We each do our own hard. That's such a powerful idea, that hard is actually relative, and not comparable against itself but against its holder. We define how "hard" something is for us, not by looking at other people's hard, but by evaluating our history of hard and slotting this hard in where it belongs. In doing so, we create room for own grief and frustration and we also make space for little things that make our hard less so. You are amazing, and I don't know how you do it, but you're right, I would too if I had to, so let's rephrase. I'm in awe of how you handle your hard. 💪
Thank you, Jess. Your last two sentences made me smile. I could imagine your thought process as you shifted gears to say what you ended with: "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard," because maybe it is just second nature for us to tell ourselves (and others), "I don't know how you do it all!" But saying "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard" is really a softer and truer rendering of that expression of admiration. And that means so much. I'm thrilled to be sharing your story on Friday, Jess. And I will reflect back to you what you said to me here: "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard, too."
I love you being inside my head to “hear” the switch over. I like that version so much better, so thank you for prompting me to reframe it. I’m honored to have a Grow Stronger story to share with your readers and am so grateful to you for seeing the value in posting it. 🙏
"...each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves."
This is so true for me. I would never have voluntarily chosen the hard that found me, but I would have lost out on some of the best experiences of my life.
Your writing, yet again, resonates so deeply. Thank you for sharing your gift.
I’m glad it spoke to you, Nancy, and I’m happy to share this ability to articulate strange and hard things the best I can—in such a way that I hope to reach others who need to hear it, to recognize themselves in these stories, and to thus know they are not alone.
Cheers to the superhero in you and in each of us, tending to our tasks with intention, presence and joy, even when that feels like the hardest thing to do. Your article made me think a lot, thank you.
I’m glad to hear that, Miha. It’s kind of you to take time out of your day to stop and read what I wrote and then also leave a really genuine comment. I appreciate that. Thank you.
This is spot-on! I’m a foster parent, and I so often hear the same sentiment said to me. I think it’s actually often meant as a compliment (like someone recognizing toughness/grit/resolve), etc. but it’s doesn’t always land that way. I think it was author Sarah Bessey (although I’m not sure) who said that nobody benefits when playing the “hardship Olympics.” Who has it harder? Nope, your hard is not my hard. Let’s listen and support each other in whatever our own “hard” looks like. Thanks for writing this!
Oooh, Breeann, that is a great quote—”hardship Olympics.” I hadn’t heard of that before, so thanks for passing this on to me. I agree that these words are often well-intentioned, but they aren’t helpful when people are constantly comparing themselves to these “hardship Olympics.” I appreciate your support so much!
Oof. this line—“we all have something inside us—is it grit? is it grace? maybe both—that fuels our resolve to survive, and even more, to revive.” Yes. That’s it. That tension, that life force, that pull toward aliveness no matter the season. Thank you for putting words to it so beautifully.
Thank you so much for stopping by to read, Jessy! There’s some backstory to what I wrote here, mainly about raising five kids, including one who has a rare genetic diagnosis and a host of specialists. It means a lot that you read this. Thank you.
You wrote, "Each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves." That line really stayed with me. It's such a simple truth, yet it holds so much weight. It's easy to get caught up in comparing our struggles to others, to feel like our burdens are either too much or not enough. But you're right, the hard we're given is unique to us, tailored to our own growth and understanding. It's not about ranking hardships but about acknowledging the resilience within each of us. I appreciate how you connect this personal struggle to the broader movements of life – the changing seasons, the migrating birds, the small signs of renewal. It's a reminder that even in the midst of our own challenges, the world continues to unfold, offering moments of beauty and hope if we choose to see them.
As I read your piece, I also found myself wondering, what if the silence we experienced wasn't just an absence of noise, but a different kind of communication? What if it was the world, or perhaps our own souls, trying to tell us something we couldn't hear amidst the usual hustle and bustle? You mention the "absence of any shred of light within myself" that jolted you. I'm curious if, in that silence, you also discovered a new kind of light, one that was perhaps quieter but no less powerful? Did the isolation ultimately lead you to a deeper understanding of your own inner landscape, a landscape that might have been hidden behind the noise before?
