I may not know you, but I know where you are.
I’ve been in that place, the place where you’re standing this very second, or the one you may not have the strength to even stand in anymore.
It’s that spot that we all get stuck in if we live and love long enough; that suffocating, hopeless, heavy place called Not Okay.
Sometimes we see it all coming from a long way off. Sometimes the ominous clouds gather far in the distance, and as much as we try to look away or run away or pray it away, it hits us anyway; cruel and relentless in its fury.
Sometimes it sneaks up on us in the soft brightness of simple joy; jumping out from behind the bushes, and in a vicious second a phone call, an impact, a decision—we’re there.
The worst part about not being Okay, is that once you are there you lose your vision.
You become profoundly nearsighted.
You lose the ability to see any further than that horrible not-okayness in front of you; to believe that outside of all of it, just beyond the fear and the sadness and the failure, there’s another place.
At that lightless moment, it’s nearly impossible to see that if you can endure a little longer, if you can withstand it all just a bit more, if you can weather the winds and the wounds and the worry, you’ll end-up stepping into that other place, softly and securely—and you’ll feel the weightless lift of hope again.
I know that from where you stand this may sound trivial, even insulting to your ears.
It may seem like a cheap, hollow platitude right now, but it’s the truest truth I can give you to sustain you:
It’s gonna be Okay.
One day the tempest in your head will be stilled to quiet waters.
You’ll breathe deeply and slowly again.
Laughter will come easily.
Peace will visit and linger.
Joy will have a homecoming.
You’ll see colors and hear songs and see faces, and they’ll all seem like effusive love letters; words of truth spoken directly to your heart, telling you that life is indeed a good and worthwhile endeavor—and you’ll eat-up every delicious word.
I promise you.
But in the meantime, before you get there, I want to tell you one more important thing about where you are right now: It’s Okay to not be Okay.
It’s alright to admit it to yourself, and to say it to someone else. In fact, doing so isn’t admitting defeat at all. It isn’t giving-up. It’s simply consenting, to fully feeling the reality of the despair and the pain of the moment.
As you do, just remember that you won’t feel like that forever.
This may be the only interaction you and I ever have.
These may be the only words of mine you ever read, and that’s alright, because if you really believe them right now, then I’ll be forever grateful.
One day, you’ll feel well enough to speak them to someone else who is not so well, and you’ll perpetuate the hope I want for you.
So today, friend, for what it’s worth and for what you’re worth (which is immeasurable), know this:
As dark as it seems, as difficult as it is, as much as it hurts—it’s gonna be Okay.