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The Holidays Will Always Hurt
Honest reflections
How do pigeons take off at exactly the same time? Not a millisecond late, not a moment of hesitation, all their wings open wide and they take off—a flight that seems directionless to me, but that serves a purpose for them.
I‘m watching them from a splintered wooden bench in a quiet park, trying to calm my anxiety. I’m so close to a full-blown panic attack, trying my best to hide my teary eyes and trembling hands from the people passing by on their way to church. I wondered how I could faint in such a way that no one would notice—that they’d think I’d just closed my eyes and was in deep thought.
Sitting there, it occurred to me that no matter how much I write about my pain and experiences, no matter how many people tell me they can relate, and no matter how much progress I think I’ve made, there’s still a deeply hurt, broken, hidden part of me that creeps up during the holidays, in the moments between distractions and crowded rooms, that still makes me feel lonely.
What if we never truly understand ourselves or find our own natural rhythm, like the effortless grace of pigeons in flight? Humans are the only ones who can break their hearts repeatedly. We are the knives we turn inside ourselves, and healing just means not letting others taste the pain we have swallowed—not some state of a…