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Man alive.

But, barely.

So many of my precious loved ones are just going through it right now. And by it, I mean the firey depths of all the corners of the hottest levels of hell. Carrying the heaviest of unspoken burdens that must be kept in confidence, but consume every waking minute of thought in a day.

Like, you know. All the Big D’s that are not Dallas: Disease. Despair. Disappointment. Divorce. Death. Depression.

Suddenly I’m feeling kinda bad that my name starts with D.

We all understand that human suffering is an unavoidable part of life. But the thing about suffering – the real kind – is that it seems like it only happens to other people. And you feel so terrible for the others and their pain, and try to comfort them, feed them, love them. And then after a while, you go back to your life and you just kind of forget. But one inevitable day, you are the one that is on the receiving end of the consoling, feeding, and forgetting. You keep rubbing your eyes in hopes to wake up from the nightmare that can’t possibly be true. More than anything, you just want to go back to the before-the-terrible-thing-happened time. BTP – Before The Pain. Back when everything was okay, and you felt badly about other people’s problems, and mostly you were sad about having to decide on what to cook for dinner again.

It makes me think hard about the human spirit, and how strong and resilient we really are. Because here’s the thing: Most of these traumatic life experiences are not of our own doing. It’s a regular life and and a regular day, until it’s not. And suddenly, its as if someone pulled a trap door from under our feet when we weren’t expecting it. And we fall into the darkness, quick and fast, like Alice into the rabbit hole. We hit rock bottom, and we are broken. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. The pain is insurmountable – the kind of sorrow that seeps deep into the very marrow of our bones.

And there we sit. In total darkness that can only emulate the solitary confinement of prison, with only our sorry selves and our misery for company. Except we still have to keep padding through life, and going through the motions of living, which feels fake – because it is. Soon, only to realize, if we are ever to get out of the black pit (that we didn’t put ourselves in in the first place, I should mention again), it’s up to us to find the way to crawl back out. Help is not on the way. Sure – there are people that love us and care about us. But if we ever want to reach the sliver of light that we can occasionally glimpse so far above our heads, the work to get up there is up to us alone. It’s like the cruel cherry on the tragedy sundae because you can barely breathe, let alone devise a plan to heal yourself. The thought of it, especially at first, is that it’s way too much. No thank you. I’ll choose the tears on the pillow-less floor of my hard, dark cavern and whither away.

Eventually though, it’s just time. This is the part where the miracle of the human spirit comes alive. The sharp edges of pain become a dull ache, and more than anything you want to breathe the clean air again and to feel the sunshine on your face. There is more to life than sitting in a pit. Your soul craves joy. You tilt your head back and look up at the mountain before you that must be climbed. And you decide. You are sick of the hill taking you… you’ll take the hill.

I know this, because I am no stranger to most of the terrible D’s, or the trap door. I have been in that forsaken pit. I have now, and many times before now, had loved ones down there too. It’s almost worse from up top… because you want to help but you can’t reach that far down. No ladder or rope will reach your person either. It’s an inside job.

But you know what helps? Words. Kind words help, because it makes the person in the pit feel like they are worth the climb. It always surprises me, when people that I don’t know are looking take the time to reach out with words of encouragement. It’s the simplest, but truest kind of love. Sometimes it’s just the smallest suggestion of “I’m sorry this has happened to you, but I believe in you” that gives us the boost we need, to be reminded of our worth, to start on the path toward healing.

Do you know someone that is hurting? Take the 30 seconds to type out a quick text. Or five minutes to write a note, just to say “I’m thinking of you.” Even if you don’t have all the right words. The worst thing you can say is nothing at all. It’s quite possible that you might not get a response. But I promise you, the message is treasured and feels like manna from heaven.

I love the old seaman’s mantra of ‘Hold Fast’. I was reminded of it recently while listening to an interview that Ed Mylett did with US Women’s Soccer Coach Jill Ellis. (It was his August 20th, 2019 Podcast. Take a listen, you’ll be moved). It’s a term adapted from the Dutch phrase “houd vast” which translates into “hold tight”, regarding holding securely to a ships rigging, especially in a storm. Sailors would tattoo this across their fingers, out of respect to the sea and as a reminder of their duty to their shipmates in times of rough waters. It’s a beautiful symbol to us all, really. Hold fast to that which secures you. Keep doing the work in the dark, during the worst of the storm.

“I wish you a kinder sea.”

– Emily Dickinson

To all the Mothers, Daughters, Sisters and Wives that are fighting the good fight, behind your doors and in your hearts: Hold fast. Stay true.

I see you. I love you. Even if you don’t think so now, there will be a day when you feel like yourself again. Healing WILL happen. Just keep going. And when you decide to begin your climb, I will be submitting my application to be your number one Hype Man.

Unless I run across a trap door and I’m in the pit. In which case – I’ll be accepting your application.

*At the time of this posting, the Bahamas have been devastated by Hurricane Dorian. The sea was not kind. Sending love and hope for recovery and restoration for these beautiful islands, and the beautiful people that call it home.