Yesterday I was at one of my jobs, and I’ve gotten to know a really wonderful colleague. And I’m not talking about appearance—I’m talking about personality.
Yesterday, we sat and talked for two hours after closing.
The last time we worked the closing shift together, we also stayed for two hours just talking. It’s strange how quickly time passes when the conversation flows naturally.
After that first evening, he somehow became my sense of safety at work.
I’ve never really thought about this before, but I’ve realized that I need to have someone at work that I feel safe with in order to truly thrive. Someone I feel I can lean on.
And perhaps that’s not so strange.
We humans are social creatures after all.
Yesterday we sat and talked for a long time again. We laugh, talk about everyday things, but also about life on a deeper level.
I find it fascinating to talk to other people. To hear about their life choices. About how they handle life’s ups and downs.
Many people carry experiences that shape their circumstances. And you quickly realize that people from very different backgrounds often carry similar wounds.
Wounds that shape them.
Wounds that can lead them into dark places.
But what impresses me the most are the people who manage to turn things around and find their way out again.
Those are the people who fascinate me the most.
There is something beautiful about watching people survive themselves.
Because sometimes, that’s exactly what it feels like.
Surviving yourself.
Going from such deep darkness to suddenly feeling worthy enough to allow yourself to truly live.
That is an achievement.
And it is a choice.
A choice that requires strength, courage, and determination.
It genuinely moves me.
But what is a little contradictory is this:
When I look at myself, it doesn’t feel like an achievement.
Even though I see it as one when it comes to other people.
Isn’t that strange?
Because when it comes to myself, I think:
“Of course you were supposed to dig yourself out of the darkness. Anything else would have been unacceptable.”
But when it comes to others, I feel pride, joy, and admiration.
So here I sit, writing and laughing a little at my own foolishness.
At how remarkably little compassion I sometimes have for myself.
And I don’t think I’m alone in that.
Why are we harsher on ourselves than we are on others?
Why do we expect more from ourselves than we do from the people around us?
Why do we give others full credit for achievements we refuse to acknowledge in ourselves?
Perhaps it’s because we know all our own flaws.
All our mistakes.
All the times we fell.
While in others, we mostly see their strength.
Maybe that’s why it’s easier to offer compassion to others than it is to offer it to ourselves.
Because if I had met myself as a stranger, I sometimes wonder whether I would have been just as impressed by her as I am by others who have fought their way out of darkness.
Maybe it’s time to give ourselves some of the same credit we so willingly give to others.
Because perhaps we are not weaker than them.
Perhaps we are simply too close to our own story to see it the way others do. 🌼
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