LIGHT THE WAY

A reflection on heartbreak, human limits, and the quiet grace of the relationships that survive our hardest seasons.

There is a particular kind of heartbreak that doesn’t come from betrayal.

It comes from misunderstanding the world.

From believing, even briefly, that people will love you the way you love them.

I had to face the truth that this expectation was mine alone.
No one promised it.
No one owed it.

And I take full responsibility for that.

When that hope broke, so did something in me.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.

Quietly.

After that moment, everything became heavy.

It took everything I had just to:

Go to a job I don’t love.
Pack lunches.
Answer questions.
Be patient.
Be a mother.

Some days, that was all I could do.

There was no energy left to be:

A good friend.
A present family member.
A version of myself that laughed easily or returned messages or showed up well.

I wasn’t thriving.

I was surviving.

And survival, I’ve learned, still counts.

Today, I was overtaken by a deep, sudden sadness.

Thinking about someone I love…
someone I haven’t been there for.

Not because I didn’t care.
But because I had nothing left to give.

He isn’t just a friend.

He’s my cousin.

A rare kind of story.

We didn’t grow up together.
We didn’t share childhood holidays or school years or scraped knees.

We met as adults.
We became friends first.
And only later learned we were family.

And somehow, that makes it even more sacred.

I know people who grew up surrounded by cousins they no longer speak to.

But not this one.

I know him.

His humor.
His heart.
The strange little ways our personalities mirror each other.

We didn’t get childhood memories.

But we got now.

And that matters more than people realize.

There is something no one teaches you about pain:

It shrinks your world.

Not because you stop loving others…
but because all your strength is being used to stand upright.

If I disappeared for a while…

It wasn’t because I forgot anyone.

It was because I was trying not to disappear from myself.

I hope he knows:

He was never forgotten.

He was carried quietly.

In prayers.
In thoughts.
In moments when laughter reminded me that joy still exists somewhere ahead.

And I hope, when I finally come up for air, he will still be there.

Not to blame me for surviving.

But to keep walking with me.

I am allowed to be human.
I am allowed to be limited.
I am allowed to survive before I thrive.
I am allowed to rest when love has exhausted me.
I am not unfaithful for being overwhelmed.
I am still worthy of connection when I return.

God,

You saw me when I could only do the bare minimum.

You saw me mother through heartbreak.

You saw me show up when my spirit was tired.

Hold the people I love when I cannot reach them.

Protect the ones waiting quietly in my heart.

And when I am strong again, lead me back gently to the relationships that still matter.

Amen.

If you are in a season where surviving is all you can do:

Let that be enough.

If someone you love feels far away:

Carry them gently in your heart.

And trust that what is rooted in real love does not disappear…
it waits.

In solidarity,
Lyndsay LaBrier
Merchant Ship Collective — Light the Way