You Don’t Have To Face This Alone, I Am With You

I can tell you’re in pain. You try so hard to hide your feelings from the world, but I can see through that mask, through that façade, through that guard you put up, that smile you plaster across your face. You’re struggling. And it’s okay to struggle.

Life is hard. It’s hard as hell. Sometimes we’ll be on top of the world, laughing at the demons from our past. Sometimes we’ll be indifferent, coasting through our days at a snail’s pace. Sometimes we’ll be lost, stumbling through with no direction. And sometimes we’ll be in over our heads with pain and fear.

And right now you’re facing the latter. Right now, you’re spinning with decisions and anxiety, disappointment and self-doubt. Right now you’re questioning who you are and how far you’ve come. Right now you’re wondering whether or not you can even make through or if you’re even capable of standing on your own two feet.

And it breaks my heart to see you this way.

Because I know your potential. Because I’ve seen your strength. Because I admire your spirit and your fight, and how you’ve found your footing in the wake of pain time and time again.

My wish for you is to see all of that and step forward confidently again. But I know life has thrown you the biggest curveball and you’re standing at the plate, knees shaking and eyes low. I know it’s easy to encourage when I’m standing on the sidelines, when I don’t feel the wind against my face or the sweat dripping down my brow, when I don’t see the pitcher standing there with his strong, menacing face. I know the hardest battle is the one going on in your mind and I can’t save you from that.

But I want you to know that you’re not alone.

Sometimes when we go through pain we push people away. It’s natural, to an extent. We don’t want to burden anyone; we fear rejection or people seeing us at our weakest points, and so we isolate.

But I don’t want you to do that. I want you to reach out to me.

I want you to know that you don’t have to face this alone. Yes, these are your demons, but you don’t have to battle them with your bare hands.

Having a shoulder to cry on, a body to lean on, a soul in support of you does not make you weak. Reaching out to another person, talking to them, letting them into your life, even at your lowest moments is not pathetic; it’s strong.

So I want you to let me be here.

I want you to stop thinking that you have to carry all this heaviness on your two shoulders. I want you to stop believing that asking for help means you’re feeble. I want you to realize that there are people who care so deeply about you, and who will go to battle for you, without hesitation.

I want you to know that I am one of those people—I am here and I’m not leaving.

If you don’t have the strength to stand, lean on me. If you don’t have the confidence to swing the bat, let me guide your hands. If you are scared to even step up to the plate and take on that curveball, let me be your coach, guiding you through each step and reminding you how capable you are, and always have been.

You are not weak. You are not a burden. You are not alone.

And I hope when you look at me, you see that. I hope that you see how loved and cared for you are, and that even when you’re scared and struggling, you don’t have to feel that you’ve been abandoned. Because I am with you. And that won’t change.

Marisa Donnelly is a poet and author of the book, Somewhere on a Highway, available here.