I Thought No One Would Show Up (I Was Wrong)

This.
(Looks around: ALL OF THIS.)
Feels so vulnerable right now…

I was recently under general anesthesia twice in a week (one for an elective surgery, one for a medical test), and having to ask for rides to and from those appointments cracked something open inside of me.
Not just physically, but emotionally.
It wasn’t just the surgery.
It was everything it touched:
Old memories of waiting rooms.
My mother’s endless medical appointments.
The fragility of life.

There are certain moments in life where it feels like everything crumbles all at once—
where you are raw, exposed, humbled in a way you didn’t think possible.

I have been feeling simultaneously lonely and yet fully supported and held,
and trying to lean into receiving help without believing the lie that I am alone, that no one cares, or that I have to do it all or figure it all out myself.

I felt vulnerable in a way I rarely let myself be.
And it brought up an ache deeper than just physical pain:

Where is the person who is supposed to be here for me?
Why am I doing this alone?

But then...
Something else happened.
Something quieter.
Something sacred.

A neighbor canceled her plans to pick me up.
An old client sent a text out of the blue, sensing I was going through something.
A friend messaged me late at night just to say he was praying for me.

One after another, small beams of light pierced the darkness I thought I was sitting in alone.

I have been met with SO MUCH PROOF about how many people love me, deeply care about me, and HAPPILY care for me.

For most of my life, love and acceptance felt like something that had to be earned—
that being strong meant not needing anyone, doing it all myself (or it wouldn’t get done at all),
that if I wasn't smiling, producing, performing, or proving my value, I would disappear from people's hearts.

But this season has humbled me beyond recognition.

Because here’s the truth that keeps cracking me open:

I am loved.
Even when I need help.
Even when it’s really fucking messy.
Even when I am simply... being.

I am learning to receive without guilt (trying, at least).
To allow myself to be held without apologizing for the weight of my own body, my own grief, my own existence.

Healing isn't always triumphant or visible.

Sometimes it looks like lying in a hospital gown, barely awake, and realizing you're still worth showing up for.
Sometimes it looks like letting the story be rewritten—
not "I have to figure it all out alone,"
but
"There are more people holding me than I ever realized."

And sometimes the deepest healing is simply leaning back into that truth, again and again, until it no longer feels foreign.

If you’re in your own messy middle, if you’re grieving or healing or trying to stitch yourself back together...

Please hear me:

You are not invisible.
You are not too much.
You are not alone.

There are people out there who see you.
Sometimes they aren't the ones you expected (or were hoping for).
Sometimes they are the hearts of neighbors, strangers, old friends, or even a chance Uber driver.
But they are there.

Right now, I am leaning into trust, surrender, and looking for proof that I am loved, rather than proof that I am not.

You know what they say—
you get what you are looking for…
so let’s start looking for the best.