about our common humanity and the importance of kindness towards each other. Life is not easy, but it has its moments of deep connection
Thank you and yes! The more loss I have experienced the more I have come to believe that connection and our relationship to ourselves, and to other others is really all that matters. Of course this only holds if you have your basic needs Matt, but I think once those basic needs are met, it holds true.
This is such a beautiful piece. What stayed with me most is the way tenderness grows rather than hardens in the face of so much loss. That feels deeply true—and quietly radical—in a world that expects pain to either toughen us or break us. I love how the walking becomes its own metaphor: step by step, side by side, letting stories be carried just enough to make room for breath.
And that final image of closing the lake house—emptiness paired with gratitude, sorrow threaded with joy—feels like such an honest articulation of living. Nothing resolved, nothing erased, just held together. What I hear underneath this is not despair, but wonder. Being human is astonishing. I’m truly grateful for the full kaleidoscope of experiences—love, loss, tenderness, resilience—that make up a life.
I loved the image of the kaleidoscope of experiences and feelings. There is wonder in all of it, even though the hard moments make it hard to find.
Human existence weaves inevitable pain with resilient love beautifully. Shared walks bearing others' unseen griefs cultivate tenderness over brittleness. Showing up despite loss reveals life's true gift.
It so does, but uggggg. You know?
i knowww!
Joy increases when shared
Pain decreases when shared
Having the family and friends
With whom to share
Is the ultimate blessing.
100%!
This is so beautifully written — tender, honest, and deeply human. It holds grief and love with such steadiness.
What stayed with me most is the way you name resilience not as something flashy or heroic, but as the quiet, faithful showing up — walking together, listening, loving anyway. That feels profoundly true. Pain may be unavoidable, but connection changes its weight.
Your reflection reminds me that tenderness is not the opposite of strength; it is strength. Thank you for putting words to this shared, complicated grace of being human.
I love your line that tenderness is not the opposite of strength, it is strength. I feel it in my body.
This is great and powerful
Thank you so much, what a great thing to Here as I start my day.