YES. Silence absolutely is a mentor to me. There is a silence that feels like a void, and that is a painful, hollow type of sensation in me. But there is also a silence that is a quiet, hidden presence, and that is a peaceful and content sensation.
I really love the language you used about “ranking our burdens,” because that’s really the essence of what I was trying to say—that I don’t go around thinking or believing that I have it “better” or “worse” than other people do. It’s just different. My life is just a different brand of hard, that’s all. So hearing people say either, “I don’t know how you do it all” or “My life isn’t as hard as yours is, but…” really deflates my heart, because I want to be able to sit with others—no matter their situation—and for us to be in this together, holding our hardships with outstretched palms and just being a presence of tenderness for whatever that looks like.
Life really should just be about being seen, and being able to see others… but we live in such a comparison culture. It’s hard not to play the game of ranking our burdens.
Oh, I love the continuation of our conversation over here, Jeannie, it makes me feel like we've had a couple of cups of tea together today. Your writing draws me in so effortlessly (though I know better than to think any good writing is actually effortless)- it's only that I find myself swept into the room with the weathered chair, looking out at the street, without any clunkiness whatsoever. This is the magic of good storytelling, I think. It's like time travel or teleportation.
I am also so struck by the sentiment in here of "I don't know how you do it," which I think is closely related to "I can't imagine _____." I know, with all the grace in my heart, that these things are meant to convey respect or gravity for another person's situation, but I find that they make me feel so isolated. Like, really, can't you even IMAGINE? Is that asking too much? Maybe as writers, we are taking people by the hand and saying, "Yes, this is hard. Here, welcome to my world. Now you can imagine it. And perhaps this sharing will shift something for both of us."
Big love to you, my friend. You're doing an amazing job. xoxo
Oh, what a remarkable comment to receive today, Kendall! Thank you. I agree wholeheartedly that conversing with you lately has been very much like sharing space over a warm cup of tea. That’s exactly how I want people to feel—like we’re old pals chatting without time constraints.
And you’re right that there is this strange implication of comments, like, “I can’t even IMAGINE” that people make. I’ve thought often about why platitudes and tropes really cut deeply when you’re a person in pain, and for me, it’s this sense that the person is so uncomfortable that they want to shut down the conversation. Sometimes I think they want to fill the discomfort with words that act as noise. Sometimes they mean well and truly care but don’t know what to say. Sometimes they feel a sense that what they are hearing lands very close to their own woundedness, and they are afraid of sitting with their own pain.
Lots of theories, but basically doing the grief work I have done for ten years, it’s clear that most of us have received little to no modeling or education on how to allow ourselves to admit, accept, and sit with whatever brand of hard we are living.
Thank you for being here with me! Sending you big hugs right back.
This essay truly touched a lot of hearts, as exemplified in all the comments. Thank you for opening up your home, your heart and your life to your readers. There is no such thing as living happily ever after, but so many people seem to be living with strength and joy. Prayers and blessings to everyone who participated here.
Jeannie, I love this essay! And I loved every word, but this struck me: "The thing is, each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves."
It's so true. We each do the hard things that we have to do in order for us and our loved ones to survive. If we are lucky, we have some time to process our lives, but sometimes there's no time in a day to come into ourselves.
As you know, I have one child, and during the pandemic, she was in 6th grade. She has ADHD and needs help at times with assignments. My hard at the time was balancing a new job (which was fully remote, not pandemic related, thankfully) with helping my daughter understand some of the assignments. I remember thinking, "this is hell, juggling a job and parenthood."
That being said, it's a matter of survival to do the hard things. All we each can do is the best we are able to.
So true, Beth—”this is hell” is an apt way to describe really dark seasons of our lives. I appreciate you sharing about what that was like for you during the pandemic, raising a kiddo with extra needs and working from home. 2020 was SO HARD for all of us, and I think we are seeing the effects of it five years later. Many are still tuning or numbing out, while others are outwardly angry and bitter.
