Things Are Always Harder Than They Seem

Life sometimes feels deceptively simple. Other times, it feels impossibly hard.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled to form real connections with people. Maybe it’s because I spent my early childhood away from my parents. My grandparents raised me, but we never really talked. We coexisted in silence. That silence built strong walls inside me—boundaries I’ve only just begun to notice.

The irony, of course, is that humans are wired for connection. No matter how high my walls are, loneliness still seeps in. I crave intimacy. I try to apologize after screaming at my mother. I try to keep training after a leg injury. I try to say yes to invitations, even when the activity isn’t something I enjoy.

Yesterday, I read a post from a creator I used to follow. She wrote about her divorce, her faith, her time abroad, and how her thinking had changed. She once believed deeply in a man she admired—put all her hopes in him—only for him to say, “Right or wrong doesn’t matter.” That broke her. Depression followed.

I resonated with that. I’ve tied so much of my joy and sorrow to my mother. I worry about her health. I ache for her loneliness—because I know what that tastes like. I pity her for being married to a man who never stepped up. But when she said the same thing—“Right and wrong don’t matter”—I felt my world collapse. My sense of truth and purpose shattered.

The question of meaning haunts me. I constantly remind myself not to go too deep, because the pain that comes with it is real. So, I dance. I dance with joy, even when my movements are awkward and far from perfect. I dance because I want something—anything—to embrace me, to receive me as I am, to carry my feelings when words cannot.

I don’t know if this path I’m choosing is the right one. But I know it’s the only way that feels real. The only way that brings me closer to the kind of life I want.

And you—what are you wrestling with these days? Do you need help? Maybe you want to tell your story too?