There are days when the weight of the world seems determined to crush us under its heel. I know because I’ve been there—staring at the ceiling at 3 AM, wondering if the knot in my chest would ever loosen. It’s in these moments of profound difficulty that we most need to remember our capacity for resilience, even when that feels like a distant memory.
What I’ve learned through my own journey (and trust me, it’s been a winding one) is that healing isn’t linear. Some days you’ll feel stronger, and others you’ll feel like you’ve lost ground. Both are perfectly normal parts of the human experience. The path through difficulty isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence.
When You Feel You Can’t Go On
Sometimes the hardest thing is simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other. When everything in you wants to curl up and surrender, remember:
“This moment is not my forever. Though I cannot see beyond this darkness now, countless others have stood where I stand and found their way forward. I need only take the next small step.”
I remember sitting in my garden after my divorce was finalized, convinced I’d never feel whole again. The daisies I’d planted months before had somehow survived my neglect and were pushing through the soil despite everything. They became my teachers that day—a reminder that growth continues even when we’re not paying attention.
Feel – Finding Comfort in Uncertainty
The human mind craves certainty and control, which makes periods of profound uncertainty particularly difficult to navigate. When everything feels unstable, try sitting with this thought:
“I release my need to control outcomes beyond my reach. In this moment, I have air in my lungs and ground beneath my feet. These simple certainties are enough to carry me forward until more becomes clear.”
My neighbor’s daughter has cerebral palsy, and watching her family navigate the unpredictable nature of her condition has taught me more about grace than any book ever could. They’ve learned to measure progress not in giant leaps but in moments of connection, in small victories, in the beauty of accepting what is while still working toward what could be.
When Pain Feels Overwhelming
Physical or emotional pain can be all-consuming, making it impossible to imagine relief. In these moments, remember:
“Pain is real, but not permanent. I acknowledge my suffering without judgment and hold space for the possibility that relief will come. Each breath is a small act of courage.”
I’ve battled migraines for decades, and there have been times when the pain was so intense I couldn’t imagine surviving another hour of it. Yet somehow, the relief always eventually comes. The human spirit has remarkable endurance when given no other choice.
Feel – When Loneliness Engulfs You
Perhaps the cruelest aspect of suffering is how isolating it can feel. Even surrounded by people who care, we can feel fundamentally alone in our experience. When loneliness threatens to overwhelm, consider:
“Though I feel alone, countless others have walked through similar shadows. My pain connects me to the universal human experience. Somewhere, right now, someone else is feeling what I feel—we are distant companions on parallel journeys.”
I made an uncomfortable discovery in my fifties—that I’d spent decades surrounding myself with people without ever truly letting them know me. Real connection requires vulnerability, which means risking rejection. But the alternative—a lifetime of surface-level relationships—is far more painful in the long run.
When You Feel Broken Beyond Repair
Life’s heaviest blows can leave us feeling fundamentally damaged. In those moments when you question whether healing is even possible:
“Brokenness is not my identity but merely my current experience. The Japanese art of kintsugi repairs pottery with gold, creating something more beautiful than the original. My fractures too will eventually be lined with gold.”
When my brother passed away unexpectedly, I thought I would never recover. The hole his absence left seemed too vast to ever fill. And truthfully, it hasn’t been filled—but over time, I’ve built a life around it. The grief doesn’t disappear, but it changes form, becoming less jagged, more integrated into who I am.
When You’ve Lost Your Purpose
Nothing drains the spirit quite like a loss of meaning or purpose. When you can’t remember why any of it matters:
“Purpose isn’t always grand or obvious. Today, my purpose might simply be to witness this moment with awareness, to offer kindness where I can, to care for myself with gentleness. Larger meaning will emerge when I’m ready to receive it.”
After thirty years in academia, retirement hit me harder than I expected. My identity had been so wrapped up in my work that without it, I felt adrift. Finding new purpose didn’t happen overnight—it came in small revelations, in volunteer work, in mentoring younger colleagues, in finally writing the collection of thoughts you’re reading now.
When You Feel You’ve Failed
Failure, whether real or perceived, can trigger shame that paralyzes us. When you’re caught in this trap:
“My worth is not determined by my successes or failures. I am a human being navigating a complex world with limited information. Today’s misstep is tomorrow’s wisdom.”
I once invested years developing a theoretical framework that ultimately proved unworkable. The academic community I respected had watched me chase this dead end, and my embarrassment was profound. Yet that “failure” led me down research paths I would never have explored otherwise, eventually resulting in the work I’m most proud of today.
A Final Thought
What helps me most during difficult times is remembering that impermanence—the very thing that makes life so precarious—is also our greatest ally. Nothing, not even our deepest suffering, remains unchanged forever. The darkness that feels unbearable today will eventually transform, not because we’ve forced it to, but because transformation is the nature of all things.
Be gentle with yourself as you move through difficult times. You’re doing better than you think. As my grandmother used to say, “The teakettle sings even when it’s up to its neck in hot water.” Somehow, so can we.
