Finding peace comes in unexpected ways, even without religious faith, often through simply letting go. It's a curious thing that profound childhood experiences, especially traumatic ones, can sometimes cause a person's emotional development to stall at that age. When I encounter an adult wrestling with the lingering weight of childhood loss and self-blame, my instinct is to connect with that younger, wounded part of them. It's difficult to direct anger towards the pain of a child. I believe deeply in the importance of processing our experiences, allowing them to pass through us rather than define us. This understanding makes it hard for me to feel offended by someone who seems devoid of fundamental love, or to hold onto anger towards someone who feels like a lost child, regardless of their actions. The true sorrow lies in the disparity between a grown body and a heart still tethered to past pain. Personally, the loss of my best friend to a terminal illness during my teenage years left a lasting mark. Strangely, as I myself reached the age she was when she passed, I experienced a renewed wave of grief. And as I continued to age and move through life's milestones, I felt a need to reach out to her spirit, a connection her mother seemed to intuitively understand. It's as if, through the years, that bond and her memory have remained a quiet, yet significant, part of my own journey.