It’s a major motivator for me to be intentional about being kind no matter where I am or who I’m with. I really appreciate you and am so glad to have met you on Substack!
Brava, Jeannie. You speak so many words of wisdom for so many. You give us permission to recognize the hard business we live, each in our own way, and accept the challenges it brings. Your writing is eloquent and your vision wide. ❤️
Life is so hard sometimes, and at other times, beautiful. Sometimes hard and beautiful, sometimes beautiful and hard. You are right: we each have our hard thing. But I am so grateful to have you as a friend with whom I can share some honesty about these hard things. And I can still marvel at you... :)
I feel that way about you, too, Imola. Honestly, it feels good to know that you are comfortable sharing your hard things with me. Because many people do not, and it's usually related to some version of what I wrote here--they think their version of difficulty is nothing compared to mine. And I get so frustrated with the constant comparisons. It's like when people say, "Well, look at the bright side--at least nobody has cancer in your family," as if that makes raising a medically fragile child easier simply because she doesn't have cancer.
These perceptions really shape how we view ourselves, each other, and the world, don't they? But I am so relieved and grateful to be building a friendship with you, where we can each show up as we are without trying to conceal the truth about what we're dealing with, be it beautiful or broken.
I'm always amazed by how connected I feel to your writings.
"The thing is, each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves. You’ve done it. I do it every day. My hard is not your hard. Yours is not mine. But we all have something inside us—is it grit? is it grace? maybe both—that fuels our resolve to survive, and even more, to revive."
I love that! Your hard matters too - is a theme in my book EMERGING. Each of has our own "hard". And as you said, we all have something inside that fuels our resolve to keep going, to survive and even more, to revive.
Nancy, I'm so happy to hear that you feel connected to my writing. And now I am very curious about your book, EMERGING. Can you tell me more about it? I'd love to read it! I appreciate you being here with me.
It's kind of you to express interest in my book. Thank you. I have links in my latest post. If you do read it sometime, I'd love to get your thoughts about it.
Nancy, could you DM me about your book? That will remind me to check it out. (Comments tend to end up in a sea of words, and I don’t always remember what I read here.)
I love the truth of this post, Jeannie. I had never quite thought of it in this way and why I have felt somewhat uncomfortable when people have said things like, “I don’t know how you do it” or “I don’t know how you can carry on/go back to work…..” etc - as if I really had a choice. “What would be the alternative?”, I’ve sometimes replied. The reality is that some of us have become part of a club we would never have joined voluntarily - how we navigate that membership can look very different for each of us.
Wow, that's a beautiful insight, Pam: "how we navigate that membership can look very different" is a powerful way of putting it. Thank you for that and glad this spoke to you.
Since Sarah's birth, I've come to understand that most people mean well when they say these things. They truly either don't know what to say and happen to fumble for the first thing that comes out of their mouths, or they fall back on a trope they've heard before that sounds like it's pretty close to what's true.
There are so many things that happen in life that no words can soften, aren't there? And I think if each of us learned how to simply sit in the tension of that discomfort, whether it is grief or sadness or loneliness or frustration or disappointment, rather than trying to fill the silence with words that ring hollow and end up isolating the other person, we might understand that the shared experience of suffering is what bonds us closer together as humans.
This is such an insightful reflection. I love the idea of all of us moving in quiet strength , our challenges are all so different, but no matter what they are, we all get through them day after day .
I had a baby right before lockdown as well! He was born on Feb 29. How about yours? It was very isolating, navigating postpartum, a newborn and the fear of what would happen to the world!
Oh wow, Aliyah, then you totally get what it was like back then. Auggie was born on March 12th, the day before Major League Baseball ended its season early and Disney World shut down "indefinitely," they said. It was surreal back then, wasn't it? Unprecedented. And yes, the unique challenge of navigating PPD with a newborn really compounded my struggle, at least.
