There is a thing I have tried to write about for years. I’ve started & stopped more times than you can possibly imagine.

The very short version is this: There was a time in my life when I wasn’t going to be here anymore.

(By here, I mean in this body, in this world, in this life. The only reason I am still here is because of my Atlas pup. When I say that he saved me, I mean it almost literally.)

Yesterday, I realized that I couldn’t write about it because I was making it too complicated.

I didn’t want to make anyone sad or cause them to worry.

I didn’t think all pain needed to be shared & I wondered if this particular pain did.

I thought I had to share more than I wanted to or needed to or possibly even could.

I thought there was no point in writing about it without including how I got from there to here. (Even if I thought it would add value, I can’t, because I don’t know how I got from there to here at all.)

When we are in darkness, there are so many thoughts that feel true.

I am alone.
I’m a burden.
I’m not needed.
I’m weak.
I should be ashamed.
No one will care.
No one has been here.
No one will understand.

These thoughts feel true, and yet I suspect we’ve all been through darkness.

I suspect we’ve all been through darkness.
Or are in darkness.
Or will be in darkness.

Darkness comes in so many forms & fashions.

How can we feel so alone, when there are so many people there with us?

It turns out that what I wanted to do was so much simpler than I imagined.

I just wanted to share a tiny piece of my story as my way of saying that I am there too.

Because maybe, just maybe, sharing that we’ve walked through darkness, or are walking through darkness – however or whenever or to whomever we share it – can be a tiny pinprick of light in someone else’s darkness.

Postscript: If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here.

Your darkness doesn’t scare me.

I can be with you in your darkness, because I have learned to be with me in mine.