Sometimes you feel like you’re just putting this out there – a big, bleeding part of yourself – without knowing, really, what anyone thinks about it.
Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one. That others are fine. Strong. Just living their lives.
Oh, sure. You know they’re proud of you. They think you’re brave. But they don’t really get it. They don’t have issues. At least that’s the story you tell yourself.
And then you get an email. From someone you know and love and think of as one of the strongest people you’ve met. From someone who appears to just live, and love, and laugh without – once in a while – needing something else stay propped up. An email that says, I struggle too, and because of you and what you’re doing here I am going to ask for help.
Stories.
Whether they’re big or small, whether we keep them to ourselves or tell others, whether we need help and seek it, or don’t, we all have stories.
[Much love and support to my dear friend. You know who you are.]
