I still mother them….

I think one of the hardest things about life is learning that not everybody shows up the way you would.

And I don’t mean in giant, dramatic ways. I mean in the little ways. The checking in. The remembering. The “I know today is hard” text. The stopping by. The random “thinking of you” message when somebody crosses your mind.

I think when you are somebody who naturally shows up for people, you quietly expect people will do the same for you.

Not because you think anybody owes you something. That’s not it at all.

I think it’s just human nature. We love people the way we know how to love them, and sometimes we expect they’ll speak the same language back.

I have always been the person who remembers things. The birthdays. The anniversaries. The hard days. The person who checks in. The person who wants to fix things, help carry things, make life softer when somebody is struggling. That’s just who I am.

And every once in a while, somebody disappoints me.

Can I just say this? It catches me off guard every time.

Not because I expect perfection. Lord knows none of us are perfect. But sometimes you really believe somebody will show up differently than they do. Sometimes you think, If the tables were turned, I know what I would do.

And maybe that’s where the lesson is.

Because I am learning that not everybody has the same capacity. Not everybody knows how to show up in hard things. Some people freeze. Some people get uncomfortable. Some people think giving space is helpful. Some people assume if you’re standing, smiling, functioning, working, posting, helping others… then you must be okay.

And truthfully, sometimes the people who don’t show up stand out more than they should.

But if I’m being really honest, I think that’s only because I am so unbelievably lucky to have so many people who do.

And maybe that’s the part I need to focus on more.

Because when I really stop and think about it, my life is filled with people who have carried me.

The random texts that somehow come exactly when I need them. The flowers on my doorstep. The cards. The silly gifts that make me laugh when laughing feels impossible. The people who ask, “How can I help?” and actually mean it. The people who remember Vincent. The people who say Gabriella’s name. The people who sit with me in grief without trying to fix it.

My village has shown up for me in ways I will never be able to fully explain.

So maybe that’s why the outliers hurt sometimes.

Maybe when you are surrounded by people who love loudly, the silence from a few feels louder than it should.

But I’m learning not to stay there.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to spend too much time staring at who didn’t show up when I’ve been blessed with so many people who did.

Life is too short for that.

I think part of growing older is learning to stop taking attendance at the people who disappoint you and start paying closer attention to the people who consistently pull up a chair beside you.

Those are your people.

The ones who text.

The ones who show up.

The ones who sit beside you in the hard.

The ones who remember.

The ones who stay.

And if life has taught me anything these last few years, it’s this:

Pay attention to the people who stay.

They are the real gifts. 💜