When life hurts: embracing the pain and finding strength in connection

I often write about changing your perception on events in your life, about how sometimes you have to stop caring about the small stuff and focus on what really matters. I’ve explored the subtle art of not giving a fuck, learning to let go of the unnecessary weight that life throws our way. But there are moments, moments that shake you to your core, when even the things you care about the most cause the deepest pain.

For me, family and friends are always at the top of my priority list. And when those bonds are threatened, when life hurts them, it hurts me too. In recent years, life has been a relentless wave of highs and lows, and even this challenging year has tested me in ways I never imagined. Yet, amid the struggle, we’ve managed to find joy in the smallest victories and moments of laughter, even when the clouds of grief hover overhead.

I remember my days as a student, full of hope and curiosity, when one particular teacher shone brighter than the rest. She was inspiring, strong, and incredibly articulate, a beacon of wisdom in a world that often felt chaotic. We soon became more than just teacher and student; we forged a deep friendship that would weather the storms of life. Over the years, as both of us faced the profound pain of losing our mothers, we found solace in one another. We supported each other through endless nights filled with tears and unspoken fears, sharing our grief without judgment, always offering a different perspective when the weight of loss seemed unbearable.

Our friendship defied simple labels. There was an age gap that could have divided us, she was younger than my mother, and I was older than her daughters, but our bond transcended these boundaries. It was that inexplicable link, the kind that allowed me to drop a message out of the blue for a coffee in Antwerp, only to find her just around the corner. We were always there, a constant in each other’s lives, ready to offer a listening ear or a comforting presence when it mattered most.

Then, life took another cruel turn. A few years ago, she received a cancer diagnosis, a moment that, despite its inevitability deep in my gut, still shattered my heart. We clung to our routines, tried to be as present as possible, but as time went on, the cancer advanced. She was determined not to be a burden after losing our parents in such a short span, even though I longed to be there for her every step of the way.

Today, my heart feels heavy with sorrow. This morning, I received the news that she had been admitted to a hospice. The cancer had spread, reaching even her brain, a cruel twist in an already painful journey. I know that the weeks ahead will be spent by her side, holding onto memories and sharing the unspoken words of our long friendship. And so, today, I’m allowing myself to cry. I’m shedding tears for her, for myself, and for all of us who have loved and lost so much.

Sometimes, the act of crying feels selfish, as if it’s a moment meant solely for my own healing. Yet, in these tears, there is also love, a deep, abiding love for the friend who has been my confidante, my guide, and my surrogate mother in moments when I felt utterly alone. Some days hurt more than others, and the pain can be overwhelming. But I hold onto the certainty that tomorrow will bring a flicker of light, a chance to smile again, even if today is spent in mourning.

In the end, this is what friendship is all about: walking together through the darkness, sharing narratives that are as diverse as they are healing, and knowing that even in our deepest grief, there lies a resilience that can guide us back to hope. Today, I grieve for a love that, although it may soon live only in memories and feelings, will forever be a part of who I am.