It’s a scary thing to be vulnerable, but I believe there’s power and hidden strength in baring your soul to a world that is so worried about saving face. I’ve lost face more times than I can count, so saving it doesn’t really concern me anymore.

I’ve shared a lot of stories working as a reporter and some pushed me out of my comfort zone. But the scariest stories to tell are your own. You risk judgement, but also the chance of helping someone else – comforting them with a shared experience. And that is what life is really all about anyways, helping people to not feel so alone. I never realized how important that was until my mom got leukemia.

My mom was going through her own trial, so going to her for comfort and solace wasn’t really an option. My dad was going through his own, and we could help to bear each other’s burdens to an extent but even our own experiences vastly differed. We each faced our own hurdles and challenges during that time and learning to love each other better was one of them.

Some days it’s easier to forget what we went through, but the undercurrent is always there. As much as the sting of the memories burden my heart, I wouldn’t want to forget them completely. They have changed me forever and have given me a great compassion for others who are hurting. I now see the importance of helping others wade through the waters of their own storms.

I can now relate to the emotions of guilt (feeling like you’re not showing up for your loved one enough), and emotional burnout (trying to pour from an empty cup). Seriously, try being an empathetic person and spending nearly every day for six months at a cancer center. It wears on you after awhile.

These feelings are impossible to relate to unless you’ve been through it yourself.

There’s also a feeling of aloneness after the initial rush of condolences and supportive messages fade out. Unfortunately, sometimes when you need people the most, they show up the least. Not all people mind you, and the support shown by many was felt so deeply (even from some people we never expected).

I don’t blame the friends or family who have avoided us over the last six months. I get it… it’s awkward to confront conversations around illness, because it brings up some uncomfy emotions. Some people even think mention of it might invite illness into their own lives – I get it, I really do.

The truth is that when other humans fail to show up for you, that’s when His presence shows up for you the most. When no one else can relate to what you’re going through, He makes you feel seen, heard, and loved. And the majesty of His very presence begins to heal the broken pieces before you even know they’re there.

I never would have been able to face what I did while holding myself together (for the most part) without His enduring love. Even after He carried our family through this storm I find myself choosing just about everything else over Him. It’s a good thing His faithfulness isn’t dependent on my own. Some days I am even bitter with Him for allowing this to happen, but in the moments where I want to turn from Him, I lean into Him and He reminds me there is purpose to my pain and meaning in my suffering – to help others.

Many people will go through this life never knowing His presence or experiencing the peace that passes all understanding. I know God has specifically called me to share His love and light with others, not by pushing religiosity but by providing those who are hurting with a glimmer of the same love that comforted me in my dark places.

I was talking to a coworker and old friend whose husband unfortunately lost his battle to leukemia more than 10 years ago. I asked her, “How could anybody ever truly know or relate to what I’ve been through after all this?” She responded, “Well they won’t. How could they? But they’ll know your heart… and that’ll be enough.”