Congrats to you for making it through, too. Here we are. Glad to be here with you. :)
Thank you I’m so glad we both made it through as well. Unfortunately my baby boy did not, Covid got him when he was 20 months old. So I’m still kind of living a nightmare, but I’m thankful to be alive and here.
Oh, Aliyah, I didn’t know this! I am so sorry to hear. So so sorry. You and I have been conversing on a separate thread about this, and I wasn’t aware. Thank you for sharing that in this space. I will honor your son and his memory.
Hi Jeannie. I agree that each of us must do what is presented to us, and most of us do. Some of us, however, do the "hard thing", but not with acceptance and love. Some of us do it and then have resentment or anger. You, however, do it with grace. Even as you write, you say to readers that they would do it, too... but I wonder how many would do it with the grace that you embody?
You're right, Gayle. Thank you for pointing that out. In fact, I have done the hard thing with resistance and resentment. I felt that way for two solid weeks after Sarah was born, and I felt that way again five years ago after our fifth child was born during COVID. It's true there's a difference between doing the hard thing out of love versus resentment, and I hope that others know I am willing to share space with them however they are now and however they need to show up today.
It is kind of you to say that I am doing my own hard things with grace, and I thank you for that. I guess I wanted you to know that I don't always do it gracefully, that I am human, too. Thanks for being here with me.
We each do our own hard. That's such a powerful idea, that hard is actually relative, and not comparable against itself but against its holder. We define how "hard" something is for us, not by looking at other people's hard, but by evaluating our history of hard and slotting this hard in where it belongs. In doing so, we create room for own grief and frustration and we also make space for little things that make our hard less so. You are amazing, and I don't know how you do it, but you're right, I would too if I had to, so let's rephrase. I'm in awe of how you handle your hard. 💪
Thank you, Jess. Your last two sentences made me smile. I could imagine your thought process as you shifted gears to say what you ended with: "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard," because maybe it is just second nature for us to tell ourselves (and others), "I don't know how you do it all!" But saying "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard" is really a softer and truer rendering of that expression of admiration. And that means so much. I'm thrilled to be sharing your story on Friday, Jess. And I will reflect back to you what you said to me here: "I'm in awe of how you handle your hard, too."
I love you being inside my head to “hear” the switch over. I like that version so much better, so thank you for prompting me to reframe it. I’m honored to have a Grow Stronger story to share with your readers and am so grateful to you for seeing the value in posting it. 🙏
Absolutely, Jess. Your story took my breath away when I edited it for my ‘stack. I know you will grip the heart of many with your loving tenderness.
"...each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves."
This is so true for me. I would never have voluntarily chosen the hard that found me, but I would have lost out on some of the best experiences of my life.
Your writing, yet again, resonates so deeply. Thank you for sharing your gift.
I’m glad it spoke to you, Nancy, and I’m happy to share this ability to articulate strange and hard things the best I can—in such a way that I hope to reach others who need to hear it, to recognize themselves in these stories, and to thus know they are not alone.
Cheers to the superhero in you and in each of us, tending to our tasks with intention, presence and joy, even when that feels like the hardest thing to do. Your article made me think a lot, thank you.
I’m glad to hear that, Miha. It’s kind of you to take time out of your day to stop and read what I wrote and then also leave a really genuine comment. I appreciate that. Thank you.
My pleasure! Appreciate you too, and can't wait to read more of your work.
This is spot-on! I’m a foster parent, and I so often hear the same sentiment said to me. I think it’s actually often meant as a compliment (like someone recognizing toughness/grit/resolve), etc. but it’s doesn’t always land that way. I think it was author Sarah Bessey (although I’m not sure) who said that nobody benefits when playing the “hardship Olympics.” Who has it harder? Nope, your hard is not my hard. Let’s listen and support each other in whatever our own “hard” looks like. Thanks for writing this!
