WHO I WALK WITH
I'm not going to ask your age or what you do for a living. That's not how I know my people. I know them by what happened to them. See if one of these is you.
Maybe it was a doctor who ran out of answers. Maybe a spouse who ran out of patience. Maybe it was you, a little at a time, until "I'll figure this out" quietly became "this is just how it is now."
I know that one from the inside. A doctor looked me in the eye and told me there was nothing they could do, that I'd just have to live with it. He was wrong. Not because he was a bad doctor. Because giving up on someone and being right about them are two different things.
Maybe the hardest storm of all, because it's the one you're standing in with somebody else. The distance grew slowly, then one day it was just there, living in the house with you. And everybody around you has quietly filed it under "over."
I've stood in my own kitchen and heard my wife say "I can't do this anymore." We were fighting for our marriage on top of everything else. We found our way back, and we're still walking together today. So here's what I know from my own kitchen: "past saving" and "over" are not always the same thing. I'm not being hopeful. I'm remembering.
Or maybe your story is older than any storm. Maybe nobody was ever in your corner to begin with. You were the kid nobody picked. You learned early that the real you wasn't worth betting on, so you stopped betting on him too.
I was that kid. Stuttering, dyslexic, bullied, last one chosen. So hear this, because it's not a slogan to me: I'll believe in you longer than you believe in yourself right now. Some people just never had anyone do that. It changes everything when someone finally does.
And whichever one is you, you've probably gone quiet about it. Stopped telling people, because you didn't want anyone feeling sorry for you. I did the same thing. It gets really lonely. But you're still reading. Which tells me there's still some fight in you. That quiet "maybe there's a way." That's all we need to start.
Your storm has its own face. Maybe you're the man whose fire went out so quietly nobody noticed. The owner who can move everyone but himself. The woman who gave herself away one yes at a time. The kid who learned to hide who he really is. The one fighting for a marriage that feels over. Different storms. Same forgetting.
One thing I'll ask of you. Not confidence. Not certainty. Willingness. I work with people who are worn down and not done. You don't have to believe in yourself yet. That's my job for a while. You just have to be willing to take the walk.
