It’s a peculiar thing, really, how the words of comfort flow so easily from my lips when others are hurting. They cascade like a gentle stream, each phrase carefully chosen to soothe, to uplift, to heal — yet these are the very words my own heart yearns to hear. I find myself becoming a mirror of comfort, reflecting back the warmth I wish someone would show me. In quiet moments of reflection, I often wonder at the irony of how naturally I can offer guidance through storms I’ve never weathered, provide maps for paths I’ve never walked.
The tender “you’re doing your best” and “it’s okay to take time to heal” fall from my lips with practiced grace, each syllable carrying the weight of my own unspoken needs. These aren’t just words of comfort for others; they’re whispered prayers to myself, hidden in plain sight. When I tell someone they’re stronger than they know, I’m secretly reminding myself of my own resilience. Each “I’m proud of you” I offer is a quiet echo of the validation I seek, and every “things will get better” is a hope I’m trying to plant in my own garden of doubts.
There’s something almost therapeutic about being the voice of reason for others while my own mind churns with uncertainty. It’s as if the act of helping someone else navigate their darkness helps illuminate my own path. The clarity I find in offering solutions to others’ problems…