Oooh, Breeann, that is a great quote—”hardship Olympics.” I hadn’t heard of that before, so thanks for passing this on to me. I agree that these words are often well-intentioned, but they aren’t helpful when people are constantly comparing themselves to these “hardship Olympics.” I appreciate your support so much!
Oof. this line—“we all have something inside us—is it grit? is it grace? maybe both—that fuels our resolve to survive, and even more, to revive.” Yes. That’s it. That tension, that life force, that pull toward aliveness no matter the season. Thank you for putting words to it so beautifully.
Thank you so much for stopping by to read, Jessy! There’s some backstory to what I wrote here, mainly about raising five kids, including one who has a rare genetic diagnosis and a host of specialists. It means a lot that you read this. Thank you.
So many thoughts that I am having...
You wrote, "Each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves." That line really stayed with me. It's such a simple truth, yet it holds so much weight. It's easy to get caught up in comparing our struggles to others, to feel like our burdens are either too much or not enough. But you're right, the hard we're given is unique to us, tailored to our own growth and understanding. It's not about ranking hardships but about acknowledging the resilience within each of us. I appreciate how you connect this personal struggle to the broader movements of life – the changing seasons, the migrating birds, the small signs of renewal. It's a reminder that even in the midst of our own challenges, the world continues to unfold, offering moments of beauty and hope if we choose to see them.
As I read your piece, I also found myself wondering, what if the silence we experienced wasn't just an absence of noise, but a different kind of communication? What if it was the world, or perhaps our own souls, trying to tell us something we couldn't hear amidst the usual hustle and bustle? You mention the "absence of any shred of light within myself" that jolted you. I'm curious if, in that silence, you also discovered a new kind of light, one that was perhaps quieter but no less powerful? Did the isolation ultimately lead you to a deeper understanding of your own inner landscape, a landscape that might have been hidden behind the noise before?
Oh, such wonderful questions, as always, Alex!
YES. Silence absolutely is a mentor to me. There is a silence that feels like a void, and that is a painful, hollow type of sensation in me. But there is also a silence that is a quiet, hidden presence, and that is a peaceful and content sensation.
I really love the language you used about “ranking our burdens,” because that’s really the essence of what I was trying to say—that I don’t go around thinking or believing that I have it “better” or “worse” than other people do. It’s just different. My life is just a different brand of hard, that’s all. So hearing people say either, “I don’t know how you do it all” or “My life isn’t as hard as yours is, but…” really deflates my heart, because I want to be able to sit with others—no matter their situation—and for us to be in this together, holding our hardships with outstretched palms and just being a presence of tenderness for whatever that looks like.
Life really should just be about being seen, and being able to see others… but we live in such a comparison culture. It’s hard not to play the game of ranking our burdens.
True, and I loved your poem about the mathematics of it all. Great metaphor.
Oh, I love the continuation of our conversation over here, Jeannie, it makes me feel like we've had a couple of cups of tea together today. Your writing draws me in so effortlessly (though I know better than to think any good writing is actually effortless)- it's only that I find myself swept into the room with the weathered chair, looking out at the street, without any clunkiness whatsoever. This is the magic of good storytelling, I think. It's like time travel or teleportation.
I am also so struck by the sentiment in here of "I don't know how you do it," which I think is closely related to "I can't imagine _____." I know, with all the grace in my heart, that these things are meant to convey respect or gravity for another person's situation, but I find that they make me feel so isolated. Like, really, can't you even IMAGINE? Is that asking too much? Maybe as writers, we are taking people by the hand and saying, "Yes, this is hard. Here, welcome to my world. Now you can imagine it. And perhaps this sharing will shift something for both of us."
Big love to you, my friend. You're doing an amazing job. xoxo
Oh, what a remarkable comment to receive today, Kendall! Thank you. I agree wholeheartedly that conversing with you lately has been very much like sharing space over a warm cup of tea. That’s exactly how I want people to feel—like we’re old pals chatting without time constraints.
