To the one who feels broken, I see you. I feel for you. I get you in a way I wish I didn’t.
I am so sorry for your pain. I don’t know your exact circumstance. I don’t know your exact hurt. I can’t, and I never could. Even if you were to tell me every story and every hurt and place me in your shoes for moments at a time, I still couldn’t fully know or understand. But I do know pain. I know the awkward jumble that it turns life into, and I know the weaving in and out of despair and normalcy that occur within your every day and sometimes, your every hour.
I know life hasn’t been fair to you. I know it’s been hard. I know you feel crumbly and shattered, and all the edges still feel very sharp. I know it’s hard for other to understand.
I know it feels impossible to meet the expectations and demands of life at a time when your heart is laid waste. I know. Don’t let anyone rush you through your pain. There’s a balance of grief and healing, of joy and brokenness, and you have to move through both to make your rough edges smooth again. You have to wade through the thick waters to heal your broken pieces, and it will happen— gradually, steadily, sometimes with setbacks, but you’ll slowly mend.
I know there is pressure to be more, but please don’t plaster on smiles. Please don’t just say the right words, go through all the right steps, letting the world choreograph your life. Please don’t be afraid to be honest. Please don’t cover up the hurt and suffer— quietly, silently. That’s not the way to mend. Healing doesn’t happen under a facade, and you’ve been through too much to have to fake it.
I know you feel weak, but remember that there is beauty in the brokenness. When you are reduced to nothing but soul, you radiate an extraordinary power. When you experience searing loss and your heart continues beating, there is strength in that. When pain whispers the hurtful lies and giving up and succumbing sounds like the best plan, find that strength, find that hope that is greater and that love that is deeper than any amount of pain, then cling to it, and don’t you dare let go.
I know you feel isolated. Pain does that, but remember you are not alone. There’s not a struggle or fight you could face that hasn’t been fought before. There’s not a challenge or fear or tragedy known to man that could ever make you completely alone. Even when you don’t feel it, there are bands and tribes full of broken people, suffering, aloud or silently right alongside you. All you have to do is use your little voice and make it big by being honest. Make it brave by crying out for help. Make it powerful by sharing the truth and owning it in its full capacity and saying to someone “Help.” or “This is my mess.” or “I need you.” I need you to do this, because I need you to promise me that you won’t live this pain alone.
The truth is, we’re all a little broken. But when we share love and hope together, raising our voices in honesty and bravery, we can all mend, piece by piece, and we can all be a little more whole.
You’re a little broken. I’m a little broken. I see you. I feel for you. I get you in a way I wish I didn’t.
Remember, friend, you’re not alone.
A friend who knows
Lexi's words on grief and loss can also be found at Still Standing Magazine.