We, as Humans, Exist to Move People
We as humans exist to move people—to move people to believe that it's okay to be honest, and to move people to believe that it's okay to ask for help.
What I want to offer you is an invitation to believe better things.
You matter very much.
Your life is priceless.
Your story is important.
No one can replace you and no one else can play your part.
There are many amazing people in the business of helping folks become unstuck, become unhaunted. They do the patient work of recovery, based on years and years of wisdom and experience. They do this work with truth and with compassion.
At the heart of all of this lies a common thread, one that has become more and more apparent as the years go by, one that I believe with everything I am. When it comes to depression, abuse, addiction, self-injury, and suicide, I believe this message is the game-changer. It's the first step. It's the candle lit in the darkness.
The message is this: People need other people.
With this comes a second truth: You are not alone. You are not alone in your problems, not alone in your pain, not alone in your questions, in your heartache and heartbreak. You are not alone.
Other people feel how you feel. Other people are where you are and even more have been where you are. They have known the darkness, too. They have felt alone.
And it's not enough to simply know you're not alone. The journey forward will require other people. It will require friends and family. It may require professional help, and that's entirely okay. If you broke your arm, you wouldn't try to hide it or fake it. Getting help for depression, abuse or addiction should be no different. If you need help, it's okay to ask for it.
The journey forward will also require conversations, the ones where honest questions are met with honest answers, and somehow understanding happens. Somehow healing happens.
The journey forward will be a mix of crying, laughing, quiet, hoping—and also dreaming. You will get to dream again.
You are not alone, and you will not have to go alone. You will go with others. They will carry you, and you will carry them, and that's how this dance is done. That's how this life is meant to be lived, leaning on that magic of love, trust, and friendship.
You are a person in need, and so are all the ones around you. It's okay to say it. It's okay to ask. It's okay to be honest about it. You are a person, which means you feel things, and you lose things, and it happens to all of us. You are not a robot, not a machine, not simply a student, or an employee, or an athlete, or a performer. You are not only what you're good at, and you're not only what you're bad at. You are a person, and people need other people.
You are a person, and you deserve whatever help you need.
You are a person, and you deserve to be known and loved by others.
You are a person—and people need other people.
I'd like to get you to consider the possibility that your story is something sacred, something priceless, unique, worth fighting for. And I've come to believe that a good story will not just be the story of one person. It will require other characters. It will require people needing other people, leaning on them, loving them and being loved by them, knowing and being known.
There are parts of our stories that we wish were different, things we wish we could change, erase, forget. We get stuck in moments. Memories turn to ghosts. We try to live in the past, but it never works. And then, somehow, inside the same story, there is good. There are memories that make us laugh and make us smile, relationships and conversations, dreams of jobs and families, and places that we hope to go to. Even things as simple as favorite books and songs and films—the way they remind us we're alive—these things are part of our story as well. And I've come to believe that all of it matters, that all of it is significant and the opposite of small. I've come to believe that you deserve to be around people who know these parts of you, people who laugh and mourn and celebrate with you, people who remind you you're not alone in this whole big thing called life.
My hope and dream is that if you should ever get to a place where your life feels like it's not worth living, where the pain is just too great, I hope you know it's okay to be honest, and it's okay to ask for help. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it doesn't mean you're something strange or some kind of burden. It simply means you're human. I pray you'll be met by friends who remind you that your story is one they too will fight for—with words, and tears, and silence, and whatever it takes. I pray you get to taste the privilege of having these sorts of friends and also the privilege of being this sort of friend. May you wake to the day when life feels worth living, when joy comes back, hope shows up, love returns. May you live to be surprised.
Here is what I believe to be some very good news: If you're reading this, if there's air in your lungs on this beautiful day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, we all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren't finished yet. There is still time for things to heal, change, and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are stories still going, you and I. We are stories still going.
PS: If you feel like you’re falling, Kula is a safe place for you to land. If you need a place to connect with others, where it’s ok for you to show up exactly as you are, where you will be met with curiosity, compassion, and support, please join us. We aren’t strangers - just friends you haven’t met yet.