And you’re right that there is this strange implication of comments, like, “I can’t even IMAGINE” that people make. I’ve thought often about why platitudes and tropes really cut deeply when you’re a person in pain, and for me, it’s this sense that the person is so uncomfortable that they want to shut down the conversation. Sometimes I think they want to fill the discomfort with words that act as noise. Sometimes they mean well and truly care but don’t know what to say. Sometimes they feel a sense that what they are hearing lands very close to their own woundedness, and they are afraid of sitting with their own pain.
Lots of theories, but basically doing the grief work I have done for ten years, it’s clear that most of us have received little to no modeling or education on how to allow ourselves to admit, accept, and sit with whatever brand of hard we are living.
Thank you for being here with me! Sending you big hugs right back.
This essay truly touched a lot of hearts, as exemplified in all the comments. Thank you for opening up your home, your heart and your life to your readers. There is no such thing as living happily ever after, but so many people seem to be living with strength and joy. Prayers and blessings to everyone who participated here.
Oh, thank you for saying that, Rafael. I am so glad this touched your heart. I send you much love from Indiana!
Jeannie, I love this essay! And I loved every word, but this struck me: "The thing is, each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves."
It's so true. We each do the hard things that we have to do in order for us and our loved ones to survive. If we are lucky, we have some time to process our lives, but sometimes there's no time in a day to come into ourselves.
As you know, I have one child, and during the pandemic, she was in 6th grade. She has ADHD and needs help at times with assignments. My hard at the time was balancing a new job (which was fully remote, not pandemic related, thankfully) with helping my daughter understand some of the assignments. I remember thinking, "this is hell, juggling a job and parenthood."
That being said, it's a matter of survival to do the hard things. All we each can do is the best we are able to.
So true, Beth—”this is hell” is an apt way to describe really dark seasons of our lives. I appreciate you sharing about what that was like for you during the pandemic, raising a kiddo with extra needs and working from home. 2020 was SO HARD for all of us, and I think we are seeing the effects of it five years later. Many are still tuning or numbing out, while others are outwardly angry and bitter.
It’s a major motivator for me to be intentional about being kind no matter where I am or who I’m with. I really appreciate you and am so glad to have met you on Substack!
Thank you, Jeannie! I'm so fortunate our paths crossed on Substack, too!
Thanks, Beth. :)
Brava, Jeannie. You speak so many words of wisdom for so many. You give us permission to recognize the hard business we live, each in our own way, and accept the challenges it brings. Your writing is eloquent and your vision wide. ❤️
Oh wow, what a fine compliment, my friend. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Life is so hard sometimes, and at other times, beautiful. Sometimes hard and beautiful, sometimes beautiful and hard. You are right: we each have our hard thing. But I am so grateful to have you as a friend with whom I can share some honesty about these hard things. And I can still marvel at you... :)
I feel that way about you, too, Imola. Honestly, it feels good to know that you are comfortable sharing your hard things with me. Because many people do not, and it's usually related to some version of what I wrote here--they think their version of difficulty is nothing compared to mine. And I get so frustrated with the constant comparisons. It's like when people say, "Well, look at the bright side--at least nobody has cancer in your family," as if that makes raising a medically fragile child easier simply because she doesn't have cancer.
These perceptions really shape how we view ourselves, each other, and the world, don't they? But I am so relieved and grateful to be building a friendship with you, where we can each show up as we are without trying to conceal the truth about what we're dealing with, be it beautiful or broken.
100% with you on this! Again, a shocker… 😜💕
Hahaha, right?!
Hi Jeannie,
I'm always amazed by how connected I feel to your writings.
"The thing is, each of us does the hard thing we’re given, even though it’s not the hard we would choose for ourselves. You’ve done it. I do it every day. My hard is not your hard. Yours is not mine. But we all have something inside us—is it grit? is it grace? maybe both—that fuels our resolve to survive, and even more, to revive."
I love that! Your hard matters too - is a theme in my book EMERGING. Each of has our own "hard". And as you said, we all have something inside that fuels our resolve to keep going, to survive and even more, to revive.
