Appearances Are Deceiving
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
~ Ian MacLaren
It is truly remarkable to me the number of people I know who are in pain. I’m not just talking about my counseling practice, where I expect to hear about difficulties and struggles; I’m talking about friends and colleagues who are physically and emotionally struggling. And the thing is, these people look fine. They drive nice cars, grab coffee at the café and smile. They take vacations and run businesses and post pictures on Facebook. To look at them you’d think they’re living the dream. And you’d be wrong.
A famous lyric from Gilbert and Sullivan says, “Things are seldom what they seem.” I’m going to bump that up that a notch and say that things are never what they seem. There’s always more to the story.
The Walking Wounded
People don’t wear their troubles on their sleeves. Most of the time you don’t know, when you run into someone at the store, that their child is seriously depressed, or their marriage is a sham, or they are on the verge of bankruptcy. You don’t know that they were up all night with anxiety, or that they struggle with invisible illness or that they are three payments behind on the mortgage. You don’t know, because it doesn’t show.
I remember after I was widowed thinking that it would help if I were bleeding, if my broken heart were somehow visible. It was always supremely irritating when someone would see me at the grocery store and say, “It’s great you’re doing better!” as if picking up a potato meant that I had healed.
As a counselor, I know first hand how much suffering can lie beneath a beautiful looking life. I have the privilege of hearing how people really are: their broken relationships, their diagnoses, their losses and traumas. I hear about their deep grief and their fears and struggles, and I marvel at how they look so…normal.
How are you really?
But this understanding isn’t just professional: it’s also deeply personal. My husband has chronic, serious, invisible physical issues. He is in constant pain but you would never know it to meet him on the street. He looks just fine. If you ask him how he is, he’ll say, “I’m okay.” (We all know that most people who ask you how you are aren’t actually interested in how you are. He says, “Okay,” because that’s what you say. I had a checker at TJ’s ask me how I was and before I could even open my mouth to respond she chirped, “That’s good!”) Sometimes he wishes his condition were more obvious. Without outward evidence, it’s easy to feel alone in your suffering.
The battle-weary are everywhere. You can just never know what that person across the counter is going through—or the guy in the Maserati in front of you, for that matter; they don’t wear medals and their wounds likely don’t show. But one thing is certain: your kind word or thoughtful action might just help someone survive the siege.
