I see you.
One day, when I was having a very bad day, I was sitting at a stoplight feeling either bad about myself or bad for myself – I can’t remember which – when I glanced in my rearview mirror. I saw that the young woman in the car behind me was weeping. My heart quaked at witnessing, even briefly, such raw pain right there, over my shoulder. In a matter of seconds, the light changed and I went straight, while the woman made a right turn and continued on her way.

When I saw the woman weeping behind me, I instinctively wanted to avert my eyes and allow her whatever privacy she seemed to be living into in her drivers’ seat, but there was another almost overriding instinct within me, too. I wanted to run to her. I wanted to fling open her car door, and say, “Oh, Honey, I see you.”

I see you – not in any kind of snooping, creepy way – but rather, I see you and your pain, the sadness and heartbreak, anger and hurt. I see it all. I see you, and I see how you feel about it.

I know you.
More than that, I wanted to say, “I know you.” I wasn’t the one crying in my car, but I knew that woman’s sorrow in my own heart of hearts. I had, after all, been slumped at the steering wheel contemplating my own serious gloom when what I glimpsed in the mirror seemed almost to reflect my own heart’s agony.

If only I could have gone to the woman and told her that not only do I see her, but I know her. What if I could have shared that I understand what it means to hurt. Maybe it would have helped her to know she was not alone. I, too, have been hurt in public places and gone off to cry in lonely places. I have had dreams crushed, I could have told her. I have had my feelings hurt, and suffered losses that took my breath away. I know, I know, I know.
I see you, and I know you.

The world aches with sadness lived out in isolation; it drips with tears shed in disappointment, dread, and desperation. And still we believe we are the only one who hurts so much, like this. We do need to be seen. We do need to feel known and understood in our trauma. Comfort finds its origin in being seen and having our feelings known and understood. It helps ease the weeping.

I think about towns brimming with middle schoolers, suffering through angsty teen drama and hormonal seismic shifts. I think about neighborhoods stuffed with individuals who have lost jobs – jobs they didn’t care for but that paid the bills. I think of the masses of people who suffer the daily destruction of cancer. Always, someone somewhere has had a bad fight with their spouse, the very love of their life, and at least one person ate a cake’s worth of feelings today. I know someone just misses their dad who passed away a long time ago, but it feels shockingly, deeply fresh. Plenty of people are stymied by the political angst around them, and others live terrified of war, or exhausted by environmental shutdown, and plenty live just one step away from stepping right over the cliff’s edge.

Every hardship has the ability to break us down to tears, shove us into a corner of severe loneliness, or just plain ruin us.

I love you.
If and when we make it our business to turn toward someone and offer the words, “I see you,” or “I know you,” they absolutely must arise out of another ultimate impulse, and that is, finally, to say, “I love you.”

It is helpful to no one to be seen and not loved. Have you ever been pointed to as Exhibit A for how not to act, look, behave, and so forth? Those are the worst times to be seen – unless someone says, “I see you, and Honey, I understand… and, I love you.” To be in the most vulnerable place, and receive love? That is what we long for when we’re broken and weeping.

So, my friends, if you happen to see a young woman weeping off in the corner, or a pimply middle schooler hiding behind slumped shoulders and an awkward attitude, or you witness someone hung out to dry for being less than perfect, give it a beat, and if you find that you can approach them at all, go tell them that you see them, you understand. And, most importantly, you love them.

It is my hope and prayer that someone will return the favor to you when you’ve had a hard day and find yourself vulnerable and weeping.

Rearview mirror photo by Robin Edqvist on Unsplash
Edge of a Cliff photo by Leio McLaren on Unsplash
Long Road lead photo by Intricate Explorer on Unsplash