The Battles We Don't See: How Kindness Heals the Pain We Hide

When you look at this photo, what do you see?

The other day a photo memory popped up in my Facebook feed.

What you see: My husband Tim and I standing and smiling against a brilliant blue sky, flag waving in the background, a breeze gently ruffling our hair.

What you don’t see: A few days before, I had been diagnosed with Chordoma, an ultra-rare bone cancer, and was just a few weeks out from a complex surgery to remove the tumor, along with my tailbone, the adjoining 2.5  vertebra, and the accompanying nerves in my lower spine. 

That weekend, Tim threw the Grand Poobah of coping mechanisms at me, stacking my schedule back to back with events to distract me...trying his best to hold us both up with sheer busy-ness and love. 

On this blue-sky day we had gone to see the Blue Angels. While they were a thrilling distraction, the weight of what was upon me felt relentless.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Tim.

“Heavy,” he responded. 

Yes. Heavy.

Unbearably heavy.

Recently, I booked a mani-pedi with Vie.

I’ve been going to Vie for years, not just because she knows how to do a great manicure, but because our time together always flies by. Vie is smart, funny and has a dry, dead-pan sense of humor that catches me off guard every time. 

Vie is Vietnamese and I can understand about 75% of what she says. If she were a movie, I would use subtitles. But she is A Human Being, so I lean in and listen a little more intently and sometimes ask her to repeat herself. 

As she massaged oil into my hands, she sighed. “I really want to travel,” she said softly. “I want to go to Japan. Or New York. I want to go somewhere. Anywhere.”

“What about a weekend trip to New York? It’s an easy train or bus ride from here,” I said.

She shook her head, her mouth a tight line. “I really want to go by myself. But people aren’t always patient with my language.” 

Ever the problem-solver, I started brainstorming. “What about a Vietnamese-speaking tour group? Or, you could take your Mom, or your husband. Maybe one of your kids — they’re old enough.”

Again, she shook her head.

“I really want to go by myself,” she said again. “I have people around me all the time.”

Then she peeled back another layer. 

“Sometimes when I'm on my break, I go into the back room and I just sit. I don't wanna talk to anybody, I don't wanna see anybody. I love my customers,” she said, squeezing my hand, “but I just need to be by myself.” She paused and repeated, “I need to be by myself.”

Ahh, there it is, I thought, hearing the overwhelm in her voice. “You need some me-time, Vie. Even an hour here and there, just for you.”

She peeled back the next layer.

And it was a doozy.

“They never leave me alone,” she whispered.  And then, after a pause, “They are afraid for me to be by myself. Because I tried to kill myself.”

Mic drop.

I waited, speechless, a stone on my chest.

“It's too much,” she said. “I feel like I'm always wearing a mask, always taking care of others. My mother, my husband, my children, my clients. I love them all but never get to do what I want to do. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” 

“Vie,” I said gently. “You’re overwhelmed. And with good reason. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone. Is there someone you can lean on? Do you need someone to talk to?” 

She nodded, her eyes welling up.

Clearly, this was beyond my expertise.

I did a search on my phone and found a local therapist who spoke Vietnamese. Vie looked me in the eyes.

“Thank you,” she said.  

She seemed to mean it. I hope, with all my heart, that she follows through. 

I left the salon, scuffing through the parking lot in my pink foam flip-flops, heart heavy. thinking about the struggles we human beings hide—how we smile and put on a “brave face” to mask the pain. It made me realize how little we truly know about the people who cross our paths every day.

My time with Vie was a powerful reminder.

Everyone we pass by is struggling with a secret battle we may know nothing about.

When I think back to that blue-sky day, when Tim and I saw the Blue Angels, it wasn’t just the fear that I remember, as large and dark as it loomed. 

I also remember the kindness. 

• Tim’s kindness, keeping me busy, dragging me from thing to thing - a magic meeting, an art show, the Blue Angels…anything to protect me from the endless loop of terrifying “What If’s” spinning through my brain.

• The kindness of a colleague who gave me a beautiful leather-bound journal to release all the dangerous thoughts that were too frightening to say out loud. 

• The kindness of friends, wrapping me in heartfelt hugs and reminding me that, “I am brave. I am strong. I am loved.”

That kindness helped me put one foot in front of the other and carried me through those Ground Zero days.

Here is what I know to be true: 

Everyone we walk past is struggling with something. 

Everyone we encounter may be fighting a secret battle we know nothing about. 

There is an over-abundance of harshness in the world. 

In our nonstop, 24/7 culture—where words fly instantly, often without restraint or accountability, meanness and dismissiveness are far too prevalent. 

As for me, I am focusing very intentionally on being kind. 

We never know. 

Sometimes, a small act of kindness may be the thing that keeps someone from breaking under the weight of what they are carrying - as kindness has lifted me, so many times.

Happiness Practice:

Will you join me in my Cause for Kind? 

We can’t fix everyone’s pain. 

But we can listen. We can empathize. We can look someone in the eyes and remind them that they are important. And that what they are dealing with is important. 

Can you give a stranger the benefit of the doubt?

That driver who cut you off may be dealing with a crisis.

That the person ahead of you in line may be dealing with grief, or exhaustion, or a burden you can’t see. 

• Can you take the high road with that rude person in line at the coffee shop?

• Can you be a little more patient with the man who’s walking slowly in front of you and blocking your path?

• Can you listen a little more, even though you’re busy and your mind is already on something else?

• Can you decide to not engage in the gossip? Or refrain from making that judgy comment?

Instead, can you pause a moment to wonder what kind of day the other may be having, or what invisible burden they might be carrying? 

What if we just assumed that everyone is struggling with something - and took a moment to empathize? To be a little more patient and understanding?

“Kindness can transform someone’s dark moment with a blaze of light.

You’ll never know how much your caring matters.”

— Amy Leigh Mercree

Stay Strong. Stay Kind.

With so much love,

Susan

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