They say our most intimate feelings are also the most universal. The secrets we harbor for fear of anyone discovering our horror or our shame turn out to be among humanity’s most common experiences, which is why the keeping of secrets can cause us to isolate. We set ourselves apart by believing we are the only ones with feelings of unexplained sadness. Anxiety and meltdowns in the darkness of our inner rooms become part of our daily lives.
It seems like such a paradox, but vulnerability can be our greatest strength. When I confess an inner struggle to a trusted friend, I often learn they too have bleeding skeletons in their closets. When we open the door to these monsters, they diminish enough to yank out and deal with. Sometimes, they even vanish altogether when we realize we are not alone. The light of knowledge is freedom, yet it takes courage; sometimes courage we did not even know we had.
I invite you to read a personal account in today’s New York Times written by a friend, N. West Moss, who describes her third miscarriage in words that will sweep you off your feet. You do not need to be in the shoes of someone who suffered such a loss; indeed, all women are connected at the nucleus of life, and we all mourn and support those who grapple with the tragedy of a loved one lost.
Thank you, West, for having the guts to share your darkest hour. By writing this, you are holding a lantern out for the rest of us to find our way home.