When I Can’t Find the Kindness Within Me

If there's one thing I've come to understand about life, it's that things are always changing.

Every moment can bring something new.

Happiness doesn't stay forever.

But then neither does sadness.

Excitement doesn't stay forever.

But neither does boredom.

I know this.

I understand it.

And yet, there are still days when knowing it doesn't help very much.

There are moments when I find myself in a dark place and telling myself, "This will pass," doesn't suddenly make me feel better.

I know what I'm feeling is human.

I know I should probably be kinder to myself.

I know I should show myself the same compassion I would show someone else going through a difficult time.

But sometimes I just can't get there.

And I've started thinking that maybe, in those moments, I don't have to.

Maybe I don't need to force myself to feel better.

Maybe I don't need to find the perfect reassuring words.

Maybe I can simply remember a time when someone else gave them to me.

There's one memory from when I was a child that has stayed with me all these years.

One day, my mother came home with a gift for me.

There was no birthday. No occasion.

She simply gave it to me and said, "This is for being a good girl."

It was a little doll.

I don't remember how old I was, but strangely, I still remember the wrapping paper.

It was white with big, colourful polka dots.

I loved that doll.

But when I think about that memory now, I don't really think about the doll.

I remember what it felt like to be loved.

There's another memory I find myself going back to.

My husband was in hospital and had gone in for a scan.

It was during COVID, so there were restrictions on who could be there. Two of my closest friends couldn't come to the hospital. They also had young children at home.

So physically, I was sitting in that waiting room alone.

And I was scared.

I didn't know what those scans were going to show.

But while I waited, my friends stayed with me on WhatsApp.

Message after message.

Just letting me know they were there.

They couldn't sit beside me.

But somehow, I didn't feel like I was sitting there entirely on my own.

And then there was a time when I was really unwell.

I'd become so weak that I remember just crying and crying.

My mother came to me and said something I've never forgotten.

"I know you're going through a really rough patch. If I could take your suffering on me, I would. But I can't. I'm here for you."

She couldn't make me better.

“She couldn't take away what I was going through. But she could love me while I was going through it.”

I think that's what stays with me about all these memories.

Nobody fixed everything.

The scan still had to happen.

I was still ill.

The difficult moment was still difficult.

But I wasn't alone in it.

And I could probably find a thousand other memories like these if I really started looking.

My husband.

My parents.

My siblings.

My closest friends.

People showing up for me in big ways and very ordinary ones.

Sometimes when I needed them.

Sometimes when I didn't even realise I did.

So now, when I'm in one of those places where I can't seem to find much kindness or compassion for myself, I try to remember.

Not in some big, formal way.

I just pick a moment.

The polka-dot wrapping paper.

The WhatsApp messages in the hospital waiting room.

My mother's words when I couldn't stop crying.

And I stay with it for a little while.

What did it feel like when someone loved me like that?

Nothing dramatic happens.

This is not a miracle story.

I'm still sad.

The problem hasn't disappeared.

Whatever I'm dealing with is still there.

But something in me softens a little.

I feel less alone.

And sometimes that's enough.

I think we can become very disconnected when we're going through a difficult time.

Disconnected from the people around us.

Disconnected from ourselves.

And sometimes even disconnected from the idea that there has ever been anything good at all.

That's what these memories give back to me.

Not proof that everything is fine.

It isn't always fine.

Not a reason to push away what I'm feeling.

But a reminder that this difficult moment isn't the whole story.

There has been love too.

There has been kindness.

There have been people who have sat beside me, literally or otherwise, when things were hard.

And even on a day when I can't seem to give myself the love I need, I can remember the times someone else gave it to me.

Maybe I don't have to feel better just yet.

Maybe, for now, it's enough to remember:

I'm having a hard time. And I'm still loved.