Thank you for another read that truly resonates.
Nancy, I'm so happy to hear that you feel connected to my writing. And now I am very curious about your book, EMERGING. Can you tell me more about it? I'd love to read it! I appreciate you being here with me.
It's kind of you to express interest in my book. Thank you. I have links in my latest post. If you do read it sometime, I'd love to get your thoughts about it.
Nancy, could you DM me about your book? That will remind me to check it out. (Comments tend to end up in a sea of words, and I don’t always remember what I read here.)
I love the truth of this post, Jeannie. I had never quite thought of it in this way and why I have felt somewhat uncomfortable when people have said things like, “I don’t know how you do it” or “I don’t know how you can carry on/go back to work…..” etc - as if I really had a choice. “What would be the alternative?”, I’ve sometimes replied. The reality is that some of us have become part of a club we would never have joined voluntarily - how we navigate that membership can look very different for each of us.
Wow, that's a beautiful insight, Pam: "how we navigate that membership can look very different" is a powerful way of putting it. Thank you for that and glad this spoke to you.
Since Sarah's birth, I've come to understand that most people mean well when they say these things. They truly either don't know what to say and happen to fumble for the first thing that comes out of their mouths, or they fall back on a trope they've heard before that sounds like it's pretty close to what's true.
There are so many things that happen in life that no words can soften, aren't there? And I think if each of us learned how to simply sit in the tension of that discomfort, whether it is grief or sadness or loneliness or frustration or disappointment, rather than trying to fill the silence with words that ring hollow and end up isolating the other person, we might understand that the shared experience of suffering is what bonds us closer together as humans.
This is such an insightful reflection. I love the idea of all of us moving in quiet strength , our challenges are all so different, but no matter what they are, we all get through them day after day .
I had a baby right before lockdown as well! He was born on Feb 29. How about yours? It was very isolating, navigating postpartum, a newborn and the fear of what would happen to the world!
Congrats on making it through :)
Oh wow, Aliyah, then you totally get what it was like back then. Auggie was born on March 12th, the day before Major League Baseball ended its season early and Disney World shut down "indefinitely," they said. It was surreal back then, wasn't it? Unprecedented. And yes, the unique challenge of navigating PPD with a newborn really compounded my struggle, at least.
Congrats to you for making it through, too. Here we are. Glad to be here with you. :)
Thank you!
So surreal, definitely not how I would imagine life to be after having a baby!
Same, Aliyah. I’m just so glad you made it five years later. Now you and I can both exhale, right?
Thank you I’m so glad we both made it through as well. Unfortunately my baby boy did not, Covid got him when he was 20 months old. So I’m still kind of living a nightmare, but I’m thankful to be alive and here.
Oh, Aliyah, I didn’t know this! I am so sorry to hear. So so sorry. You and I have been conversing on a separate thread about this, and I wasn’t aware. Thank you for sharing that in this space. I will honor your son and his memory.
Hi Jeannie. I agree that each of us must do what is presented to us, and most of us do. Some of us, however, do the "hard thing", but not with acceptance and love. Some of us do it and then have resentment or anger. You, however, do it with grace. Even as you write, you say to readers that they would do it, too... but I wonder how many would do it with the grace that you embody?
You're right, Gayle. Thank you for pointing that out. In fact, I have done the hard thing with resistance and resentment. I felt that way for two solid weeks after Sarah was born, and I felt that way again five years ago after our fifth child was born during COVID. It's true there's a difference between doing the hard thing out of love versus resentment, and I hope that others know I am willing to share space with them however they are now and however they need to show up today.
It is kind of you to say that I am doing my own hard things with grace, and I thank you for that. I guess I wanted you to know that I don't always do it gracefully, that I am human, too. Thanks for being here with me.
What a thoughtful, honest response. Thanks for replying, Jeannie.
You’re welcome, Gayle. I mean every word.
This is beautiful, Jeannie 💜
Thank you, Julie. :)