Tiny gestures

On the small kindnesses that can keep us afloat.

Going through any sort of life crisis can quickly shift what you thought you knew about the people in your life. In some cases, the people you assumed would really show up, have the right words, or simply give you grace through massive hardship don’t, and the ones who do surprise you. The cliche about hard times showing you who your friends are is ultimately true.

I’ve been as shocked by the deeply unempathetic nature of a few people I thought I could count on as I have been by the out-of-nowhere kindness and support of many people I hadn’t spoken to in years or wasn’t ever that close to. It’s disorienting but illuminating. The letdowns are softened by all of the pleasant surprises, unexpected connections, and realizations that, while the love is in some cases coming from a different source than you thought it would, it’s very much there.

I was thinking about this recently when an old friend from high school reached out to check in on me after hearing from my brother about my pain. He was the class clown type, a hard partier, and while we always got along well, I wouldn’t necessarily have gone to him for deep conversation. But in a few short paragraphs, he made me feel cared for and seen in a way that I honestly never would’ve expected, and one that I frankly longed for from certain people I was closer to when my pain began.

When you’re going through something surreal and uniquely difficult, feeling a deep sense of recognition from another person is extremely rare. In my case, I’ve learned that people who’ve never had severe pain generally don’t understand just how bad pain can be. It’s very easy to assume the person in pain is simply not tough enough when they’re actually gritting their teeth through unbearable sensations all day long, walking around (when they can walk) on the verge of tears but trained in holding them back. This is especially true in our optimization era, when many people seem to think that if other (“lesser”) people would just work out, eat, and sleep the right way they could outrun the reality of their bodies.

This old friend could relate to just a small slice of my pain, but he clearly understood its toll, particularly the way it wrecks you emotionally. He shared his own experience with pain, confessing that it frequently brought him to the floor in tears. And he told me that he felt for me and was here for me—a handful of super simple words that have immense power when you’re down and out, especially when you can tell someone isn't just saying them to be nice but would actually back them up.

It’s these small little moments that buoy me when I feel like sinking. The thoughtful handwritten letter from an acquaintance, the message from another person with health issues who sees themselves in my writing, the old friends who reach out to check in after all these years. Not to mention the people I’ve been close to for decades who have known how to handle this moment, even if they don’t fully understand chronic pain, because all it really requires is caring about someone, no matter how much circumstances have changed the way they’re able to show up in the world.

Seeing what an outsized impact these seemingly tiny gestures can have has also increased my desire to return the favor. I have a more visceral reaction to other people’s struggles, whether it’s a cancer diagnosis, a house lost in the wildfires, or a miscarriage, three things I’ve never experienced but are world-rocking in a way I can relate to (and if you don’t think chronic pain belongs alongside those, I encourage you to read a lot more about it). I feel an urge—almost an obligation—to reach out to people who are suffering in a way that, before, I may have resisted for fear that I didn’t have the right words or would make the other person feel uncomfortable. I’ve learned that there are no “right words” to say—that showing up and telling people you see them and are here for them is the point. I’ve felt how much more painful silence is than someone speaking imperfectly, how even the simplest words can give life to hope that was slipping away.