Right here, together
Wherever we are, there are hidden people. People we don't realize are there.
They're quiet for a lot of different reasons.
People keep their struggles private as much as they can (although sometimes, suddenly or unexpectedly, they can't). And so there are layers and layers of struggles that people have that no one around them knows about.
There is the visible, audible, identifiable world… like the part of the iceberg you can see.
And there is everything beneath the surface — most of the iceberg! — and the massive hidden geography of unseen experiences.
It is in this hidden realm where very sad, very unfortunate things can happen. People experience extreme trauma, violence, and loss in ways that are never talked about.
The more trauma an individual or family experiences... the more invisible their experience may be.
And so people who are typically only acquainted with the visible above-surface part of the iceberg often don't even have a frame of reference for what can be going on around them in their own communities.
The deepest wounds, then, are often the most silent.
In that silence, two separate realities are created: One where trauma is a daily truth, densely detailed, immutable and inescapable… and another where trauma feels distant, rare, and undefinable.
These two realities exist in the same space, parallel worlds passing through each other. People live in these two realities, mostly in one or the other.
But some people live on the cusp — aware of the most severe and traumatic experiences they and those around them are having — and connecting or collaborating in whatever way they can, if they can, with the world where trauma is a much lesser-known thing.
Trauma and hardship create invisible divides in shared spaces.
The separation perpetuates itself — because the less visible trauma is, the harder it becomes for those experiencing it to communicate about it, and the harder it becomes for those unaware of it to even conceive of its presence.
Even those we think we know are going through something we couldn’t fathom.
And sometimes what is happening right under our noses is something we’d prefer never to ignore.
This dichotomy can cause confusions; it can obscure beautiful potential solutions; it can prevent us solving problems; it can inhibit our most magnificent successes.
What happens as we come to terms with this?
What happens when we want to know one another and care for one another better?
When we want to do our best work together, support one another, and celebrate the ways we overcome sticky challenges together?
What happens when we acknowledge the cusp… and build a bridge?