I used to think I would know when I had made it through something.
I imagined a clear moment. A door closing behind me. A morning when I woke up, and it was gone.
That rarely happened.
Most of the time, what hurt didn’t disappear. It became a little less sharp. I still thought about it while cooking dinner, but it no longer followed me to bed. I still had difficult mornings, but somewhere along the way, I began having ordinary ones too.
I didn’t notice the first time I made a meal because I was hungry, instead of because I knew I should eat. I didn’t mark the day I laughed without feeling guilty afterward. Those moments were too small to announce themselves. They were easy to mistake for nothing.
When you are living through a hard season, you learn its details. You know which thoughts arrive when the house gets quiet. You know what it takes to answer a simple question like “How are you?” You know how much effort can hide inside getting dressed and stepping outside.
Then, slowly, some of that effort goes elsewhere.
You wash the dishes. You call someone back. You notice the weather. You make plans for next week and realize, only later, that you expected to be there to keep them.
This does not mean what happened was smaller than you thought. I am careful with that. Distance can soften a memory, but it cannot tell the whole truth about what it cost to live through it. If it was hard, it was hard. The fact that I can carry it now does not mean it was light.
Still, there are days when I look back and think, Maybe I could handle more than I knew.
I do not always like that thought. Sometimes it makes me wonder why I had to learn it this way. But I can sit with both feelings. I can wish things had been easier and be grateful that I kept going.
These days, I try to become a better person in small ways. I try to listen long enough to hear what someone is really saying. I try to apologize without explaining away the hurt. I try to make something good to eat and share it when I can. Some days, doing better means resting before I grow bitter with exhaustion.
None of this makes me a finished person. It gives me a way to live today.
Perhaps that is how I make it through. A choice here. A gentler word there. A little more patience for someone else, and sometimes for myself. Over time, those choices have changed the shape of my days.
I still cannot always tell when I have made it through. Maybe I am waiting for a sign that doesn’t come.
But every so often, I find myself in the kitchen, tending to something on the stove. The day has had its trouble. I have had mine. And for a few minutes, I am simply there, thinking about supper. I remember when even that small peace felt far away.
I turn down the heat. I set out a plate.
Tomorrow may ask more of me. Tonight, I have made it this far.
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Resources for Hard Times
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