Some mornings you wake up carrying more than just yesterday.
This was one of those mornings.
My body was aching from a core workout the day before; that specific, satisfying kind of soreness that reminds you that something is being built. And yet alongside that physical heaviness, there was an emotional one too. The kind that settles in after a night of being present with someone else’s grief.
Both kinds of weight were asking the same thing of me this morning: keep going anyway.
And I am learning; slowly, faithfully; that I can.
Showing up for someone else’s pain.
Last night we attended the wake of my dear friend and colleague Cams’ mother.
Cams is our HR lead at Move Supply Chain; but to me she is so much more than a colleague. She is one of those people whose presence in your workplace makes the whole environment feel more human. And last night, watching her navigate the rawest kind of grief; the loss of a parent; I was reminded of something I think we all know but sometimes forget:
Grief doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t wait for a convenient time. It doesn’t care how strong you are or how much you have on your plate. It arrives; and it asks everything of you.
I saw it on Cams’ face last night. That particular heartbreak that only comes from losing someone who has known you your whole life. And all I could do; all any of us could do; was be there. Darren, JM, and other dear friends from work were there too. We didn’t have the words to fix anything. We just showed up.
And I am coming to believe that showing up is sometimes the most profound thing we can offer another person.
Can I ask you something? Is there someone in your life right now who is grieving; who just needs you to show up, without an agenda, without the perfect words? Sometimes our presence is the only language that grief understands.
What grief reminded me about community.
There is something that happens when a group of people gather around loss together. The walls come down. The professional titles fall away. The carefully maintained distance between colleagues becomes something warmer and more honest.
Last night I looked around that room and I didn’t see workmates. I saw people; real, feeling, tender human beings who had chosen to set aside their own busy lives to stand beside someone they cared about in her hardest moment.
And then it struck me; the depth of how interconnected our community truly is. Mikee; one of our great talents at Move Supply Chain; is a grandchild of Cams’ mother, making him Cams’ nephew. And JC; Mikee’s sister, Director of More Staffing, Move’s sister company; is Cams’ niece. What could have felt like a work gathering revealed itself to be something far more tender; a family grieving together, with colleagues standing alongside them not out of obligation but out of genuine love.
That is the kind of workplace community I am proud to be part of. Not just people who work together; but people who do life together. Who show up for each other’s hardest moments without being asked.
That is what genuine community looks like. Not just the people who celebrate with you; but the ones who show up when there is nothing to celebrate. The ones who sit with you in the dark without needing to rush you toward the light.
I have written before about the importance of leaning into community during hard seasons. Last night was a reminder that community isn’t just something we receive; it is something we actively choose to be for others. And in giving it; in showing up for Cams; I received something too. A quiet, grounding reminder that I am part of something larger than my own story.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)
This verse lived and breathed in that room last night.
The pockets of joy that keep us going.
I came home to this: my son, Adi and my husband, Allen, waking me with small kisses and their completely unstoppable morning energy.
After the heaviness of the night before; that was everything.
There is something about the way child move through the world; unburdened, present, gloriously unaware of how much their simple affection can restore a tired heart; that I never want to take for granted. Adi didn’t know I needed that this morning. He just loved me the way they always do; fully, freely, without reservation.
And it was enough to lift something in me.
I think this is one of the most important things I am learning in this season: joy and grief are not opposites. They do not cancel each other out. They coexist; sometimes in the same morning, sometimes in the same breath. And allowing yourself to feel both; to hold the sorrow of last night and the sweetness of this morning at the same time; is not a contradiction. It is just what it means to be fully alive.
How I am honoring both the ache and the growth.
This afternoon I am going to hot yoga class.
I know that might sound like a small thing. But for me, right now, it is an act of intentional self-care in the middle of emotional turbulence. It is my way of saying: I will honor what I am feeling, and I will also honor what I am building.
The physical soreness from yesterday’s workout and the emotional weight from last night’s wake are not so different, really. Both are evidence of something being strengthened. Both are asking me to be patient with the process. Both are reminding me that discomfort is not the enemy; it is often the very thing that precedes growth.
I used to think self-care was a luxury; something to get to when everything else was handled. I know better now. Especially in seasons of grief and emotional heaviness; taking care of yourself is not indulgent. It is necessary. It is responsible. It is how you stay available for the people who need you.
You cannot pour from an empty vessel. And you cannot show up for others; the way I showed up for Cams last night; if you have not first shown up for yourself.
For anyone carrying something heavy today:
It is okay to not be okay. Grief; whether it is your own or the grief you carry in solidarity with someone you love; is a weight that deserves to be honored, not rushed.
Let yourself feel it fully. Don’t push it aside in the name of staying strong. Strength, I am learning, doesn’t look like numbness. It looks like feeling everything and choosing to keep going anyway.
Reach out to the people around you. Show up for someone who is hurting. Let someone show up for you. Lean into the relationships that form the scaffolding of your life; because those connections are not peripheral to your healing. They are central to it.
And somewhere in the middle of the grief; look for the pockets of joy. The small kisses from your children. The familiar face of a friend across a crowded room. The yoga mat waiting for you. The soreness in your muscles that means you showed up yesterday.
They are there. Even on the heavy days. Especially on the heavy days.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
He was in that room last night. He is in this morning too. And He will be on the yoga mat this afternoon.
He is in all of it.
Have you ever found unexpected comfort in showing up for someone else during a hard time? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. 🤍
My Brightest Light 
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